(This happened to my dad a long time ago. He and Mum had recently emigrated from Britain and didn’t know very many people in their new Canadian city, so when his boss invites him and Mum to Boss’s daughter’s wedding, it is a very nice surprise. Mum is thrilled by the invitation, and she pinches pennies so that she and Dad can afford decent clothes for the event as well as a babysitter for me.)

Boss: “Ah, [Dad], there you are! Here, you’ll need this.” *hands Dad a camera*

Dad: “What’s this for?”

Boss: “To take photos of the wedding and reception, of course.”

Dad: “But… I’m not a photographer. Didn’t you hire one?”

Boss: “Why pay some photographer good money when all you need is a camera and someone to use it?”

Dad: “But that means I’ll be leaving my wife alone for a large part of the day, and she doesn’t know anyone.”

Boss: “Oh, she’ll be fine.”

(Dad gave up at that point. Poor Mum had a miserable lonely day, since she was quite shy and no-one bothered to try to include her in their conversations. Dad did his best to take some nice photographs, but unbeknownst to him, the camera had jammed after the first couple of pictures. He didn’t realize this, because the camera wasn’t one with which he was familiar. So, because Boss was too cheap to pay a professional photographer, his daughter didn’t get any photos of her big day. I always wonder what she had to say to her father about that.)

(I work internal tech support. A user from our marketing department calls in to ask why his emails to an external recipient keep bouncing. I take a look at the bounce-back message, and it indicates that the sender’s address was blocked by the end user.)

Me: “This isn’t really an error message; our system sent the e-mail successfully. However, the end recipient chose to block it as spam, which is why you’re getting these bounce-backs.”

Marketing: “Can you unblock our email address?”

Me: “No, because the block is on their end. It’s not in our system so we have no control over it.”

Marketing: “Why would they flag my email as spam? It’s not spam. It’s a legitimate marketing email blast.”

Me: “Apparently it looked enough like spam that they didn’t want to receive it any more.”

Marketing: “How do I make my emails so that they don’t look like spam and people want to read them?”

Me: “You’re the marketing department. You tell me.”

(I get a call on my cell phone about lowering my credit card interest rates. I don’t actually have a credit card, so I know it’s fake, but I push the button to speak to a representative so I can request to have my number taken off their list. I am treated to a series of ear-piercing numbers, and then I hear this:)

Caller #1: “I only have $200 in credit card bills. I don’t need my rates lowered.”

Me: “Wait, why am I…”

Caller #2: “I don’t have a credit card at all, so I know this is a scam and you should all be ashamed of yourselves! I just want my number taken off your system!”

Me: “Me, too! How many of us are on this call?!”

Caller #2: “There’s at least three of us… What in the world?”

Me: “And we’re all people who got called; I don’t think there’s even a representative on the line!”

(We all start to chuckle.)

Caller #1: “Welcome to America. I don’t believe this.”

Caller #2: “This is actually kind of funny. Well, ladies, this just goes to prove it’s a scam!”

Me: “Sure does!”

Caller #1: “At least we have solidarity!”

(We all wished each other a good day and hung up laughing. In the end it was pretty funny, but I’d really like to know what in the world happened at the call center that we all ended up talking to each other instead of someone working for the outfit!)

(I’m in London for the weekend with a friend and we’re visiting a restaurant I always go to when I travel there. They usually have great food and good service, and are strict about allergies if you explain them when you order. I’m deathly allergic to tomatoes and go into anaphylactic shock if I eat any.)

Server: *after taking my friend’s order* “And you, miss?”

Me: “I’d like the English Breakfast platter, but can you make sure there aren’t any tomatoes or any ketchup in it? I’m extremely allergic.”

Server: *surprised* “Seriously? But ketchup is awesome!”

Me: “Sadly, yes. Could you also ask that if anything on the platter is prepared or cooked with tomatoes the chef skips that in my order? I’m fine with losing out on some stuff.”

