(We rarely ever get calls on the house phone, so I answer the phone hesitantly when it rings.)

Caller: *in a very thick accent* “I am from [Phone Provider]. We have had reports that your computer is sending viruses to—”

Me: “No, thanks.” *hangs up*

(A few seconds later…)

Caller: “This is [Phone Provider]. We need to fix your computer.”

Me: “I said no, thanks.”

(Again, straight away…)

Caller: “This is [Phone Provider]; if you do not fix your computer you will go to jail! How does that sound? Do you want to go to jail?”

Me: “Free food and exercise?! Sounds good!” *hangs up*

(Again…)

Caller: “Listen, do not be hanging up on me. You have to talk to me!”

Me: “Okay, I’m bored with this now. I know you’re a lying, scamming, weasel, and frankly I think what you are doing is disgusting. I’m off sick so I have nothing better to do today, apart from calling you the waste of space that you are. Up to you…”

Caller: “…”

Me: “Thought so.”

Caller: *almost pleading* “But I am calling from [Phone Provider].”

Me: “No, you’re not, and f*** you.”

(Thankfully the calls stopped after that.)

(I work as a general manager in a restaurant that is one of several owned by three brothers. I always schedule myself the closing shift of Fridays. The restaurant I am running has an ongoing issue with the furnace that heats the dining room. I show up for my Friday night closing shift at 4:30 and immediately notice the customers in the dining room wearing their coats. I check the thermostat and it is 55 degrees in the dining room. I go to the manager that had been working all day.)

Me: “Hey, did you know the furnace isn’t on in the dining room?”

Manager: “Yeah, it hasn’t been on all day.”

(Because they own several restaurants, there is a full time maintenance person.)

Me: “Have you called [Maintenance Person]?”

Manager: “No. I figured I would wait for you to come in.”

(Annoyed I go and call the maintenance person.)

Me: “Hey, the furnace has kicked off again.”

Maintenance Person: “All right, I will be there right over.”

(I hang up the phone and it rings before I can even walk away. I answer and it’s one of the owners.)

Owner: “Hey, can that wait until Monday?”

Me: “It’s already 55 degrees in the dining room and it’s supposed to be single digit highs all weekend.”

Owner: “Well, we are already at the bar. I really think it could wait until Monday.”

Me: “The customers are already eating with their coats on. This cannot wait until Monday.”

Owner: “All right, I will send [Maintenance Person] over.”

(The maintenance person showed up about 20 minutes later with instructions to show me how to reset the furnace so they wouldn’t have to come out and do it any more. Heaven forbid I take the owner’s drinking buddy away from him.)

(The cashier is a young, handsome guy, who seems a little unsure of what he’s doing. In front of me in line is a clearly underage boy, maybe 14 or 15, with a kitchen knife in a sealed packet. I assume that this kid has been recruited by the police to see what the store does in the event that someone underage attempts to buy a weapon.)

Cashier: *looking at the boy, and then at me*

Boy: *looking at Cashier as if he’s thinking “Don’t do it”*

Cashier: *looking back at me*

Cashier: *looking at the boy* “That’ll be 15.99.”

Boy: *looking as if he’s hugely disappointed* “Okay.” *hands over change*

(As the boy leaves.)

Cashier: “Wait… you’re not with him?”

Me: “No…”

Cashier: “F***…”

(Because I knew what would happen, I stayed to help the cashier when the police came in about ten minutes later. He didn’t get into too much trouble because I helped to defend him. In the future, though, he should ask if the child is with their parent…)

(I’ve been selected for jury service at the local Crown Court, which is a big old building. The courtroom assistant is leading a bunch of us to the courtroom. We go through lots of dark, twisting corridors and staircases to get deeper into the building. Almost every fire extinguisher and hose reel we pass has ‘out of order’ on it.)

Juror: “I guess we’re screwed if any fires break out, then?”

Assistant: *happily* “Oh, definitely! Even the ones without ‘out of order’ labels don’t work!”

(I am the customer in this story. I’m about 18. My first car is a vintage VW Bug and it needs work often. Being a young female it is often assumed I do not know what is wrong with my car.)

Employee #1: “Can I help you?”

Me: “I need a generator for my car.”

Employee #1: “You mean an alternator.”

Me: “No, a generator. I have the item number if that helps.”

Employee #1: “You mean a carburetor.”

Me: “No, a generator.”

Employee #1: “Look, sweetie, why don’t you come back with your dad. I’m sure he can help you get the right part.”

Me: *getting frustrated* “Look, is there anyone else here? I’m looking for a generator for my big—”

(He starts to speak again but is interrupted by an older man behind the parts shelf.)

Employee #2: “You got a VW? What year?”

Me: “72 Super Beetle.”

Employee #2: “Hold on, I’ve got a generator on the other shelf.”

Employee #1: “Cars don’t have generators.”

(The old man just grins and says:)

Employee #2: “Maybe you shouldn’t assume you know everything.”

(I was grateful that I got the part and was treated with some respect. We ended up talking vintage cars for a good hour while the original employee licked his wounds.)