(I have been sick for 5 days after power went out at 1 a.m. and took the heat with it on a -2 degree Fahrenheit night. Wednesday, I had a death-rattle breathing and productive cough. Thursday, I got frostnip. Friday, I was running a fever. Saturday and Sunday, I got mild food poisoning. Monday, I’m finally able to get a doctor’s appointment. However, I am ready to snap because I’ve been awake 26 hours by this point and sleep in half-hour increments because I stop breathing while I’m asleep. So, I go to fill out the paperwork.)

Receptionist:  “Here you go, [My Name]. Just make sure to fill out the top two sheets and give them to the nurse. It’s standard for OB.”

Me: “I’m not here for an OB appointment.”

Receptionist: “Uh-huh. Just fill that out.”

(I obediently look over the paperwork where I need to talk about the baby daddy’s medical history and other information unrelated to me. I go back.)

Me: “I’m not an OB patient.”

Receptionist: “You have to fill out the paperwork for your appointment. Here’s a new copy if you couldn’t work out the first one. Go do that! We’ll be with you some time soon.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I go back with the new paperwork. Again, I’m staring at whether the father of the baby has ever had hepatitis. I go back.)

Me: “I’m. Not. An. OB patient.”

Receptionist: “You have to fill out the paperwork for—”

Me: “I’m not married. I’m not sexually active. I swear by all that’s holy I’m NOT PREGNANT.”

Receptionist: “Uh-huh. And your name is Kathleen [last name]?”

Me: “No, it’s Kathryn [last name].”

(The receptionist stares at her computer for a few moments.)

Receptionist: “…Oh, with the COUGH.”

Me: “Yeah. I can’t breathe. Can you PLEASE give me paperwork for someone who IS NOT PREGNANT?”

Receptionist: “Yeah… well, it’s like you have the same name.”

Me: “No, we don’t.”

(My friend, who has come in with me and is in the waiting room 5 feet away from the desk, speaks up.)

My Friend: “Notalwaysworking.com?”

Me: “Yeah.”

(I’m on break at a large retail store. Since I’m trained on the photo equipment, I’m helping a coworker sort pictures into envelopes. While we’re talking, a young couple walks up.)

Man: “Hi, we’re searching for this certain DVD.”

Coworker: “Well, this is Photo. You need to go to the electronics desk and ask for [coworker].”

Man: “What does he look like?”

(It should be noted that our coworker is a short, balding man with a giant blonde mustache and a beer belly that defies gravity, who constantly wears suspenders and small, round glasses. He reminds a lot of people of Jamie Hyneman from Mythbusters.)

Coworker: “He’s short, with a mustache and suspenders—”

Me: “Look for the Walrus.”

(After a second of silence, I realize what I’ve said and look up, blushing.)

Me: “Oh wait! Don’t tell him I said that!”

(The customers got a good laugh out of it, and promised not to tell, while my coworker ribbed me about it every time he passed by Photo and I was there!)

(I’m picking up lunch for my daughter and myself on the way home from running errands. The employee who has taken my order has been very polite and my order is correct. However, I notice there is standing water on the counter. Not just a wet counter: I mean puddles of water. After bagging my food in a paper bag, she proceeds to set it down in the large puddle for me to take.)

Me: “Could I possibly get a plastic bag?”

Employee: *wrinkles her nose* “Why?”

Me: “Well, two reasons. One, it’s easier for me to carry something with a handle. Two, the bottom of the bag is wet and I don’t want it ripping and spilling my food out before I get home.”

(She looks at the bag, and sees the water that’s already soaked at least two inches up the bag.)

Employee: “How did you get it wet?”

Me: “I didn’t; the counter is soaked.”

Employee: *hysterical* “What did you do?! What did you do to this counter?!”

(As she goes to inspect the cardboard holder that contains the drinks to go with my order, even though neither were water, the manager comes over and literally shoves her out of sight.)

Manager: “I am so sorry about that. Let me get you a bag.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Manager: “Sometimes, I wish we had to issue IQ tests to hire people…”

(I’m getting onto the bus with my seven-year-old son. He gets on ahead of me and puts his fare into the machine.)

My Son: *to the driver* “Thank you! May I have a transfer, please?” *gets transfer* “Thank you!”

(My son goes off to find his seat. As I start to put my fare in, the driver stops me and hands me a transfer.)

Me: “Are you sure?”

Bus Driver: “Yes. Your son is very polite, so thank you!”

(I kept note of the driver’s name and bus number so I could compliment him to the company on excellent customer service!)

(Many years ago our store switched from clocking in on the registers to clocking in using a backroom computer. About two months after this change, we got a new cardboard template to put around the F keys on the keyboard. The template had a big arrow pointing to the NumLock key by the number pad, with a message in large letters: “If your employee ID numbers do not appear on the clock-in screen, press this button.”)

Me: *to the manager* “You’re kidding.”

Manager: “Nope. 23% of the calls to the help desk.”