(My friend and I are eating at a very well-known fast food restaurant.)

Me: “Could I have a chocolate shake, please?”

Cashier: “Sorry, we’re out of chocolate.”

Me: “Okay, could I have a strawberry then please?”

Cashier: “Sorry, we’re out of strawberry too.”

Me: “Then could I please have a vanilla?”

Cashier: “Let me just go make it.”

(I see that the mixture coming out of the machine looks strange. As soon as it starts coming out, I start calling to the cashier.)

Me: “Excuse me! Excuse me? That doesn’t look right. Could I get something else please? Could you cancel the shake? Excuse me!”

(The cashier obviously hears me, but pretends she hasn’t. She finally slaps a lid on it and gives it to me. I take a sip and almost spit it out.)

Me: “I’m sorry; could you remake this or give me something else?”

Cashier: “WHY?!”

Me: “Because this is weirdly colored, has lumps of something in it, has so much vanilla flavoring that it’s actually bitter, and obviously isn’t fit to drink.”

Cashier: “Sorry, no. I’m not remaking it.”

Me: “If you’re not going to remake it could I have a refund then?”

Cashier: “No. No remakes, and no refunds.”

Me: “Is that your policy?”

Cashier: “No, but that’s what I’m doing.”

Me: “Can I have the manager please?”

Manager: *overhearing* “Sorry, no refunds.”

Me: “No problem. Could you just remake it then?”

Manager: “No.”

Me: “You do understand you made this shake badly? I’m not drinking it; it’s too horrible-tasting to drink. That is in no way my fault. I even asked your cashier to change my order before she filled it.”

Manager: “No! It’s a perfectly good shake! We can’t remake something every time a customer thinks it’s not perfect.”

Me: “Oh yeah? You haven’t tried this one, buddy. Go on, try it.”

(He tries a bit of it. He gags at the taste, and then starts spitting out lumps with a disgusted look on his face.)

Me: “See? What did I tell you? Isn’t it horrible? Do you want a reputation for serving things like that?”

Manager: *to cashier* “…yeah, give her a refund.”

(Both of my earlobes are stretched to half an inch.)

Young Girl: *in a loud kid’s whisper* “Mommy, her ears are broken!”

Mother: *mortified* “I am SO sorry!”

Me: *laughing* “No, no, it’s fine! That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day!”

(A man comes up to my teller window and gives me an account number that he wants to deposit a check into. I pull up the account to see that his wife is the only name on the account, but the check is written out to him.)

Me: “Hmm, do you have an account with us? Since the check is written out to you, I would have to first deposit it into your account and then transfer it to your wife’s account.”

(After having to explain this concept a couple more times, he gives me his own account number, and I notice just how much the check is for: almost $30,000.)

Me: “You know, I am actually going to need to put a three-day hold on this check.”

Husband: “What? Why?”

Me: “It’s based on a lot of factors, like your account activity and current balance, which is not much and under $500, and that you’ve chosen to come to a branch an hour from your house, which is a little odd.”

Husband: “What? I’ve been banking here for 30 years; you’re not putting a hold on my check. That’s just ridiculous. It’s a good check! Give it back to me. I’ll just take it somewhere where they’ll actually be happy to take my money!”

(After several more minutes of this, I ultimately agree to not put any hold on the check and he leaves. I show the check to my supervisor a couple minutes later, who says that we ARE going to put a hold on the funds. My manager is about to call the customer to let him know, when a woman walks up to my station.)

Wife: “Hi, I wanted to transfer my husband’s check into my account. He was just in here.”

Me: “Oh hi, give me just a second.”

(I grab my supervisor, who tells her that we will need to put a hold on the check, so we can’t transfer it to her account just yet.)

Wife: “Oh that’s fine. We don’t need the money now, but my husband is just so bad with his money that he’s not allowed to touch it. That’s why we keep it in my account. Otherwise he would just spend it.”

Me: “Oh, well thank you for understanding!”

Wife: “Oh I don’t care. It’s not a big deal. My husband was probably not very nice about it though, was he?”

Me: “Haha, well…”

Wife: “Yeah, he’s not very sociable.”

(I am a female and have worked in the same supermarket for the past five years. I used to be blond, but I decide to dye my hair red. Most people have commented about how they like the new color, and how it suits me, and how they don’t recognize me.)

Customer: “Oh, I see you have dyed your hair. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Me: “Yeah, I was fed up with the original color, so I went for a change.”

Customer: “Well, I don’t like it. I want you to change it right now.”

Me: “You want me to leave work and pay to have my hair dyed a different color because you don’t like it?”

Customer: “Yes, why is that a problem?”

(The customer then stands there for another five minutes waiting for me to leave the till to go re-dye my hair.)

Me: “Ma’am, I cannot leave my till until I finish work.”

Customer: “Well that is just rude. I expect your hair color to be different when I next come in.”

(The customer walks off. I look at my coworker, who looks just as confused as me.)

Coworker: “Did that really just happen?”

(I live near DC, so I am used to hearing tourists and tour groups ask very stupid questions. A group of out-of-state high-school kids are walking near me between two museums.)

Teenage Girl: “So… where are we right now, anyway?”

Teenage Boy: “In DC.”

Teenage Girl: “No, I mean, like, where in DC are we?”

Teenage Boy: “Oh, we’re on the National Mall.”

Teenage Girl: “Nuh-uh!”

Teenage Boy: “Yeah we are. Look at your map, right here.”

Teenage Girl: “No way! Are you SERIOUS?”

Teenage Boy: “Yeeeah…”

Teenage Girl: “That doesn’t make ANY sense!”

Teenage Boy: *silence*

Teenage Girl: “So, wait… you mean the National Mall isn’t, like, you know… an actual MALL?”

Teenage Boy: “Nope, but all the grass is 20% off!”