(In order to exit the tram, you need to push a button. This will only work when enabled, indicated by the lights around the button. We are near a temporary stop but there is another tram in front of us and I”m waiting at the door, fingers ready to press the button when suddenly an elder euhm gentleman almost crushes my fingers.)
Man: You are just too stupid to push the button. You need to push the button to open the doors, you idiot.
Me: We are not at the stop yet.
Man: You stupid b****. You are just too stupid to know that they moved the stop.
(note: in front of us are some very big stones and it is clearly not safe to exit there.)
Me: Sir, there is another tram in front of us. Once that one moves, we will move a few metres as well and we’ll be able to exit.
(At that moment, the tram moves.)
Man: You stupid b****, now we missed our stop.
(His wife chimes in, agreeing with him, when the tram, exactly as predicted, moves the few metres and suddenly the lights go on. I press the button. Before I can say I told you so, they push me aside exiting the tram. No apologies. Not a word.)

I have an internationally easy, yet uncommon name, and I’m aware of one other living person who shares it. I am young, white, live in Europe and work in the arts, whereas they are older, black, live in Africa and work as a specialist in the medical field. A few years ago, I started receiving emails that were clearly meant for my namesake.

The first ones were information and pictures from events that both Namesake and the sender – Coworker – had attended. No big deal, I politely told Coworker they had the wrong person. But the emails continued in the same vein. They came at such long intervals that I always thought he had finally understood the problem or I simply forgot about it, they were harmless photos anyway. Until one day when he started sending me PDF attachments. I did not want to open or read the full documents, but through the preview thumbnails I saw what looked like confidential research data, information about their involvement with a global, very well-known charity organisation and other stamped, official documents about the people in their programs. I alerted him once again saying that he seemed to be sending very sensitive information to a complete stranger, but it continued and sometimes he would reply only to ask why I hadn’t sent him the information he needed yet. I tried to reach out to his superiors or other coworkers but to no avail.

Some time later, I got a mass email that was sent to the entire department. One of the workers had been mugged and lost their key card to the building. Therefore, their security had been compromised and some office supplies had already been stolen. I saw my chance and replied to the chain telling everyone that their security has been compromised multiple times over the last year, because Coworker will not believe that he has the wrong email address. Another coworker apologised and assured that they would have a serious talk with him. It took a few more unintended emails from the organisation and talking to yet another person to have my address removed from their database.

About six months after the last email I got a LinkedIn invite from Coworker. My LinkedIn profile is complete with a headshot that shows me working on my craft, work and education history that show that I have never done anything related to medicine, and my location in Europe, and somehow he still thought I am the person he collaborates with – whom he has met – just because we share a name. Naturally, I declined the request. He sent me a new one today – multiple years later – with a message that was clearly meant for my namesake.

Customer: You just sent me a text telling me that my item was in.
Me: Yes?
Customer: So is it in?
Me: *facepalm*

I was calling my bank to get some information about some recent withdrawals. The employee sounded a bit down, so I asked if she could use a laugh. She wasn’t certain, but said yes. I told her about the radio caller who was bothered that deer crossing signs were being put in places that got deer hit by cars and that the signs should be placed somewhere else. I don’t know if the story was true, but it made the teller laugh. She said “oh, crap… everyone in the office is looking at me because I was laughing so hard.” I finished the transaction and moved on. I would have forgotten about it, but a few weeks later I got a personal letter from the teller who told me she had a really rotten day that day and my story cheered her up. No cost to me, but I got a really good payback.

I work at a department store with its own credit card with the company name and logo attached to the card. This is what I was asked at work today.

Older Gentleman: “Do you take [department store credit card]?”