One thing our company is known for is a mobile rewards program, which gives you a variety of coupons to use at checkout.

I’m working the register, covering for a coworker who had to run to the bathroom. A woman comes up carrying a small coffee and has her phone out, showing a coupon for “$1 any size coffee”. I ring up the coffee and scan the coupon.

Me: “Your total is $1.07, ma’am.”

She gives me a very confused look.

Customer: “But… it’s a dollar.”

My coworker keeps a stash of extra change at the register, so I volunteer it for if she doesn’t have the seven cents (added for tax). She gives me another confused look and tries to walk out of the store.

Me: “Ma’am, you still have to pay.”

Customer: “But it’s a dollar.”

Me: “Yes, the coupon makes it so the cost is only a dollar. Add the tax and you get $1.07, which you still have to pay.”

Customer: “But… it’s a dollar?”

At that point, I was debating getting just letting her go, but I once again pointed out that the coupon only made it so her coffee cost a dollar, plus tax. She still had to pay for the coffee. She seemed reluctant to pay, but in the end, she used her phone to pay and proceeded to walk out. I could hear her muttering “But it’s a dollar” as she stepped outside.

Related:
Taxing Taxing, Part 18
Taxing Taxing, Part 17
Taxing Taxing, Part 16
Taxing Taxing, Part 15
Taxing Taxing, Part 14

When I was a kid, the popular item at the time was the Beanie Baby. EVERYONE had one. As we were getting closer to my birthday, my mom asked me what I wanted.

Me: “A Beanie Baby!”

Mom: “What’s that? It’s not too expensive, is it?”

We had medical bills to pay, so money was tight.

Me: “I don’t think so. It’s a small stuffed animal, about this big.” *Shows her with my hands*

Come the day of my birthday, I opened the box and found a small purple basset hound. I let out a cry of delight and picked it up excitedly.

Me: “A BEANIE BABY!”

Mom: “So, what are you going to name it?”

Me: “Oh, no. Beanie Babies come with their own names!”

I started flipping it around, trying to find the tag with the name. Looking back as an adult, I can now see the look of panic in my mom’s eyes, but I didn’t notice back then. Finally, I found the only tag on it.

Me: “Its name is…” *frowns in confusion* “…Applesauce.”

Ever since then, its name has been Applesauce. Yes, I still have it. The tag, however, did not say, “Applesauce”. It was the company’s name… “Applause”.

In our community garden, we get teams of kids from the local school who come to help, and they often turn up on Saturday mornings, as well. They’re almost entirely well-behaved, which is a good job as there’s not a lot we can do about bad behaviour beyond a stern voice. (Although, one time, a lad kicked one of our rabbits, so a girl brained him with a shovel — rough but effective justice.)

There’s this one lad who came for the first time last week. I didn’t know him, but we made him very welcome. He only lasted half an hour before storming off in tears after his THIRD telling off for spinning round and round holding a tool and then letting it fly off at head height.

This morning his mum (I assume) came with him. I saw him point out my friend and me, but he didn’t ask to join in, so after shouting hello, we let them be. After about ten minutes, he started wandering, and my friend shouted to him.

Friend: “Don’t go round behind the greenhouse, mate! It’s not safe round there!”

Well, his mum had obviously been waiting for this; she went 0 to 100 in two seconds flat.

Mum: “Do you own this garden? If not, what business is it of yours where my son goes?!”

Friend: “We just want him to be safe, ma’am.”

Mum: “I’m quite capable of taking care of that myself, thank you.”

Fine. On you go.

Off he went, exploring behind the greenhouse. It’s not safe because the compost heap is back there, which is very unstable, and the muck mound, which is a giant pile of horse manure we get delivered every autumn. By the spring, the inside is all nice and rotted down, and the outside is hard, crusty… and less strong than you think.

After a minute there was a crunch, a squeal… and I think we did very well to drag him out without saying, “I told you so,” or breaking into guffaws. He was absolutely black from chest height downward, and although well-rotted manure doesn’t smell really bad, it is very thick, sticky, and slimy.

His mum grabbed him without a word, and they headed for the gate. He started bawling as soon as the surprise wore off.

