(My boss and I are the culprits here. We have a client who is generally very nice, but she is neurotic, paranoid, and obsessive about her tax returns. I am tasked with holding her hand through the process. I email my boss:)

My Email: “[Client] is going crazy, trying to itemize every tiny little expense. Can you please let her know that all that junk makes zero difference to her refund, so she can just calm down?!”

(My boss sends a very polite email and CCs me. I read it, but then…)

Me: “Um… [Boss], you didn’t write a new message to her; you hit forward.”

Boss: “What?”

Me: “When you replied to her, you also forwarded her my email to you!”

(We stare at each other in horror, imagining how she will react to my casual language. Stunned, I look back at the screen.)

Me: “Wait. What is her email address?”

Boss: “It’s [address], but don’t send her anything else.”

Me: “No, it’s okay. You typed it wrong.”

Boss: “What?”

Me: “You typed her address wrong. It didn’t go anywhere.”

Boss: *after deleting my message and re-sending* “Thank God I screwed up twice, and not just once!”

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(For those that don’t know, embroidery is the process of sewing a design onto an item with thread and needle, and there can be thousands of stitches in the smallest of designs. After getting details for an embroidery order from a customer, I need to place a “marker” onto the spot she want the item embroidered so that our embroidery department will know the proper placement. I pull out a small piece of paper and a straight pin, and I’m getting ready to pin the paper onto the intended embroidery location.)

Customer: *frantic* “What are you doing?!”

Me: *puzzled* “I’m letting our embroidery department know where you would like your name sewn.”

Customer: *looking slightly disgusted* “Don’t stick that pin in there!” *now looking at me wide-eyed*

Me: “Ma’am, if you don’t want this one pin to be stuck in your item, then you definitely do not want to have it embroidered; it will be stuck thousands of times.”

(I was looking at her, bewildered, as I slowly pushed her item back in her direction. In a matter of seconds you could literally see the realization of what had just happened and how stupid it was pour over her face… PRICELESS!)

(A girl and her group of friends come into the store and make a large order. After they sit down, her friend comes to the counter and orders a double cheeseburger. I see that he doesn’t have enough money in his hand.)

Me: “You know the double isn’t a dollar, anymore. Its $1.49, plus tax, which is about 11%, here.”

Customer #1: “Oh, I have $1.52; is that enough?”

Me: “No, the double is $1.49, and tax is about 11%, so it would be at least 15 cents in tax. We have the cheeseburger for a dollar.”

Customer #1: “What is that with tax?”

Me: “With tax it is $1.11.”

(The customer pays for the cheeseburger, and I give it to him. The girl comes back to the counter, holding the cheeseburger and her receipt from the first order.)

Customer #2: “Excuse me. I ordered a double a few minutes ago and it was $1.49, and he said the price is now $1.62, so how did the price get raised in a few minutes?”

Me: “The price wasn’t raised; the $1.49 is the price before tax.”

Customer #2: “But it says right here on the receipt, ‘$1.49’! I gave him $1.52, so how could the price be raised?”

Me: “The price on the receipt is before tax; it adds the tax at the bottom of the receipt.”

Customer #2: “BUT IT SAYS ‘$1.49’ RIGHT HERE!”

Me: “Yes, but here on the bottom of the receipt, it shows your subtotal, and right under that it adds the tax, which is the $2.49 right here on the receipt. After that is your total with tax. Tax is based on the total amount, not on the individual price.”

Customer #2: “Okay, I don’t believe you! You’re lying to me!”

(I got my manager, who tried to explain how taxes work, and ended up just giving her a double cheeseburger. I don’t think she ever figured out how taxes work.)

(I’m the dumb customer in this story. It’s 2015 and I order a combo meal at a fast food restaurant known for “supersizing” its meals; it’s such a part of this restaurant’s identity that a documentary was once made that incorporates this phrase in the title. I eat here occasionally, and though I’ve never before asked to have my combo supersized, I’m especially craving a lot of nice salty fries on this day, so I go for it.)

Me: “A number one combo, no pickles, please.”

Cashier: “What size?”

Me: “Supersized, please.”

Cashier: “Large?”

Me: “No, supersized.”

Cashier: “You mean large?”

Me: “Uh, supersized, please. The largest.”

Cashier: “Oh, a large, then.”

Me: *rather puzzled at the resistance to what I think is a pretty easy and common request* “Can’t you supersize it?”

Cashier: “Uh, no. I don’t think we don’t do that, anymore. Large is the largest size.”

Me: “Ohhhhkaaaay…”

(After lunch, I looked it up online and found that this fast food chain phased out its supersized option to much fanfare in 2004 — 11 YEARS AGO. I somehow went a decade without ever noticing this.)

(I work at Dulles Airport, about 45 minutes from Washington, DC, but close enough to still be considered part of the “DC Area,” which tends to confuse people. My second job there is as a retail associate, and two people asked me the same question in two consecutive days.)

Passenger: “Hi! Is there a window where I can look out and see the White House?”