(I am working a shift from four to twelve in an all-night coffee shop. The leading chain coffee shop across the street has just closed. Two girls walk in with [Chain] cups and sit down. I give them five minutes to see if they’re going to throw out their cups or order food or something. When they don’t, I head over to their table.)

Me: “Hey, ladies, it’s counter order, so if you’d like anything tonight, stop by the counter and we’ll help you out.”

Girl #1: “Oh, no, we’re good.”

Me: “Well, unfortunately, if you’re not going to order something I’m going to have to ask you to leave. It’s company policy.”

Girl #2: “But, like, we already have drinks.” *gestures to their cups.*

Me: “Yeah, but unless you’re ordering something from me, you can’t be here. If you were to buy a pastry or something, I’d offer to put those drinks in our cups, but if you’re not getting anything from me, you have to leave.”

Girl #1: “But you’re the same thing.”

Me: “Uh, no. We’re [Our Shop] and those are from [Chain].”

Girl #2: “Uh, yeah?”

Me: “They’re our competition.”

Girl #1: “So? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Me: “That we’re competing for who you buy your coffee from.”

Girl #1: “So? You both sell coffee.”

Me: “Yes… that’s why we’re competing. Directly. For your money.”

Girl #2: “I don’t get it.”

Me: *sighs* “Look, we’re [Our Shop], and you bought your coffee from [Chain]. If you’re not going to spend any money at [Our Shop], you have to leave.”

Girl #2: “But you’re the same.”

Me: *resists the urge to flip tables* “No. They’re our competition. You bought your drinks from them, which means you can’t sit in here.”

Girl #2: “But they’re closed and we can’t sit there.”

Me: “And you can’t sit here unless you buy something from me.”

Girl #1: “Well, we already have our drinks.”

Me: “Then you’re going to have to go. You can’t sit in my shop with drinks from another shop.”

(They get up, giving me the dirtiest looks imaginable, and walk outside… only to sit right down at one of my outdoor tables.)

Me: *leaning out the door* “That’s part of my shop, too, ladies.”

(During a busy Sunday “Car Free Day” celebration in my city, where thousands of people gather and walk in the streets, shopping at market stalls and listening to live music, I see a debit card lying in the middle of the road. I snatch it up and hold it aloft calling out to ask if someone has lost their card, but there is no answer. I’ve recently read what to do when finding a card, so I call the number on the back to let the bank know.)

Bank Employee: “Account number, please.”

Me: “Oh, well, the number on the card is [card number] but I found it on the road at a festival. What should I do?”

Bank Employee: “Did you ask the people around you if it’s theirs?”

Me: “I did, but there are thousands of people here so no one claimed it.”

Bank Employee: “You should take it to the police station, then.”

Me: “What?”

Bank Employee: “Can you take it to a police station, then?”

Me: “This is not a matter for the police. I’m not going to waste my Sunday looking for a police station. Can’t you just cancel it?”

Bank Employee: “Well… I could call the card holder.”

Me: “Sure. I could meet them at the dog food stall near where I found it. It’s really obvious.”

Bank Employee: “Mmm. I can’t give away their information.”

Me: “But… you’re calling them. Just tell them come back and look for the redhead holding a card above her head.”

Bank Employee: “I can’t give up their personal information.”

Me: “Then why did you suggest it?”

Bank Employee: “Can you please just take it to a police station?”

Me: “No. Not only do I not have a car to get to one, this is not something for the police. If I give it to a patrol officer, what are they going to do with it? Look, there’s a bank branch a block away; I’ll put it in their mail slot. Can you please cancel the card?”

Bank Employee: “I should call the police.”

Me: “About what? The card is lost, not stolen. There’s no crime here. Just cancel the card! It’ll be at the [Branch] Monday morning.”

Bank Employee: “Okay. I’ll cancel it and call the client. Will you please drop it off at a police station?”

Me: “It will be at the [Branch]. Thank you for cancelling it.”

Bank Employee: “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Me: “Oh. No, thank you.”

(I looked over my shoulder all weekend, expecting to be visited by the police for stealing a debit card.)

(I’m riding the bus with my partner and a friend of ours who’s a few years younger than us. We’re all in our twenties and very nerdy. We’re making silly jokes about sorting the crew of “Star Trek: The Next Generation” into Hogwarts houses or something when another passenger turns around and looks at us. He’s an older man wearing a Hawaiian shirt, not very well-groomed, and reeking of cigarettes. He directs the following remarks to my partner, completely ignoring our friend and me:)

Stranger: “Hey, you!”

Partner: “Um, yes?”

Stranger: *in a weirdly sneering, accusatory tone* “What’s your job?”

Partner: “I work in publishing.”

Stranger: *clearly a bit thrown by my partner having a “real” job, but forging on anyway* “Well, do you know anything about securities?”

Partner: “No.”

Stranger: “You don’t.”

