I program hearing aids for customers. Even when u had them for several years, getting a new one always takes a few weeks to adjust to the new system. A customer of mine (Several years of wearing something that “never satisfied his needs completely”) just got a pair of new ones and had it for 1 week. This exchange happened after i guided a lady down some stairs, which resulted in him waiting for a few Minutes:

Him: You know, u cant run a business if u dont center yourself around the customer. U cant be so selfish and let me wait, i have other things to do as well!

Looking back at the lady i helped a minute ago not to fall down and hurt herself:

Me: Sir, as in a doctors appointment, i always try to get things done in time for the next customer. But sometimes i cant plan ahead if someone has a quick question or needs an additional minute to get to or leave the place.

Him: Whatever, lets get on with it. But just to let you know, it is not “focus on the customer” to let me wait!

He then started to rant for 30 minutes about how unsatisfied he is, as well as complaining about what he didnt like about the new hearing systems and comparing things to “how good they were before i gave him something new”.

After some changes, he left, only to call back 2 days later:

Him: WHATEVER U PROGRAMMED, THESE CHANGES DONT WORK! THESE SYSTEMS DO NOT WORK. (Repeating how i dont focus on the customer and how selfish i am to do this to him… selfish? Really?)

He calmed somewhat down after that, but please dear readers, just for some Info. If u are in that position or a family member of yours is: Patience with them and/or YOURSELF is the greates virtue. Adjusting to a hearing system is something that needs time, and time cant be sped up by money nor good will.

I went to have my oil changed at its typical time, I have a ten year old car but it doesn’t have 100,000 miles yet and has always been in good shape. I’m also a woman who clearly has limited knowledge of cars.

Mechanic: Changed your oil for you but your brakes are bad, you’ll need to get them replaced. We can do that right now.

Me: Really? I just had the back brakes replaced last year when it was inspected and they didn’t mention anything about the front brakes

Mechanic: Well they are bad, you need to get them replaced now.

Me: (very suspicious of his manner) I’ll just wait, my inspection is due in three months and see what they say.

He looks annoyed rather than concerned but just charges me for the oil change. Three months later I go in for my yearly state inspection and ask the man there to look at the brakes. He calls me later

Man: Car is in in good shape, nothing needed to be done on it so you just have to pay the inspection fee

Me: What about the brakes?

Man: Back brakes are great, no surprise since we replaced them last year. Your front brakes are fine, I doubt you’ll need to have them replaced for at least another year. Maybe more.

Confirmed my suspicions that the previous mechanic where I got my oil changed was trying to pull the wool over my eyes and pay $500 for brakes I didn’t need yet. Glad I trusted my instincts

(My mother has taken me to the mall for shoe-shopping for school. It is not going well. {I’m 14 and we’re new in the country so unfortunately she’s got very little idea of local norms.}
She’s dragged me into a fancy shoe boutique.)

Mom: “Oh, look at these, [My Name], these are such great shoes, aren’t they?! Let’s have you try these on!”

(These “great” shoes on display are very garish bedazzled lace-up strappy sandals with a glass platform and 5-inch spike heel. I am horrified. I’ve never worn any kind of high heel in my life, and my mother knows it.)

Me: *backing away from the shoes in alarm* “No. No way.”

Mom: *turns with a nasty glare at me* “What. What do you mean, “No”?!”

Me: “I mean no. I can’t be wearing anything like that to school. They’re ugly.”

Mom: *angrily* “Why you ungrateful wretch! What the fuck is wrong with you?! How dare you refuse?!”

Me: “….”

Mom: “Do you know what I wouldn’t give right now to be your age and be able to wear these shoes to school?! You’re just so fucking ungrateful!!”

Me: “But I can’t! I can’t wear those and I can’t ever wear them to school!! No one there wears…”

Mom: *Cuts me off, whisper-yelling at me* “Just what the hell is wrong with you again?! Why do you keep doing this shit?! Why do you keep being so stubborn and stupid about perfectly normal things?! Those are great shoes for school!!!”

(My mother has *never* set foot in my high school. Everyone there wears sneakers, boots, sandals and flip-flops, as well as t-shirts, sweaters and jeans. It’s *extremely* rare to ever see anyone in so much as a dress or skirt, except for the cheerleaders. In all my years at this HS, the only girl whom I’d ever see in high-heeled shoes and obvious makeup would be stared at like an alien and relentlessly made fun of behind her back.

I briefly imagine the scene that would ensue if I ever turned up in my HS wearing these hooker-shoes, then shudder in horror.)

Me: *with blank shock in my face* “No! I can’t! I can’t even walk in anything like that! And… and… they’re ugly! … And I can never wear that kind of… of… thing…. to school!”

