(I work as a debt collector where I mostly make outbound calls but also take inbound calls. Most of our inbound calls are a result of people seeing a missed call from us and are calling back. I am taking an inbound call in this story.)

Me: “Thank you for calling. This call may be monitored and recorded. How can I help you?”

Customer: “I just received a call from you guys and I wanted to know what this was about.”

(I proceed to verify the customer and go through the script to let him know that we are collecting a debt. He is upset over the bill and is arguing about it. He gets fed up and says this gem.)

Customer: *yelling* “Okay, well, can we talk about this while I’m not on a ladder?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, what was that?!”

Customer: *still yelling* “Yeah, I’m up on a ladder right now! You had to call me while I was up here! It’s dangerous!”

Me: “I understand, sir, but you could have called us back when you weren’t on the ladder!” *click*

(My father is experiencing severe vertigo, to the point where he can’t even crawl. We are in the ER waiting for his turn at the MRI. My dad is a large man with a beard. A doctor we don’t recognize walks into the room and stops short.)

Doctor: “Um…” *looks at his chart, then at Dad, then at my mom and me* “ Mrs. [Wrong Name]?”

Me: “I think you have the wrong room.”

Doctor: “I think you might be right; none of you look like you’re in labor right now.”

(We all laugh with him over his mistake and he leaves. Dad gets his MRI and is wheeled back in while we wait for the results. The same doctor comes in again.)

Doctor: “Let’s try this again, Mr. [Different Wrong Name]?”

Mom: “Nope.”

Doctor: “Nail through the foot?”

Me: “Wrong room again.”

Doctor: “D*** it. How…?”

(He checks the chart in his hands, then runs out and checks the room number.)

Doctor: “Somebody put the wrong room on the chart.”

(He runs off to find his patient. A while later, the ER doctors have run all the tests they can on Dad and still can’t find a cause. They’ve tentatively diagnosed him with a viral infection and have given him instructions for follow-up. Unfortunately, there is a multi-car pile-up and they suddenly get so busy they can’t spare anyone long enough to do the discharge paperwork. We do our best to stay out of the way. The same doctor comes in again, looks at his chart, then face-palms.)

Doctor: “Okay, none of you are a teenage girl with a broken pelvis! What the h***?!”

Mom: “We’re just such fun people that you’re making excuses to come hang out with us!”

Doctor: *laughing* “That must be it! Right!”

(I know he must have been frustrated, but I think he needed the comic relief as much as we did on that stressful night.)

It is during a US presidential election, and I am in charge of a district polling place. As it’s a large and very emotionally-fraught election, many groups around the state have sent out third-party observers to monitor the activity at polling places. As they are not considered election staff, my authority over them is limited to making them sign in and ensuring they don’t interfere with voters in any way; I have no say over who they are or how many.

I have three observers at my site, and they are all doing exactly what they’re supposed to, which is why I’m shocked when a woman tells me she wants to complain about them.

That is, until I hear her complaint. She’s upset because all of the observers are from one political party and there are none from the other, and wants to know what I’m going to do about it.

As patiently as I can, I explain to her that I have no control over which groups send observers, that it shouldn’t affect the process in any way because observers aren’t allowed to interfere with voters or try to convince them to vote a certain way, that she could try reaching out to the other party to send observers if she’s really concerned, and that I can’t just ask the observers to leave because she’s uncomfortable.

She decides this isn’t sufficient and continues to stand in front of me and declare that it’s “unfair” and “just doesn’t seem right” until I finally tell her point-blank, “Ma’am, the observers are allowed to be here, I don’t choose which groups are represented, and there is nothing more I can do, so I need you to step aside and allow me to help other voters.” She finally walks off, still muttering under her breath about the unfairness of the situation and making me wonder exactly what it was she expected me to do; create observers for the second party out of thin air?

(Some friends of mine and I are leaving a hotel parking garage in my car. I pull up to the payment booth. There are two employees inside; one is waving around a fast food hamburger and chewing out the other.)

Employee: “F****** idiot! How can you totally screw up a simple hamburger order?!”

(The angry employee turns to me and it’s like he flips a personality switch.)

Employee: *now calm* “Hello, sir. I hope your stay with us was pleasant. May I have your parking ticket, please?”

(I hand it to him and he begins yelling at the other employee again.)

Employee: *angry again* “I mean, good f****** God! Look at all this ketchup and s***!” *turns back to me, calm again* “That will be $[total], sir.”

(I pay, and as he counts the money he turns on his apparently hamburger-ordering-challenged coworker yet again.)

Employee: *angry again* “Were you always a f****** idiot or did you burn your brain out with drugs or something?”

(As the gate opens, he bids me farewell.)

Employee: *once again calm* “Thank you, sir, and have a safe drive home. Come back and visit us again!”

(As we drove off, we could hear him still yelling at the other employee.)

(My partner and I are picking up one or two things from the grocery store. We find a box of seaweed snacks sitting randomly on a shelf in the frozen foods section. They’re in my favorite flavor, which has been increasingly hard to find, so we take the whole box — about ten snack packs — up to the self-checkout with us. While we’re waiting, the lady in front of us turns and sees the snacks.)

Lady: “How much are those? Were there more of them?”

Partner: “I’m not sure. We found just this one box in the freezer section where it wasn’t supposed to be, so it didn’t have the price.”

Lady: “Oh. They’re really tasty.”

Me: “Yeah, they’re my favorite.”

(She turns away. A couple moments later she turns back:)

Lady: “Were there more of those? Or did you take all of them?”

Me: “I’m not sure. We found these in the freezer section, where they’re definitely not supposed to be, so there might be more somewhere else.”

Lady: “I think they stopped carrying them. I haven’t seen them around lately.”

(She turns away. A few seconds later:)

Lady: “Are there any more of those? Or are those the only ones?”

Me: *not sure how else to explain this* “Um, I’m not sure. There might be more elsewhere in the store, but I don’t know because we didn’t find these where they were supposed to be.”

Lady: “Okay.”

(She turns away. A moment later she calls over the employee who is watching over the self-checkout area.)

Lady: “How much are these? Are there any more of them?”

Employee: “Um, I’m not sure…”

Partner: “If there are any, they would probably be in the Asian foods section. You could try there?”

Lady: “Hmm.” *turns away again, doesn’t go to look*

(Thankfully, it was her turn to check out a couple of seconds later. I’m not sure how many more times we would have had to explain that we had no idea what the status of the seaweed snacks was. I do wonder if she was fishing for me to give her some of them, but, lady, if they’ve stopped making them, and you don’t ask me nicely and politely, I’m not offering.)