Partner: “No.”

Stranger: “Why not?”

Partner: “It’s not my job.”

Stranger: “Oh. Huh. Well. I just thought… uh, you sounded like a real smart guy there, so I thought you might know something about it.”

Partner: “Nope.”

(The stranger gets off the bus at the next stop and I start laughing.)

Friend: “What’s so funny?”

Me: “Well, you remember how earlier today I was having lunch with my friend from high school, the one who’s a lawyer? And how I invited her to come along with us, too, but she couldn’t make it?”

Friend: “Yeah?”

Me: “Well, clearly El Rando there was going after [Partner] because he thought he was the ‘alpha male’ of our group or something. But [High School Friend] actually specializes in banking law… with an emphasis on securities. She’s gonna be so grumpy she missed on an opportunity to lecture some sexist old man about legal technicalities.”

(I am an associate at a pet supply store, and I’m a little hard of hearing. A man comes into the store and walks up to me.)

Customer: “Hi. I’ve got some stellar jays that—” *mumble mumble*

Me: *craning my ear to the customer* “Sorry, come again?”

Customer: *loudly* “I’ve got some stellar jays that I give peanuts to. Do you have any peanuts?”

Me: “I’m not sure if we have anything that’s just peanuts, but let’s see what’s on the shelf.”

(I lead him to the birdseed section and we don’t have any peanuts. Without saying anything, I motion to a bag of mixed nuts, which includes peanuts.)

Customer: “No, I need shelled peanuts.” *frames his mouth with his hands to amplify his voice, even though I’m standing right next to him, and SCREAMS* “SHELLED! SHELLED! IN THE SHELL!”

(For the record, in common parlance, “shelled” nuts are ones that have been removed from their shells; he is actually looking for “in-shell” peanuts.)

Customer: “You know what, never mind. Maybe someone else can…”

(He trailed off and turned around, leaving me stunned. He asked my coworker for peanuts; she lead him back to the birdseed and again found no peanuts. She offered to call another store, but the customer snapped, “Forget it!” and stormed out of the store. Later, we got a call from head office saying this customer complained about “the blonde bimbo [me] who doesn’t know what a peanut is.” Considering that I didn’t even get to say three sentences to the guy, I have no idea how he got that impression of me!)

(Our car is going to be out of commission during a very busy week for us, so we decide to rent a car at a place near our home. However, they have one of those things where you get routed to a centralized phone service that is not local. I am a woman.)

Me: “We would like to rent a midsize car at [Location] for five days, starting this afternoon.”

Operator: “What state is that in?”

Me: “It is in Vancouver, Canada.”

Operator: “I see seven locations in Vancouver.”

Me: “Yes, I’d like the location on [Street].”

(The name of the location and the name of the street are the same, and not similar to any others in Vancouver.)

Operator: “The address is [Number and Street]?

Me: “Yes.”

Operator: “What time is your flight coming in?”

Me: “We are local, just renting a car while ours is in the shop.”

Operator: “Is this an insurance claim?”

Me: “No, we’re paying for it ourselves.”

Operator: “And when do you want to pick it up?”

Me: “Today between five and six.”

Operator: “And drop-off?”

Me: “Wednesday at five.”

Operator: “And what size of car would you like?”

Me: “Any four-door midsize car.”

Operator: “And what is your name?”

Me: “I’ll give you my partner’s name, as she is the one who will be picking it up and driving.” *gives obviously female name*

Operator: “And what time will your husband be there?”

Me: “My wife will be there between five and six.”

Operator: “So, he’ll be there at four?”

Me: “No, she will be there after five.”

Operator: “Okay, will he be using a major credit card?”

Me: “Yes, she will be using a Visa card.”

Operator: “Is it a major credit card?”

Me: “Yes, it is a Visa card.”

Operator: “But is it a major card?”

Me: “Yes.”

Operator: “…”

Me: “…”

Operator: “Um… okay. And what time is your flight leaving?”

Me: “We are not flying. We are local.”

Operator: “Is this an insurance claim?”

Me: “No. We are paying ourselves.”

Operator: “And would your husband like a navigation system for an extra $10 a day? It gives directions, and restaurant and event recommendations.”

Me: “No, thank you, we know our way around.”

Operator: “Oh! Is this an insurance claim?”

Me: “No. It is not insurance. We are not flying. We just need a car for a few days. My wife is a woman, and she will be there between five and six to pick up. She will be using a Visa card, which is a major credit card in Canada. We will drop it off at five on Wednesday.”

Operator: “And what time does your flight leave?”

Me: *giving up* “Eight pm on Wednesday. What time do you suggest we drop it off?”

Operator: “Around five.”

Me: *briskly, in an effort to bring the Hell to an end* “Excellent. Thank you so much; please send me an email confirmation.”

(Amazingly enough, the car was waiting for us at our local branch.)