(It’s my 18th birthday, and I’m super excited to legally buy my first pack of smokes. As soon as I get up, I go to our local gas station literally right down the street.)

Me: *walks up to counter* “Hey, may I have a pack of Camel Blues and the blue American Spirits?”

Employee: “ID please?”

(I take out my ID and hand it to the employee. She looks at my ID for a few seconds, and then looks at me incredulously.)

Employee: “I’m sorry; I can’t sell these to you.”

Me: “What? Why not?”

Employee: “I don’t know what time you were born.”

Me: “I was born at 1:59 in the morning this day 18 years ago. What does that have to do with anything?”

Employee: *shrugs* “Sorry. I can’t sell them to you.”

Me: “Ma’am, technically, in the eyes of the state, I turned 18 yesterday. It says specifically on my license, ‘under 18 until x/x/xxx.’ That is today. I am allowed to buy cigarettes.”

Employee: *shrugs again* “Sorry.”

Me: “Whatever.”

(I leaves the gas station and go up the street to another and buy my cigarettes successfully. The other cashier even wishes me a happy birthday!)

(It’s my first day as an intern at a magazine publishing company. In order to ensure everything printed is accurate, I call to verify information. Currently I’m calling local business owners listed in our free directory to make sure they offer what we say they offer and they’re still open.)

Me: “Hello. My name is [Name] and I’m calling from [Magazine]. I just wanted to—”

Owner: “No, we don’t want any. I don’t want to pay for anything.”

Me: “Actually, ma’am, it’s a free listing, and I’m just calling to verify—”

Owner: “No! I don’t want to pay for anything!”

Me: “Again, ma’am, this is a free listing. I just wanted to verify some basic information about your business.”

Owner: “I don’t care what you want! I’m not paying for anything!”

Me: This doesn’t cost anything. It’s free. I just want to make sure you’re still located at [address].”

Owner: “I’m not going to tell you that!”

Me: “Ma’am, this is free advertising. If you’ll just let me—”

Owner: “No! I’m not giving you my credit card information!”

Me: “I’m not asking for any of that. I just want to verify your address.”

Owner: “No! I don’t care! I’m not giving you my credit card number or social security number! You’ve already scammed one of my employees!”

Me: “What? No, I just want to verify that you’re located at [address].”

Owner: “No! I’m not listening and I’m not giving you any of my numbers! I’m closing the shop! I’m closing!”

Me: “Oh, are you closing for the day or going out of business?”

Owner: “I’m closing! I’m not giving you my social security number! I’m closing!”

(The owner of the local business hangs up on me. I look over at my supervisor, who’s sitting behind me, confused as to what I should do.)

Supervisor: “She said she was closing?”

Me: “Yeah, after she accused me of trying to steal her social security number. But I don’t know if she meant they were closing for the day or going out of business.”

Supervisor: “Well, if they don’t want free advertising, cut ’em.”

(Two years later, I heard that business closed down for good. Maybe if they would have let us given them free advertising, we could have saved their store.)

(I’m at a board games convention, where a number of retailers have stalls. I go to one who is a franchisee of a parent company.)

Me: “I’d like to buy [Game], please.”

Seller: “Sure. It’s $90.00.”

Me: “On your email, it says it’s $65, on sale.”

Seller: “That’s only a one-day sale. You’ve missed it.”

Me: *opening the email on my phone* “No, it says it’s all week.”

Seller: “Oh. But it’s only on the online store.”

Me: “The email doesn’t indicate that. See, here’s the dates the sale is available for, and here’s the large colorful banner saying to come and see you at the convention for these sale prices.”

Seller: *shocked* “But… but no one ever reads the emails. Ever.”

Me: “I do. Do I need to contact your parent company and explain that you aren’t giving people the correct price?”

Seller: *panicked* “No. Here’s the game for $65, and I’ll give you any expansions for half price.”

(I’m working at a popular retail store over the summer. I open one morning, and an hour before we open the doors, my manager tells me to wait in the fitting room for him to bring me shirts to fold. It takes him about two minutes, and while I wait, I doodle on a post-it note on the desk. He brings me the shirts and the day goes on as usual. The next week, I get called into the office by the second manager.)

Manager: “Ah, there you are. Can I ask what this is?” *he holds up my doodle*

Me: “It was just something I sketched while I waited for [Other Manager] to bring me shirts to fold.”

Manager: “You know, we really can’t tolerate this laziness.”

Me: “…I’m sorry, what?”

Manager: “This must have taken you over ten minutes. Surely there was something more productive you could have been doing.”

Me: “It took me about two minutes, and no, I had already gone through fitting room open procedure. I was folding shirts BECAUSE I had nothing else to do. I’m sorry it bothered you, though; I won’t do it again.”

Manager: “This is really just unacceptable. Your work ethic is lacking and the idea that you would spend so much time drawing on the job is concerning to me.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but it really was just two minutes, and the store wasn’t open yet. I promise I checked to make sure there was nothing else in the fitting room to take care of.”

Manager: “You’re lucky I found this and hid this before the district manager saw it. He’d be furious.”

Me: “Right, well—”

Manager: “Seriously, you broke so many policies by doing this.”

Me: “Sir, my shift started ten minutes ago; can I get to work now?”

Manager: “Fine. But this absolutely cannot happen again. If you’re going to waste hours of our time doodling, you should just quit.”

(I did quit not long after, and got a new job at a coffee shop; the best part is that when my manager at the coffee shop found one of my doodles that I did on my break, he promoted me to head of their advertising department and I got a raise!)

(My aunt and I have stopped for dinner at a very popular steak house. This takes place after our waiter has delivered our starter salads and we’ve eaten nearly half.)

Aunt: “Oh my God!”

Me: “What?”

Aunt: “There is a worm in my salad!”

(I look down and sure enough, there is a tiny little green worm clinging to a piece of lettuce on her plate. We wave the waiter over to our table.)

Aunt: “Excuse me; there is a worm in my salad.”

Waiter: “You’re right. That is a worm. That’s weird. They’re usually in the broccoli…”