(A bike tire has two parts, an inflated tube inside a rubber tire. The tube inside my bike tire goes flat, as do the next two tubes I inflate in there. My tire is new, so I assume there must be something sharp sticking out of it. I bring it to the bike shop where I bought it.)

Me: “Excuse me. I bought this tire here, but all of the tubes I’ve used have gone flat. I’d like to exchange it for a different one.”

Employee: “Let me look at it.”

(The employee pulls the tube out and re-inflates it to examine the hole closely.)

Employee: “See? Here’s your problem. This is a pinch-flat. You pinched the tube when you put it inside the tire.”

(I know about pinch-flats, and I’m always very careful to avoid them. I haven’t had one in years, and it seems unlikely that I pinched three tubes in a row.)

Me: “I don’t think it’s a pinch-flat.”

Employee: *very condescending* “Yes, of course it is. See? See the way the holes are? That means that when you were putting the tube back in the tire, you got some of it PINCHED. That’s why it’s called a PINCH-FLAT. The tire itself is fine.”

Me: “Oh. Well, I don’t think that’s very likely, but I guess it’s possible.”

Employee: “Yeah. The tire is fine. Here, I’ll change your tire for you, and I’ll make sure—see what I’m doing?—that I don’t pinch it by mistake.”

Me: “Yes. Fine. I get it.”

(The employee puts the new tube in the tire and inflates it. He holds it up for me at the counter.)

Employee: “See? Nothing pinched, and it holds fine. You just need to learn to—”

(The tube inside the tire suddenly explodes in his hand, scaring half the shop. There is a moment of silence.)

Employee: “…all right. You can have a new tire.”

(My dad is the go to guy in our neighbourhood for PC advice. We have at least five calls a day asking for help on this thing or that thing. As a joke my dad starts answering phones saying ‘Software support.’)

Dad: “Software Support.”

Telemarketer: “Hi… Uh, what?”

Dad: “Yes, you’re through to the software support line. How can I help?”

Telemarketer: “Oh… uhm, sorry. I was calling a Mr [Family Name]. Is he there?”

Dad: “I don’t know. Is it regarding software issues?”

Telemarketer: “Er, no. We want to talk about his credit rating.”

Dad: “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you there. You called me because of your software issues.”

(At this point the telemarketer is so confused they forget who actually placed the call.)

Telemarketer: “Oh, did you call me about the PC I’m on?”

Dad: “I don’t know. Is that where your software issues are?”

Telemarketer: “Well yes… Uh, sort of. It’s running really, really slowly.”

Dad: “Ah, I see. I will contact someone about this right away. Bye now.” *click*

(To this day I do not know exactly how long the telemarketer waited about his IT problem, but I do know we were never called by that company again!)

(I work at a call center doing business to business market research surveys. I’ve been doing one about contact lenses. We are trained to be vague, initially, until we can find the person we are looking for who can do the survey, as gatekeepers often block us and respondents tend to come up with excuses. Some people are cross, some people take it in stride.)

Me: *following script* “Hi. I’m calling about contact lenses. Do you fit contact lenses at this location?”

Person On Phone: “Yes, we do.”

Me: *skipping a part of the intro* “Is the contact lens fitter available for two quick questions?”

Person On Phone: “That is me.”

Me: *launches into full intro* “Hi. I’m calling from [Market Research Company] for a quick two question survey. Can you help me out with this today?”

Person On Phone: “AHHHHH! You got me! I thought you were a customer. Oh well, might as well. D*** you.”

Me: *holding back laughter* “Thank you very much, sir.”

(My sister and I enter the washroom to find a mop bucket and a caution sign blocking our way. We look at each other unsure of what to do. An employee walks in and started to mop the floor.)

Sister: “Um… Can we go in or…?”

Employee: “The sign says ‘Caution,’ not ‘Do not walk!'”

(My daughter is scheduled to have corrective surgery on her eyes. I come straight from work to pick her up, knowing she will be on heavy drugs to help with pain and anxiety. I go to the office where my daughter has told me to wait.)

Me: “Hi. I’m here to wait for [Daughter]. She should be going into surgery about now.”

Receptionist: “Oh, okay! Come wait in here.”

(I am guided into a completely different office.)

Receptionist: *to nurse* “Is [Daughter] here?”

Nurse: “Yep, she just went back for surgery.”

(I sit and wait with my seven-year-old son for an hour and a quarter. I’m starting to wonder why it’s taking so long, but remember my daughter had warned it could be close to two hours. I decide to keep waiting, when I look up and realize the staff are putting on their coats and turning out the lights to leave.)

Receptionist: *noticing me* “Oh, are you still waiting for [Not My Daughter’s Name]?”

Me: “No, I’m waiting for [Daughter]. Is she almost done?”

Receptionist: “Oh. She left.”

Me: “What?! Where did she go?!”

Receptionist: “Umm… [Nurse], is this lady’s daughter in surgery?”

Nurse: “Nope, everyone is gone.”

Receptionist: “Sorry, ma’am. I don’t know where she went. You’ll have to leave so we can close up.”

Me: “She’s on heavy drugs! I’m not going anywhere until you find her!”

(I try to stay calm so I don’t panic my son, but start thinking of everything that could have possibly happened to my daughter and where she could have gone. The receptionist goes into the back and grabs the doctor.)

Doctor: “What’s the problem?”

Me: “I’ve been waiting in here for an hour and a half for my daughter. She just had surgery, she’s heavily drugged, and you let her walk out of here completely alone?”

Doctor: “You should have been waiting at [first office I went to]. I’m not responsible for what happens to her after surgery. Get out so we can go home.”

Me: “I am not leaving until you find my daughter!”

(I am stunned and furious. The doctor and receptionist glare at me as I stand there in the middle of the office and refuse to move while two nurses are sent off to search for my daughter. They come back five minutes later, without her.)

Nurse: “Found her!”

Me: “What? Then where is she?”

(My daughter stumbled in behind the nurses, clearly struggling to stay awake and unable to form a clear sentence. I barely managed to get her down to the car before she completely passed out, with no apology from anyone at the office. I found out later that they had thrown her out immediately after surgery, not bothering to ask if anyone was coming to pick her up or if she had a ride. She had been waiting in the building lobby, six floors down, for 45 minutes when the nurses found her half asleep on a couch!)