(I work full-time, Monday to Friday, and I also work every second Saturday on reception. I’m a very versatile employee, with lots of knowledge and experience across the whole dealership. I have worked here for almost four years, so I know quite a lot about processes. A man rings in, who is an owner of the brand I work for, but not one of our direct customers.)

Me: “Good afternoon! [Dealership]. [My Name] speaking.”

Caller: “Hi, service department, please.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, service closed at 12 pm.” *it is now almost four pm* “But I work with the service department; perhaps I can help you?”

Caller: “I’ve lost the key to my car, and I need you to give me the code so I can cut a new one.”

Me: “Oh, sorry to hear that; I’m guessing you don’t have a spare?”

Caller: “No, I don’t, so can you just give me the code?”

Me: “Unfortunately, due to strict security, sir, there aren’t ‘codes’ we can give out to cut a key. All of the keys are laser cut in either Singapore or Germany, and the information is transferred electronically–“

Caller: “That’s a lie! I know you have a code, so just give it to me!”

Me: “Sir, with all due respect, I cannot give you something that simply doesn’t exist. Even if there was a ‘code,’ I couldn’t and wouldn’t give it out to someone on the phone.”

Caller: “Well, sweetie, you obviously don’t know what you are talking about; all keys have a code you can cut them to, so just look on your little computer thing in front of you and give it to me.”

Me: “I don’t know you from a bar of soap, so let me give you some advice: the codes do not exist. I cannot give you a code.”

Caller: “You lying f****** b****! You just don’t want to help me! Give me the f****** code!”

Me: “I have absolutely no reason to lie to you. Now, please be advised that these calls are recorded, I have your mobile number–” *it is displayed on my switchboard* “—and I am now hanging up on you. Good luck with replacing the key that you lost! Have a nice day.”

(With that, I hung up on him, wrote down his mobile number, and seriously contemplated prank calling him at three in the morning… It’s just a pity that I won’t lower myself to that level!)

(Once a year for a few years now, I have gone door-to-door collecting for a well-known international charity organisation. Every year, I’m given the same area to do, so I see the same houses every year. One house that always sticks out is this rickety old one that absolutely stinks of cigarettes and animal droppings. It’s home to a very old lady who makes the same bad joke every year.)

Me: “Good morning. I’m collecting for [Charity Organization].”

Woman: “Let me get my purse.”

(She left me alone for a few minutes before returning with her purse. Then she fished around in it and pulled out a single 10c coin and dropped it in my bag. She then paused to wait for a reaction, before laughing and pulling out a more substantial amount of money and dropping it in my bag. Part of me finds it a little annoying that she does the same thing every single year, but I don’t really mind. It’s a boring job, going door-to-door, and the constant rejection I receive can be a little soul-crushing at times, so I enjoy it when she tries to make me laugh, even if it is with the same bad joke year after year. It’s reached the point now where I actually look forward to knocking on her door. Thanks, random lady, if not for making me smile, then at least for breaking up the monotony of it all.)

(I work in a tattoo studio. Two customers in their mid-30s walk into the studio. I’m doing paperwork in the office but can hear the following interaction.)

Customer: “How long do tattoos last?”

Coworker: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “Do they last a few days?”

Coworker: “Oh! Temporary tattoos?”

Customer: “No, real ones. How long do they last? A few days?”

Coworker: “Uh… They last your whole life. Like… until you die.”

(I’ve never seen my coworker so speechless!)

(I donate blood regularly. One time, when they insert the needle, I immediately feel lightheaded for a second or two. Since I have not yet lost more than a few drops of blood, definitely not enough to cause a significant loss of blood pressure, I assume it was just a psychosomatic reaction to having such a large needle inserted, shrug it off, and decide to continue with the draw. A few minutes later, it comes back again, and with a vengeance.)

Me: *raising hand shakily* “Um… Excuse me?”

(I immediately have three technicians surrounding me.)

Technician: “Are you okay?”

Me: “I’m feeling a bit lightheaded.”

(They spring into action, immediately removing the needle. One of them reclines my seat so my feet are elevated above my head, one goes to grab damp cloths, which they drape over every inch of exposed skin I have, and one goes to grab me a juice box to increase my blood sugar. After a while, the seat is returned to its regular position, and they continue feeding me juice. I am eventually allowed to go to the recovery area, with two people escorting in case I pass out on the way. Once I sit down, I call my friend who I was supposed to meet to tell her I’ll be delayed. Partway through the conversation, I hear running steps behind me, then feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up to see a woman with a very concerned expression, who looks at me for a moment and then laughs.)

Volunteer: “Oh, you’re on your cell phone! I thought you were talking to yourself!”

Me: “Oh, no. I’m just letting my friend know I’m going to be late.”

Volunteer: “Oh, good.”

Friend: “What was that?”

Me: “Oh, the volunteer thought I was talking to myself. Can you imagine that? ‘Oh, great! First he nearly passes out, and now he’s hallucinating!'”

(They eventually let me go, and I was only 30 minutes late to meet my friend. Fortunately, while everything was going on, one of the techs mentioned I had filled most of a bag, and when I asked if it could still be used, he assured me it could.)

(I am standing two customers at a posh department store.)

Customer #1: *a rather pretty, larger young woman* “Do you have any liquid foundation to help cover my blemishes? I’m going on a date.”

Sales Lady: “Of course. Let me show you our range.”

([Customer #2] is impatiently waiting to be served, standing behind [Customer #1]. She mutters loud enough for everyone to hear.)

Customer #2: “Yeah, it’s called sandpaper. No one could cover that much ugly. Who’d want to date a fat someone like that?”

Customer #1: *turns around and glares at the woman, who just looks smug* “Fat is better than being vindictive, nasty, vain, and jealous.”

Customer #2: *turns red in the face* “How dare an ugly b**** talk to me like that? People like you don’t belong in places like this; go home and eat another hamburger!”

(Being larger myself, I get very angry when others are judged on their looks, so I speak up.)

Me: “Hey, lady. A pretty face can’t hide how ugly and nasty you are inside. It’s basic human decency to treat others with respect; if you can’t do that, then you’re the ugliest person on Earth.”

([Customer #1] and I high-five.)

Customer #2: “I see ugly and fat b****es stick up for each other.” *glares at the sales lady* “What are you going to do about this?”

Sales Lady: “I support human decency, ma’am.”

Customer #2: “Well, I’m not going to shop in a place that serves that kind of person and has rude staff.”

(She threw her items — a bottle of liquid foundation and a bottle of perfume — on the floor, where they smashed open, making a mess. Then she headed toward the department store exit. The sales lady quickly called security and stopped the woman, telling her she had to pay for the items she destroyed. As she was dragged off by security, we could hear her yelling throughout the store about the fat, ugly people, and how it was their fault.)