(This story happens when I am about ten years old. My mum’s best friend comes over with her two boys who are about my age. We are playing video games together while my mum chats with her friend in the dining room. The older boy takes an interest in one of my games, so when they end up leaving, I happily offer to lend him the game so he can play it some more at home.)

Mum’s Friend: “Oh, that’s okay; we have enough games at home!”

Me: “I don’t mind. He seems to like this one a lot, so as long as he brings it back next time it’s okay!”

Mum’s Friend: *to my mum* “Your daughter is a sweet kid. My children would never lend their friends anything.”

Mum: *scoffs* “That’s because your children are smart. My daughter is always throwing away everything we give her to her ‘friends.’”

Mum’s Friend: “Oh, don’t be silly! My children are the bratty ones, not yours!”

Mum: “Oh, no, you have it backward. Your kids know to value what they have. I wish my kids had even half the sense your kids have!”

(They go back and forth several times like this before my mum’s friend and her children eventually leave with the game. Although deep down it has always upset me, I am used to my mum putting me down in front of other people and exchanging weird child-shaming banter with her friends. I usually just try to ignore the things she says and pretend I can’t hear it. It’s very likely any memory of this incident would have blurred together with all the other ones… but for the fact that after the friend leaves, my mum almost immediately starts bad-mouthing her and her children, to my utter disbelief.)

Mum: “Wow, did you see how selfish those kids were? They barely let you touch their video games even though they had so many, and then they had the nerve to borrow your game with hardly a ‘thank you.’ I can’t believe [Mum’s Friend] raised such spoilt, selfish little brats. I’m glad you didn’t turn out like that.”

Me: *completely shocked* “But… you just told [Mum’s Friend] that you thought I was stupid for lending them the game. You said her kids were smarter than me. You even said you wished I was more like them.”

Mum: *condescendingly* “Well, of course, I told her that — to her face. I can’t praise you in front of her; it would seem arrogant and rude.” *looks at me* “What, did you honestly think I meant all those things I said about you?” *laughs* “Oh, you silly child. You should know better.”

(If I was supposed to find any of that reassuring, I didn’t. But that incident — which was also the first time I’d ever seen my mum flatter someone only to promptly turn around and speak badly behind their back, though it wouldn’t be the last — did teach me that my mum was a disturbingly good liar. I honestly never doubted her sincerity in basically trash-talking me to her friends until that moment, though I’ll admit that’s probably — at least in part — due to my naivete. But the whole experience certainly left a very sour taste in my mouth, and eroded much of any remaining trust I had in my mum from there on.)

(I am a “mononym.” That is, I only have one legal name, which I tend to use as a surname.)

Caller: “Please could I have your first name?”

Me: “I don’t have a first name, only a surname: [My Name].”

Caller: *thinks for a second* “What about an initial?”

Me: “An initial? For a first name that I don’t have?”

Caller: “…”

Me: “…”

(The self-checkouts at my store are notoriously moody. They’re all meant to accept both cash and card as payment, but more often than not, at least one of them decides it won’t accept cash anymore for whatever reason. When this happens, we put a sign up informing customers that it’s only taking card until we can work out how to appease it. As I’m sure anyone who’s ever worked in retail would know, though, people don’t notice signs. Over time, we add more and more signs. At the time of this story, we’ve taken to putting about four signs on a broken register, including one that completely covers the place customers would usually insert their cash, literally blocking them from inserting any money into the machine. You think this would be enough, right?)

Customer: “Excuse me.”

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: “The machine won’t accept my money.”

(I look to see the customer holding up the “EFT only — no cash” sign that was covering the cash slot with one hand while trying to force in a $20 note with the other.)

Me: “I’m sorry, this machine is cash only.”

Customer: “Oh, really? Where does it say that?”

Me: “On that sign you’re holding up.”

(The customer lets go of the sign, which flops back down into place, and proceeds to read it for the first time.)

Customer: “Oh, I didn’t notice.”

(This takes place a decade ago when I am 19 years old and applying for my first passport. In Australia, if you were born after 1986 you have to submit a parent’s birth certificate along with your own as proof of citizenship; as such, I am using my mother’s birth certificate for my application. I’m at the post office submitting and paying for my application when the clerk stops while checking my supporting documents.)

Clerk: “I’m sorry, but there is a problem with your supporting documents; I don’t think I can proceed with your application. Your mother’s names don’t match.”

Me: “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

Clerk: “Your mother’s name on her birth certificate doesn’t match her name on your birth certificate.”

Me: “Well, that would be right. She got married and then she had me, so her last name would be different.”

Clerk: “No, the names are not the same. I can’t submit your documentation if it’s not correct.”

Me: “I don’t understand. It is correct. See? On my birth certificate it lists her maiden name, so you can see it is the same person.”

Clerk: “No, the names don’t match. You need to bring me the proper documentation where her names match.”

Me: *getting frustrated* “But it does match. She got married and changed her name, and then had me. It’s all listed there on my birth certificate.”

Clerk: “No, I’m going to have to get my manager. I don’t think I can accept this.”

Manager: *walking over* “What seems to be the issue?”

Clerk: “Her mother’s name on her birth certificate doesn’t match her mother’s name on her mother’s birth certificate.”

Manager: *looking at me, and then slowly looking at the cashier like he has two heads* “Yes, that’s because when her mother was born she had her maiden name. She then got married and changed her surname, and that’s why the names are different. Her maiden name is listed on the applicant’s birth certificate to verify, see? It’s perfectly acceptable to use this.” *walks away*

Clerk: *proceeds with the application like nothing happened*

(Sometimes I think I can get my head around his logic, and other times I really can’t.)

(I’m about to order meals for myself and my wife. The pub is very busy.)

Manager: *to the staff, drink in hand* “Okay, everyone, it’s really busy out there. If we don’t keep on top of everything we’re going to get flogged.”

(I decide to interrupt:)

Me: “Can I be flogged, too?”

(The manager spits his drink out back into his glass and most of the staff walk away in various directions.)

Me: “Sorry, wrong restaurant.”

(The manager came over to our table later with free drinks. He said I had made his night!)