I was with a friend dropping off her kids at daycare. I was carrying her youngest, who kept calling me “Miss J,” as that’s what she has been taught to call me.

I handed her off to her daycare teacher and turned to walk out when a woman who had been behind me tried to hand me her kid. I just ignored her because I was half asleep and focused on other things, so she snapped her fingers at me.

Woman: “Hurry up! I’m late for work!”

It clicked that she thought I worked there.

Me: “I don’t work here, but I think she can help you.”

I pointed at one of the people who DID work there.

Woman: *Rolls her eyes.* “It takes two seconds to take my kid. I don’t care if you’re clocked in or not, do your d*** job.”

Me: “I don’t work here.”

I turned to walk away, and the lady stomped off. I went outside to wait for my friend. My friend came out a few moments later, laughing, and said to me:

Friend: “You’re fired.”

Me: “What are you talking about?”

Friend: “After you walked out, the lady who had been trying to get you to take her kid saw me, told me that you were extremely unprofessional and refused to do your job. She then demanded I fire you… “or else”.”

My friend also doesn’t work there!

I was dressed similarly to some of the workers, so I could understand thinking I worked there. I don’t know why she thought my friend, in her pajama bottoms and oversized sweater, worked there, though.

I work as a server in a Middle-Eastern restaurant. I’m starting a late shift, and my manager is already laying into a diner who has gotten on his nerves. The diner is a guy, mid-twenties, and seems to be on a date.

Manager: “No, sir, for the eleventh time, we will not make that. It was your choice to slide away the menu I gave you so that you could try to order whatever the most recent hipster TikTok cuisine is. I can’t believe I am standing here, explaining to a grown-a** man that our kitchen is limited to what it has in stock and the menu, the one that you ignored, is generally a pretty good indicator of what we can actually make, you f****** moron.”

I thought that must be it; the manager has to be done. But no…

Manager: “Also, while you’re sitting there with your mouth open like a goldfish, let me remind you that this is a Middle Eastern restaurant. No, we don’t have tikka masala, and no, Iraqi cuisine is not “basically just like Indian food”. Read the f****** menu.”

My manager got an earful from the owner for that, but since he was a great manager, the owner knew he couldn’t come down too hard on him, especially after being told that the customer had asked for variations of Indian food eleven times and hadn’t opened the menu once before the manager he had finally snapped.

I’m new at a pizza delivery place. I take an order on the phone. As I’m repeating it back to her:

Me: “Okay, so that’s a Hawaiian, double pineapple, add bacon, and BBQ chicken wings, but the BBQ sauce on the side.”

As I say this, everyone in the kitchen looks at me, and my manager starts waving.

Manager: “Ask her to go on hold for a second.”

Confused, I do so, and my manager continues:

Manager: “We all recognize the order. She calls every week. You’re about to get to the payment part, and she’s going to freak out.”

Me: “Uh… freak out?”

Manager: “She’ll have no cash, but she’ll freak out when you ask for credit card details. She does this every week.”

Me: “Wow, okay.”

I go back to the call and ask how the customer will be paying.

Customer: “Credit card.”

Me: “Can I get the longer number on the front of the card?”

Customer: *Freaking out.* “Uh! Oh my god! No! I can’t just read out my card number to you over the phone!”

Me: “You can order online if you—”

Customer: “—I don’t trust computers! I will not be putting my card number on one of those!”

Me: “Would you like to pay by cash?”

Customer: “I don’t have any cash.”

Me: “Well then, I would need to take your card details to take payment.”

Customer: *Freaking out again.* “Uh, oh my God… uh… okay… but don’t say them out loud! And burn the paper when you’re done!”

I’m typing this into a computer, but I don’t tell her that. I get her card details entered and the payment processes.

Customer: “Now burn it all! Burn iiiiit!” *Click.*

I hang up, and my manager can tell by the look on my face that I was not prepared for that kind of call.

Manager: “Every… single… week.”

I’m looking around at a pet store. A guy with a supervisor badge approaches me.

Supervisor: “Did you need help with something?”

Me: “You’re out of [product] that I need. Is there any in the back?”

Supervisor: “If the shelf is empty, then we’re out.”

Me: “Could you order more to keep in stock, as I buy fairly often. Weekly, actually. You’re often out.”

Supervisor: “We already order enough.”

I look at the empty shelf.

Me: “But you are out.”

Supervisor: “Yes, but we order enough.”

Confused, I just laugh and then leave. Not sure what school of economics he went to, but I just found another store that stocked more.

In an effort to avoid finger strain, my mom dictates texts instead of typing. Usually, my dad and I can tell when the text has gotten garbled. Usually.

Mom: *Over group chat.* “Could someone please bring me water and my comforter before you leave? Thank you!”

Me: “What’s a comforter?”

Mom: “Bedspread-alike.”

Okay, I can do that. I go upstairs, carefully pull the comforter off my parents’ bed, and bring it back downstairs. It takes up both of my hands, so I can’t also grab her water bottle. When I present the comforter, my mom looks confused.

It turns out that what she actually wanted was her laptop COMPUTER. We have a good laugh over it, I return the comforter, and my dad and I head off to the dentist. While I’m getting my teeth cleaned, my dad texts the group chat:

Dad: “I think that Siri undermined Mom. It clearly says comforter rather than computer.”

Mom: “OMG! It was probably me…”