Friend: “Would you like some bin bags to spread out in your car?”

To her credit, she did say thanks when he handed them over.

I wonder if we’ll see them again next week?

I am a bartender, and I learn a lot about people based on just a few cues. A guy is having a date with a woman, and they’re drinking at the bar. His behavior is a little suspect, but there are no red flags right now. The lady excuses herself to go to the restroom, and the guy calls me over.

Guy: “Two red wines, please.”

Me: “Sure thing. That’s [total].”

I take the cash and set up the glasses next to them. I get the bottle ready, but I don’t pour just yet.

Guy: “What are you waiting for? Pour!”

Me: “I will — as soon as the lady is back.”

Guy: “Why are you wasting time? Just pour the d*** drink!”

Me: “I’ve learned from experience that if you want a first date to go well, a lady feels safer when she sees her drink poured directly.”

Guy: “Are you accusing me of roofying my date?!”

Me: “Absolutely not, sir. I am simply offering advice based on my years of experience observing dates take place in this bar.”

Guy: “Well, I work for a Fortune 500, so I don’t need advice from a bartender, thank you very much. Capiche?”

Me: “Message received.”

I pour the glasses, but I still keep an eye on them until the lady has returned just in case. His date comes back, and he offers her a glass.

Woman: “Oh, I thought I said I would get the next round when I got back?”

Guy: “A beautiful lady never pays.”

Woman: “Yes, but a smart lady orders her own drinks. I thought I made that clear on my profile.”

Guy: “You don’t have to be that way with me, though, babe. I can look after you.”

Woman: “Did you read any of my profile at all?”

Guy: “Well… of course!”

Woman: “Then you should know that what you’re doing is making me uncomfortable. I think I’m gonna go.”

Guy: “What?! Because I bought you some wine?! Why are you overreacting, you b****?!”

Woman: “Aaaaand that just proved that you’re a bullet to dodge. Have a nice life.”

She throws a twenty my way as a tip and walks out. The guy stands up to follow her, but I speak up again.

Me: “Dude! Read the room!”

Guy: “You did this! You sabotaged my date! You spoke to her and told her things about me!”

Me: “I have literally been here the whole time.”

He scowls at me and then stares angrily at the two glasses of red wine in front of him. He spots another lady sitting in the corner, licks his lips, and starts to pick up the glasses and head over to her.

Me: “Dude, if you take one step toward that woman with those wines, it won’t end well for you.”

Guy: “You… Stop ruining my chances, man!”

He storms out, leaving the wines behind. They haven’t been touched (I have been watching them since they were poured) and they are quite nice, so I enjoy them sip by sip during my shift!

A week later, I am working again at another bar (I work in three bars part-time to make rent), and a woman comes up to the bar.

Woman #2: *Sheepishly* “I… uh… I want it to look like I am ordering a drink, but really my date is making me uncomfortable, and I would like to leave, please?”

We follow protocol, and I pretend to show her where the restroom is, but in reality, our bouncer escorts her out of the back exit and ensures she gets away safely. A few minutes later, her date comes in to look for her. He walks up to me.

Guy: “Excuse me, pal, have you seen…”

We both immediately recognize each other. It’s him again.

Guy: “You again! What did you do to my date this time?!”

Me: “She’s gone, dude, and if you go after her, I will call the police and say you’re harassing ladies.”

Guy: “Why are you even here? Are you following me?!”

Me: “None of your business, but from what I can tell about your business, you have none when it comes to charming women. Maybe go home and figure out why it’s not working.”

The guy snarled at me, and for the second time, I saw him storm out alone. I haven’t seen him since, but I seriously hope he’s working on himself and how he treats women.

I go into a wine store to buy some high-quality ginger beer they sell as a mixer. I enjoy drinking the ginger beer straight and it is not alcoholic.

Cashier: I’ll need to see some form of ID.
Me: (blinking) But this product is not alcoholic.
Cashier: I’m sorry, it’s store policy.

It’s not her fault the store is stupid, so I hand her an ID. But what would she have done if I’d refused or been underage to buy alcohol, declined the transaction???