(I’m renewing my passport at the passport office. I have a bit of an unusual middle name that is more like a last name.)

Worker: “Okay, I just need your old passport and three pieces of photo ID.”

Me: *hands her the documents*

Worker: “Oh, honey, you’re going to have to re-order all of your IDs! They’ve spelled your name wrong on everything! How have you even been able to use this old passport?!”

Me: “Excuse me? I’m pretty sure that they’re all correct.”

Worker: “No, they’re all wrong! Look!” *points out my middle name* “See? They didn’t hyphenate your two last names!”

Me: “No, those are correct. That’s my middle name.”

Worker: “No, it’s not! No one has that for a middle name! You obviously don’t have a middle name and they’ve messed up all your documents!”

(By this point she has raised her voice significantly and is drawing the attention of almost everyone in the office.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m serious. That is my middle name and there is nothing wrong with any of my IDs!”

Worker: “NO, NO, NO! I need to fix all of this right now!”

Me: “Please do not enter any different information than what’s already there! That IS my middle name and I need my passport to show that!”

Worker: “NO! You’re wrong! No one has a middle name like that! You’ve been lied to!”

Me: “Okay, this is getting crazy! Can I please talk to your supervisor about this?”

Worker: “No, you can’t! You don’t need to! You just need to let me fix this!”

(Luckily another worker has gone to get the supervisor while this is happening.)

Supervisor: “[Worker], what are you doing?!”

Worker: “They’ve messed up all of this poor girls IDs!! Her name isn’t correct on any of them and I need to FIX THIS!”

(She is basically screaming by this point and everyone has stopped what they’re doing and started to stare.)

Supervisor: “Lower your voice right now! You never talk to a customer this way. What honestly makes you think that a 24 year old woman doesn’t know her own name?”

Worker: “Because no one has that for a middle name!”

Me: “I do! It was my grandmother’s maiden name. It may be an unconventional middle name but it is still my middle name nonetheless.”

Supervisor: “[Worker], go take your break now. I’ll handle this and we can have a chat about this later.”

Worker: *starts yelling as she is walking away* “You’re wrong! You’ve been lied to! No one has that for a middle name! It’s a last name!”

Supervisor: “I am so sorry about this! I can honestly say I don’t think that she will be working here after today. She always has something to say if someone has even the slightest different spelling or an unconventional name.”

Me: “Thanks for intervening. I didn’t know how else to explain it!”

Supervisor: “No need. Now let’s get you a new, CORRECT passport.”

(I have just moved into my apartment and I need some work done by several people.)

Carpenter: *there to fix the lock on my door* “Wow, the one who put this must be really stupid.”

Electrician: *there to fix my speaker system* “Woah, whoever did this didn’t know what they were doing.”

Plumber: *there to fix my leaking bathroom sink* “Huh, what on earth have they been doing down here?”

(Needless to say, I don’t really trust anything in my apartment anymore.)

(I’ve got a weird sort of insomnia; about once or twice a year I’ll go several nights barely sleeping, then suddenly crash out before the sun goes down and ‘catch up’ whether I want to or not. I’m in the middle of one of these bouts when I’m just picking up a couple things from the store.)

Cashier: “Oh, are you okay?”

Me: “Not really; dealing with insomnia.”

Cashier: “Oh, I HAAAATE that. I barely got any sleep last night myself. Try popping a couple bennies!”

Me: *not thinking straight* “What?”

Cashier: “You know, those sleeping pills! I don’t think I woulda gotten more than, like, seven hours last night.”

Me: “Oh, Benadryl… Yeah, first off those are allergy pills not sleep aids; if you take those to sleep you’re going to mess yourself up in the long run. Secondly, over-the-counter stuff doesn’t help me, and I don’t have it often enough to get a prescription. Third? You got seven hours last night, congrats. I got about three hours Sunday night, two hours Monday, and last night I didn’t even sleep; I was just in a half-conscious haze all night. Now can I just buy my cold cuts and milk and go home? Or would you like to tell me to treat my pneumonia with aspirin?”

(The cashier was stunned and just finished ringing me up. I admit I was a little harsh with her, but given that she was giving me party-girl advice for a clinical condition and I wasn’t thinking straight to begin with, I didn’t feel TOO bad about it!)

(I work two jobs, and one of them is a 45 minute drive from home. My current car needs yet another costly repair, and we have not yet finished paying off the last repair. We all agree it is time to buy a new car, and my dad goes with me for some test drives. The first test goes off without a hitch; we are given the keys and we like the handle of the car. We then go across the street to a different dealership to test drive one of theirs.)

Sales Representative: “All right, let me get your information, and we’ll set you up. Do you have a particular color [Model] in mind?”

Me: “Nope! We just want to get a feel for the car today.”

Sales Representative: “No problem; let me go get one off the lot.”

(We wait, and she comes back a few minutes later with the car. She gets in the back seat, which threw us both off a little, but we didn’t think much of it. I go to start the car and inch it along, a little nervous with it being unfamiliar and having someone else in the car.)

Me: *turning onto busy street, trying to get it up to speed* “Wow… this car really has no pickup.”

(My dad and the rep chat while I drive. We find out she’s been on the sales floor for about three months. Everything’s pleasant enough until I realize no matter how hard I push on the gas, the car is slowing down.)

Me: “Why is it slowing down? What did I do?!”

(Both the rep and my dad are alarmed as we slow down to about 15 mph in a 35 mph zone with a very confused car behind us.)

Dad: “You’re out of gas, that’s why!”

(He quickly directs us safely into a long driveway while the sales rep goes pale.)

Sales Representative: “Oh, my god, I didn’t even look at the gas meter…”

Me: “Neither did I. I should have looked at it too before we got going.”

(We spent about twenty minutes waiting for another sales rep to bring us a gas can. We eventually got underway, and were able to test it fully. We kinda had to laugh at the whole situation; it was just a rookie mistake, and I doubt she’ll make it again! We hope her coworkers didn’t give her too hard a time about it.)

(I’m about ten years old. My two friends and I want to go swimming. It’s early spring, and though the outside pool is open, there is no one using it since it’s too cold. We buy our tickets without a problem, change into our bathing suits, and head for the pool, when we are stopped by a pool boy.)

Pool Boy: “I’m sorry, you girls aren’t allowed in here.”

Friend #1: “Why not?”

Pool Boy: “Only people over the age of 15 can come in today!”

(We see a tanned girl our age running past us at the very same second.)

Friend #2: “But she can come in!” *pointing at the girl*

Pool Boy: “Yes. She’s Islamic. Only people over 15 and Islamic people may use the pool today.”

(At that moment I spot a mother with two toddlers.)

Me: “And what about them? Those are two little girls!”

Pool Boy: “Only people above 15, Islamic, or under four years old may use the pool today! You can use the outdoor pool though.”

All Of Us: “But it’s freezing out there!”

Pool Boy: “None of my business. You’re not coming in.”

(We decide this has no use. Not knowing what to do, two of us stay at the shower area, where we are allowed apparently, while my friend goes outside to find someone who can help us. We get loads of questions from other pool guests why were are just standing there. When we explain we’re not allowed in, everyone thinks it is an outrage. Eventually my friend comes back, crying and with a bleeding foot. She tripped over a loose tile. Pool boy comes back.)

Pool Boy: “And now you are soiling the shower area with your blood? Get out! You are not allowed in here!”

(We had enough, get dressed again, and go home. Our moms called the pool and no one was aware of any rule that excluded anyone who wasn’t Islamic, over 15, or under 4.)