(The people working at my local coffee shop are very friendly, and are used to my zombie-like behavior since I come in most mornings.)

Me: *tired and very zombie like* “Coffeeee…”

Barista: “Good morning, Miss [My Name]! I’m guessing you want your usual?”

Me: *tired nod*

Barista: “You’re even more zombie-like than usual; didn’t you sleep last night?”

Me: “Yeah… Mother gave me a sleeping pill.”

Barista: “Ah. That explains it. All right then, one Javalanche, coming right up.”

(Nodding and paying, I go wait for my coffee at the end of the line.)

Barista: *handing me my coffee and one of their muffins* “The muffin’s on me. Enjoy!”

(Our local mall has a “youth escort policy” where kids under 18 have to be accompanied by adults after 6 pm. This story takes place when I am a freshman in high school, on a shopping trip with my friends as well as someone’s mom.)

Mom: “I’d like to get a coffee. Do you think they’d mind if I went into that shop right there while you looked at those scarves?”

Friend: “Oh, of course not.”

(Note that while she is in the shop she is no more than 15 feet away from us. We are giggling and trying on scarves.)

Security Guard: “What do you ladies think you’re doing?”

Friend #1: *very nervous* “Uh… um, looking at these scarves?”

Friend #2: *calmly* “Oh, we’re just trying these on. I hope you don’t mind. We can put them back if you’d like. Sorry to be a bother—”

Security Guard: “No! Don’t talk to me like that; you know full well what you’re doing, and I don’t like it.”

Friend #2: “I’m sorry, sir, um—”

Security Guard: *to his walkie-talkie* “Hello, we’ve got some girls who are trying to pull some monkey business with this scarf stand—”

Me: “Wait, no, sir! I’m sorry; her mom is in the coffee shop! We can show you, here. See? She’s coming out now!”

Mom: “What seems to be the problem, sir?”

Security Guard: “Well, they are in violation of our youth escort policy! They could be up to no good! You should do a better job of keeping track of your kids!”

Mom: “Get a life, a**-hole.”

(We all stand, gaping at her nerve.)

Mom: “You don’t need to kick us out. We’re leaving. Come on, girls, let’s go.”

(A compensation agency just called the house and I happen to pick up the phone. I am a 16-year-old schoolgirl who doesn’t do drugs, has never been in a car accident, and cannot drive.)

Me: “Hello?”

Caller: “Hello, I am calling from accident helpline in England.”

Me: “Oh, yes? About what?”

Caller: “You had a car accident recently, correct?”

Me: “Yes, actually, I did.”

Caller: “How long ago was this accident? It was recently, yes?”

Me: “Oh, yes. Yes, I had a car accident very recently.”

Caller: “And you were alone in the car?”

Me: “Yes, I was alone driving my car.”

Caller: “Okay, well you had this accident and it wasn’t your fault.”

Me: “Well, I can’t really say it wasn’t my fault. I took the cocaine. No one forced me.”

Caller: “…what?”

Me: “I took the cocaine.”

Caller: “Oh, Jesus.” *hangs up*

(My phone suddenly stops being able to receive calls or call out. I’ve just received an identical replacement phone in the mail that’s actually worse than my original phone, and I’ve had to pay for the replacement phone. I get online to try to resolve the issue.)

Me: “My phone is unable to make or receive calls. My replacement phone isn’t even connecting with the Internet properly. This is a huge problem because I’m pregnant and unable to communicate with my doctor.”

Customer Service: “Oh, no! Can we call you?”

Me: “…what did I just say?!

Related:
Calling Is Not Their Calling

(A delicious aroma wafts through the cabin on a budget flight with no hot meal service. The food trolley comes past.)

Me: “What do you have?”

Air Steward: “Sandwiches, cookies, chocolate bars.”

Me: “But what’s that yummy smell?”

Air Steward: “Oh! That’s the captains’ pie. We’re just warming it up for him.”

(At least they toasted my chicken sandwich.)