(I suffer from anxiety, and it is often noticeable in my demeanor when I am at work. My manager is male; I am female.)

Manager: “You’re doing fine, really. It’s okay to relax. Take some deep breaths.”

Me: “I know. It’s just hard.”

Manager: “One of these days I’m going to take you out to the alleyway behind the shop and make you scream.”

Me: “…”

Manager: “… I mean, it’s a really good confidence building exercise – the primal scream! God, that sounded really wrong. Sorry.”

(I am visiting London at a time when they are having a 99p sale on bacon double cheeseburgers. However, the “bacon” is a limp piece of meat instead of the crispy strip my American tastes prefer; furthermore, the bacon double is prepared with no condiments on it.)

Me: “Can I just get a regular double cheeseburger for 99p? I don’t like the bacon double.”

Cashier: “No, the double cheeseburgers are regular price.”

Me: “But they’re basically the same thing. In fact, the regular double doesn’t have the bacon on it, so its ingredients probably cost less anyway.”

Cashier: “I’m sorry, the double cheeseburger is regular price.”

Me: “All right, then, I’ll order a bacon double. But can I get it ‘my way?'”

Cashier: “Sure.”

Me: “I’ll have ketchup on it.”

Cashier: *typing this into the register* “Okay.”

Me: “And mustard, please. And pickles.”

Cashier: *also typing this into the register* “Okay.”

Me: “And just one other change; hold the bacon.”

(The cashier instantly realizes what I’ve done and gives me a dirty look. But I got my 99p regular double cheeseburger!)

(I am a lab scientist. Our hospital stocks small hand-held analyzers that can run some tests. Laws say that to calibrate or do anything with altering the analyzer’s technical or clinical functions, a certified lab scientist has to do it. I am running quality control and making adjustments to the hand-held analyzers when it gives me an error that I’ve never seen before. I walk to where our phlebotomists hang out when they aren’t doing anything, to ask if any of them have seen the error before. As I walk, I continue messing with the analyzer, trying to get it to work.)

Me: “Hey, guys have any of you… Nevermind. I fixed it.”

Phlebotomist #1: “What?”

Me: “Oh, it was just giving me an error I’d never seen before. But I fixed it.”

Phlebotomist #2: “If there’s an interface error, they reset automatically and fix themselves. You didn’t do anything.”

Me: *Shush. I am certified. And I pressed a button. I fixed it!”

(I am the customer in this story, buying drinks from a gas station. I work in retail myself. The cashier rings me out like normal until after the last register beep.)

Me: “Did you find everything you needed today?”

Cashier: *looking at me like I have horns*

Me: “Oh, my god, I cannot believe I just did that. I’m a cashier myself and didn’t realize how much of a habit that had become! I’m so sorry!”

Cashier: *dies of laughter*

(I drink large quantities of pop/soda. I went to the store to pick up a couple 12-packs, not grabbing a cart because I can carry them. They are out of my favorite, but have two-liter bottles on sale. I don’t want to get a cart, so I just pick up a box of eight of them.)

Cashier: “Dang, you got the whole box?”

Me: “I didn’t get a cart and was too lazy to walk and get one.”

Cashier: *takes one out and scans it 7 times* “Yeah, I get you man.” *pauses, then counts the bottles in the box under his breath* “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.”

(He proceeded to do this THREE times, even tapping the bottles as he counted. He put the eighth bottle in and promptly charged me for the seven he counted to. I just stood there in bewilderment.)

Cashier: “Have a nice day!”

Me: “Uh… you, too…”