Mom: “Why you… ” *Shouting now* How dare you!!! You’re the most unreasonable and ungrateful child that anyone’s ever had the misfortune to be saddled with!!! I can’t believe you’re choosing to be such a pain in the ass!!! Here I am, making an effort, bringing you to buy expensive shoes that are THE HEIGHT OF FASHION here and you just have to spit in my face, don’t you?! DON’T YOU?!?!”

Me: “…” *I look down in misery*

Mom: *threateningly* “You’re going to put these on and that’s final, you ungrateful brat!!! These are GREAT shoes! They’re PERFECT for you and we’re buying them for your school wardrobe!!!”

*I just stand silently and try to tune out of existence.*

(There was more angry yelling and threats, and though I didn’t say another word, since arguing was clearly futile, I also just wouldn’t move physically any closer to the shoes.

I have not the slightest doubt that, were we not in public, this would’ve ended up with a true full-volume hysterics-fuelled tantrum on her part. Fortunately, we were in public, and she soon realized people were quickly staring to pay attention – and that to them she likely looked plain out crazy.

She huffed for show very loudly, glared at me meanly, and dragged me out of there in a cloud of frustration and hot anger. I have no further memory of that day and I’m not sure how long it took for me to get usable shoes that year.

Funnily enough, by the time I was in senior year of high school, she’d completely shut up about her ideas of American “fashion”, and was regularly buying sneakers and even *clogs*, for me and herself. I assume this was a function of finally getting out into the real world via getting a job, and seeing how *real humans* are dressing themselves around here.)

When I’m close to 18, around 01′, my parents apparently decide that I must have my own bank account, since in a few months I will be going off to college on my own. I only learn about this after I get in the car with my dad; beforehand he’d just ordered me in and said he needed me along to run some errands. Note: at this point I know nothing whatsoever about opening or using any kind of financial accounts.

We get to the bank branch, and after we stand in line, the clerk informs dad that he’s brought insufficient identification paperwork for me. They have – openly available – a very clear list of what minimum paperwork is required to open an account.

I don’t remember exactly, but he had brought either my license or my passport (which was non-US issued), and I think they required the SSN card as well or something similar.

This means we must drive all the way home, get the paperwork, drive all the way back, and stand in line again.

My father seems very upset at the waste of time, as well as the fact that – since he’d opened his own bank accounts in this same branch only a few years ago – he obviously comes off as a bit of an idiot. He clearly dislikes this greatly, so he turns to me with a thunderous face right there in front of the clerk.

Dad: *angrily, as if he genuinely believes I’ve deliberately sabotaged him* “Why the hell didn’t you tell me to bring along (paperwork)? Why didn’t you check that I had everything we needed?? Didn’t you know exactly what papers we’d need?!?!?!?! You should have known!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Me: *Utterly speechless.*

(However, I immediately gave him such a taken-aback and appalled look in front of the clerk and everyone else that he seemed to judge it best to quickly lay off me and shut up.

He remained absolutely stone silent the entire time we drove home, got the paperwork, drove back, and stood in line again (which all wasted close to another hour). He wouldn’t even look at me.
I was mostly thankful, and also kept marveling at the fact that this was a 45-year-old man who’d – somehow – successfully arranged our family’s moves through 3 different countries and half a dozen different cities; as well as the rental, purchase, and sale of several apartments on the way. This same man who now was choosing to publicly blame his completely bewildered minor child over his own stupid mistake, and then sulking like a child himself over not getting away with it.)

I was really into theater as a high school student, and often spent most of my free time before or after class helping out in the theater department. There were several of us who volunteered, and we’d sometimes be alone in the building while working on sets, props, etc. The only area of the theater building we weren’t allowed to go into without a teacher was the light rigging area in the ceiling, for obvious safety reasons. Because of this, though, hardly anyone went up there unless there was a play or school function in production.

One afternoon, I arrived to help the theater teacher and found the entrance to the building blocked off. The teacher was waiting outside, looking pretty upset. It turned out, they’d found an older homeless woman living in the light rigging area in the ceiling! The teacher was waiting while the police and our school resource officer searched the rest of the building.

They had no idea how long she’d been up there, but they’d found a stack of old blankets and at least a dozen empty liquor bottles. It didn’t even occur to me until I was home later that night, that the woman must have been up there while we were all in our theater classes! Considering how much she was drinking, it was also a miracle she didn’t roll off the lighting platform, since there was no guard rail or anything up there.

The school didn’t press charges, since it seemed like she didn’t have any malicious intent being there and never approached any of the students, and all the locks on the doors in the building were replaced. However, we also weren’t allowed to volunteer in the building without a teacher there anymore.