Shortly after I moved to the Netherlands, I decided to practice my Dutch by joining a volunteer organization. In my neighbourhood, there was a library which had switched from being managed by the municipality to being a volunteer-supported structure, sort of a book crossing spot: anyone could pick or drop a book, no need to bring it back, and so on. We were there just to explain to patrons how it worked and to put books back on the shelves.

Even though my Dutch was still kind of broken, most of the patrons would praise my attempt at practicing and improving it. Until she came in. 

She comes in on a Saturday afternoon, when I am normally the only one manning the place. She goes to a book rack and starts shuffling among the books, looking for something. I approach her and, in Dutch, offer my help. She starts speaking fast and almost not opening her lips, resulting in me not getting a single word of what she is saying.

To my “sorry?” she repeats again the same string of muttered and unintelligible sounds, to which I say, this time in English:

Me: “I am sorry, but my Dutch is not so good. Can you say that in English?”

She goes full banshee mode, shouting in English:

Patron: “You should not be here if you don’t speak Dutch! You’re wasting my time!”

Unnoticed by me, [Senior Volunteer] had just entered the place, just in time to hear my conversation with her. He goes to her, holds her arm, and, while guiding her to the exit, he tells her, in Dutch, which I can understand:

Senior Volunteer: “You are totally right, but unfortunately [OP] is the only one who volunteers here on Saturday, so if he cannot be here because his Dutch is not up to your expectations, it means that this place is closed as of now until the next volunteer is available on Monday. Goodbye.”

And in saying so pushes her out of the glass door, locking it behind her.

While she is staring at us behind the glass, processing what just happened, [Senior Volunteer] looks at me and says:

Senior Volunteer: “You did nothing wrong, and complaining about your Dutch is very rich coming from someone who only speaks [Local Dialect]. I couldn’t understand either what she was muttering! We are volunteers here; we don’t have to put up with such people. You can have the rest of the afternoon free and keep this place closed.”

I have been collecting a specific book series that originally came out in the 1930s since I was a kid, not in the 1930s. My local library’s used bookstore has a warehouse where they keep all their books, and on Saturdays, you can go and have a gander while the volunteers sort the books.

On the off chance, I ask if they have any of the series I collect, and they do! Mostly modern versions and stuff I already have. They do have one thing I’m interested in. In the 1990s, they made reprints of the books with the original dust cover illustrations. They are not perfectly like the originals. The board colors are different, the spine has the 90s publisher name, and the inside explains that it is a special reprint edition. I don’t have this particular edition of this book, so I brought it up to purchase it.

It is important to note that to some people, I look very young, and they will treat me as such.

Warehouse Volunteer: “Oh. I’m not sure I can sell you this.”

Me: “Why not?”

Warehouse Volunteer: *In a tone like she’s talking to a child.* “Well, sweetie, this book is very, very old. We need to research it first to know what it is worth before we sell it.”

Me: “This version is only about thirty-four years old. It isn’t an original.”

Warehouse Volunteer: “No, honey. Like I said, these books are very, very old.”

Me: “Actually, this is a [Edition] reprint. Probably from 1991 or so.”

Warehouse Volunteer: *With the same patronizing tone.* “Honey, you may think you know, but we really need to research it before we can sell it to just anyone.”

I pick the book up, point to the publisher’s name on the spine, then open it to the publishing info and show her the date, then show her the page that explains it is a reprint.

Warehouse Volunteer: “Oh. Uh. I guess you’re right! It’s from the 90s.”

She sells it to me for five dollars, which is a fair price, and I turn to leave.

Me: “And by the way, I’m as old as this book.”

The lady started to try to make excuses, but I just politely said goodbye and left.

I’m meeting a friend in a public space. I spot him across the square and walk toward him. I see him talking to a charity volunteer. My friend pats him on the shoulder and gives him a few coins.

When we say hello and start walking to our destination:

Me: “Did you give that charity guy some money?”

Friend: “Yeah.”

My friend is so tight that when he drops a penny, it hits him on the back of the head. I’ve never seen him give money to charity, ever. I voice this observation.

Friend: “Yeah, but I felt sorry for him. He said he was collecting money for the “British Fart Houndation” and I figured he was at the end of a very long day.”

A customer in the charity shop where I volunteer wanted a bag for her purchase. We usually charge for a new one, but I offered her one from the pile we keep, which comes with the donations inside. 

She opened it up, stuck her head inside, and had a good sniff.

Customer: “I’m very fussy about my bags.”

Me: “Perhaps you would rather have one of our new ones? They are 10p.”

She took one look at the new bag and said:

Customer: “I’m not paying 10p for that!

She took the “unsmelly” one!

I work for a charity store. Like a lot of charity stores, we have our fair share of volunteers.

I see a customer storm in, angry from the get-go. She marches up to the counter, but to her credit, actually reads the large sign we have up there.

Sign: “Attention customers, some of our staff are volunteers, which means they are not paid to deal with your bull-s*** – literally. They are allowed to match your tone. Which workers are paid, and which are volunteers? You’ll never know! Wanna take that chance?”

She looks angrily at the sign, then angrily at me, then angrily at the sign again.

Customer: “Ugh, forget it!”

She storms back out… angrily, of course. 

P.S. Paid staff are also allowed to tone match, but it’s fun to keep customers on their toes!