Server: *sighs* “Fine. But we don’t comp prices if you remove things from the standard order.”

(I’m surprised by this, since they’ve done just that several times for me in the past, but I still go ahead and order and wait for the food to come.)

Server: *with food* “Enjoy your breakfasts.”

(After thanking him, we dig in. Call it paranoia and bad customer behaviour, but I always poke around in my food with a fork before eating out of fear of a tomato slipping in unnoticed.)

Me: “What the h***?!”

Friend: *alarmed* “What?”

Me: *shocked and angry* “There’s ketchup smeared on the underside of practically everything on this plate!”

(My friend, a tiny 5’ 4” woman, storms off to look for a manager while I quietly panic. One couple next to us has taken notice and asks me what’s going on. My friend comes back with a manager and the server soon after.)

Manager: *to me* “I’m very sorry for the mix up in your order, miss. We take allergies very seriously and—” *looks at my plate* “What the bloody h***, [Server]! None of our dishes looks like that, and the lady’s friend has told me she explained her allergy!” *to me* “Do I need to call for an ambulance, miss?”

Me: “No, thankfully I didn’t have any. But this is so not okay. If I’d eaten this I could have died.”

Server: *angry* “No one is allergic to ketchup! Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean you’re allergic!”

Manager: “Go to my office. Now.”

(Our food got comped and the chef came out to apologise. The server had written that I wanted ketchup on the underside of everything except the eggs, and being as accommodating as they are, complied with the request.)

This story is part of our Food Allergies roundup!

Read the next Food Allergies roundup story!

Read the Food Allergies roundup!

(This takes place when I’m in boot camp. Several people in my division are told we need to get our wisdom teeth removed. I go to my appointment, and the dentist performing the procedure on me already looks irritated when she walks into the room. When she pulls out the needle to numb my jaw, I start trembling the from anxiety of having a giant needle pointed at my face. The fact that I normally do not have a problem with needles and am having this unexpected reaction upsets me even more.)

Dentist: *sees me shaking and rolls her eyes* “Calm down, would you?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I’m trying to!”

(She begins to jab the needle into my gums and while it wasn’t painful, it was still extremely uncomfortable. Each time I whimper, she rolls her eyes and grumbles about how people need to quit being babies. She numbs the right side of my jaw and moves to my left side. This time, she practically stabs me in the gums and I immediately feel a sharp pain through the whole side of my face. This causes to me to scream and jump, probably not the smartest thing to do with a needle still in your mouth.)

Me: “OW! WHAT THE F***!”

(I sit straight up and she shoves me back down into the chair.)

Dentist: “SIT DOWN! Stop being so d*** difficult!”

Me: “Woman, that f****** hurt like h***! You hit someth…”

(Right then, my entire jaw closes and seizes up, I can barely open my mouth.)

Dentist: “Stop being such a wuss! You’re just making this worse on yourself, now open your mouth!”

Me: *as best as I can through closed teeth* “I. CAN’T!”

Dentist: “Bull-s***! Quit being difficult!”

(She then tries to physically pry my mouth open which results in a couple minutes of severe pain in my jaw and her getting mad when I reach up to pull her hands away from my face. She eventually realizes that I’m not just refusing to cooperate and there really is something wrong with my jaw. She glares at me for a moment and storms from the room. She returns a few minutes later and throws a sheet of paper at me which turns out to be an appointment slip.)

Dentist: “We can’t do this today. Come back on [date]!”

(I attempt to mime the question “What about my mouth?”)

Dentist: “You’ll just have to wait. If it’s still messed up in a few hours, come back. Get out.”

(I returned to my barracks where it took an hour for my jaw to release and I could open and close it normally. My division commanders and some of my fellow recruits had a good laugh at me in the meantime. I went back on the day the appointment slip specified and ended up with a more cheerful, sympathetic dentist who extracted my wisdom teeth with no issues!)