(I get my hair cut maybe once every six to nine months or so and while I usually try and stick to the same people, it’s a lot more difficult when you don’t go very frequently. I also have thicker, pseudo-curly hair which can be somewhat difficult to manage. It usually grows to my neck between cuts, so I’ve learned it’s easier to have it thinned out while they cut it, which actually winds up feeling really nice for me as it doesn’t it doesn’t quite grow back right. With the few “regular” barbers and hairdressers I’ve had this isn’t a problem… for everyone else, though, this usual exchange occurs.)

Hairdresser: “Hi! How do you want it today?”

Me: “Down to about a quarter of an inch all the way around, trimmed square at the neck, no sideburns, and please thin it out while you’re at it.”

Hairdresser: “Are you sure? A quarter of an inch is really short, and your hair doesn’t look like it needs to be thinned.”

Me: *still smiling* “I’m sure. I don’t get it cut very often, so cutting it that low helps it grow back the way I like. Also, it’s thicker than it looks, and it won’t grow back right if I don’t get it thinned out. I just like the feeling. I know that some people don’t know how a quarter looks, but I actually like it, so it’s okay. I promise.”

Hairdresser: *usually running their fingers through their hair at this point* “I don’t knoooow! I still think a quarter of an inch is too little, and this definitely doesn’t need to be thinned. I’ll just cut it down to about an inch and you can tell me how that looks, all right?”

Me: *sighing* “All right.”

(Then they proceed to cut my hair, having a difficult time with it being thicker as they cut it, having to switch manually to scissors, combing and cutting it down despite my already having combed out the tangles. They generally get tangled up as they have to keep parsing my hair back and forth, taking an extra ten minutes just to work on getting the hair down to an inch.)

Hairdresser: *pleased and showing me the results* “See? That’s about an inch; how’s that look?”

Me: “I’d actually prefer it to be down to a quarter of an inch and—“ *running my fingers through my hair* “—can you please still thin it out? It’d feel really nice for me.”

Hairdresser: *usually sighing* “Well, okay, but now that it’s already down to an inch it’s going to take me a little longer, okay? It’s such a shame to waste such nice hair.”

(None of them have ever been downright rude to me, and it’s a hard enough job with what is demanded of them. I also entirely understand that people genuinely don’t understand how long or short their hair looks on themselves, so I understand these feelings. But it still sucks to have this interaction almost every time I go to get it done and I don’t have someone that’s not willing to argue over it.)

(My friend and I are sitting together in math class. While the teacher is talking, I’m watching my friend draw. She is an AMAZING artist, and it’s fun to watch her in action. The teacher then announces that we are going to do some problems on our own, and split into groups. While the teacher is writing the problems on the board, I turn my back on my friend to get a piece of paper. I hear my friend flip her paper over to work on the blank side. Our group begins to work the problems.)

Friend: *makes a mistake and sighs dramatically* “I’m just not good at anything.”

Me: “That’s not true! Look at all you’re good at!”

(I reach over and flip her paper over to show her the drawing, but we are both now looking at a blank piece of paper. I begin to panic.)

Me: “Where’s the art?! Where’s the picture you were drawing?! I meant to say you’re good at art!”

(My friend is laughing too hard to say anything but points at a blank sheet of paper to the side. It turns out she had flipped the art over and then gotten a fresh sheet of paper.)

Me: *flips over the paper with her drawing* “See? You’re good at art!”

(To this day, years later, we still joke about it. Every once in a while, one of us will hold up a blank sheet of paper and cry, “Look at all you’re good at!”)

(I am waiting for the bus while a guy plays the guitar a couple of benches down. His playing is excellent, so I fish around in my pocket as my bus arrives, gather the loose change I have, and head over to drop it into the case that he has open in front of him. As I try to do so, a woman comes sprinting over and grabs my arm, stopping me from placing the money in the case.)

Woman: *in a condescending, babyish voice* “No, no, no, no. If you do that, you’ll just encourage him.”

Me: *with the most disdainful, “You are an idiot”’ look I can muster* “That’s the point.”

(I then yanked my arm free, dropped the money in the case, and headed off to catch my bus, leaving the woman standing there looking like I’d slapped her with a dead fish.)

(I am a teller at a credit union. It is a Saturday and I am covering the phones in the basement. Our credit union has about nine different locations. I answer a phone call and this happens:)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Credit Union]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “I think I left my ID in your drive-thru; can you check for me?”

Me: “I can look into that. Can you just tell me which location you were at so I can contact them to check?”

Customer: “I don’t understand; I just need to see if I left my ID there. Do you have it?”

Me: “We have nine different locations, so I have to know which one to contact to check if they have your ID.”

Customer: “I just need to know if you have my ID!”

Me: “I just need to know which location you went to.”

Customer: “Great! I’ll be by to pick it up soon!” *hangs up*

Me: “…?”

(A while later I went upstairs to scan my check and could hear the tellers helping the drive-thru customers. I heard my coworker say, “You called to find your ID? I don’t see it here. They told you it was here?” I about lost my mind. I explained the situation to the teller, and the dude left, all mad. I never told him we had his ID.)

(I work in a large convenience store based on the West Coast, and work graveyards. We get quite the colorful rotation of regulars which I’m seasoned enough to deal with.)

Customer: *approaches me with a coffee, a new one, that I just watched her make* “It’s a REFILL!”

(She then pulls out a clearly snapped-in-half debit card, covered in electrical tape. I remember her card not processing a couple weeks ago, and giving her coffee for free. The queue behind her is growing. I try her card every which way I can think of, including manual entry. No dice.)

Me: “Ma’am, we’ve had problems with the card reader all night. I’m terribly sorry. I’ll cover the coffee.”

(She then UNLEASHES her fury over not being able to swipe her card over $1.06 and abuses my machine to the point where I give up and ask her to hand it over. Yep, will not read. Again.)

Customer: “There’s 134 god-d*** DOLLARS on here! Why can the OTHER CASHIER make my card work and you can’t? You f*** up my time every time I’m in here!”

(I noticed the line was growing behind her. I lost all patience and called my coworker over while she huffed and puffed about how it JUST worked in the ATM today (incredibly doubtful) and we just wanted to refuse her card. It didn’t work on any card reader that night and she grabbed her coffee and stomped out of the store muttering about how “if we’d just TRY to run her card RIGHT!” I’m not sure if she’s trying to scam us out of a dollar or just stupid.)