I’m at a large bulk store with my mother-in-law, and we’re looking for clothes for my kids. We can’t find something we want in the right size, so we ask one of the employees if there’s anywhere else it could be.

Employee: “There’s another table up by the entrance, but if it’s not there, we don’t have it. I’m sorry.”

Me: “I already checked there, thank you. And it’s not like you’re purposefully hiding it from me.”

There’s a look of sheer and utter gratitude as she responds:

Employee: “Yes! Thank you!”

Her demeanor change made me really sad for the state of our service industry. I worked retail for years, so I get it.

My restaurant is mostly known as a breakfast and lunch spot and has been a local staple since the sixties. Day shifts can be brutal here because we get slammed more often than not. 

By the time 1:00 pm rolls around, I’m starting to be over it, having been there since 8:00 am and going nonstop. That’s when I have a party of three seated in my section: a mom and two girls, probably about eight years old.

Mom: “[Girl #1], tell the server your order.”

She does so.

Mom: “Okay, [Girl #2], it’s your turn to order.”

It turns out that the little girl and I have the same name. I always give tables my name at the end of ordering because they seem to remember it better that way, so after Mom orders, I say:

Me: “My name is also [Girl #2]! Please let me know if you need anything at all.”

The little girls’ faces lit up. From that point on, every time I was at the table, they called me by my name and giggled with excitement. Mom let them do all the talking and make all the requests from then on since they were having so much fun. Any time I glanced over to keep an eye on the table, they were peeking over the top of the booth at me. It was so cute.

When they asked for boxes at the end, I wrote, “Stay awesome,” and, “Stay amazing,” with hearts on the tops of the boxes so that they would see it and be surprised as they closed the boxes. They loved it and jumped up and asked me for a hug.

On their way out of the restaurant, they stopped at the drink station and asked me for my autograph. I signed the boxes, and they were over the moon about it. They giggled and glanced back at me the whole way out of the restaurant.

It was truly one of my favorite experiences after working in restaurants for seven years and absolutely the best thing to help me get through a long shift.

I work in the only large-ish grocery store in one of those small American towns where everyone seems to know everyone. A large and muscular customer calls me over as I’m passing.

Customer: “Excuse me. Could you tell me where the mayonnaise is?”

Me: “Sure! I can show you.”

Customer: “No, you can just tell me. Also, could you…”

I see his gaze adjust from me to behind me, and he gets a grave look on his face. Suddenly, he shouts out of nowhere, but it’s not directed at me.

Customer: “…you! Don’t.”

I turn around to see another customer. He’s frozen in place, but I can tell he was in the middle of hiding a wine bottle inside his large jacket.

Customer: *Not as loud but still sounding terrifying* “Put it back.”

The thief does so.

Customer: “Walk away, and don’t come back.”

The thief runs away, and I overcome my shock at what just happened and turn back to my customer. He seems to already know what to say.

Customer: “I’ve seen that kid around. He’s on the same football team as my son at high school. He boasted to my son that he steals booze and uses it to impress girls. When I saw him walk into the store looking all suspect, I followed him. I could tell he was waiting for when no one was looking, so I distracted you to see if he would make a move.”

Me: “So, you didn’t need the mayonnaise?”

Customer: “Nope! Thanks for the assist, though!”

Me: “Are you like a cop or something?”

Customer: “No, just a parent who can’t wait to see that little punk’s face when I introduce myself to his parents at the high school’s next football game…”

I later tell my manager what happened, and he bursts out laughing. He pulls up the camera footage of the altercation and looks shocked.

Manager: “Of all the stores to rob.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Manager: “I know that kid! He plays football with my son!”

He chose the worst store to rob that day! Teens, don’t steal anyway, but especially don’t steal in a small town!

I’m buying some whiskey as a gift from a liquor store when a dishevelled-looking man runs in and starts screaming at everyone in the store.

Crazy Man: “You’re all going to Hell! God has never made alcohol! His Creation does not make any alcohol! It’s all processed and made by fallen men who want to drag us all into Hellfire!”

Cashier: “Stan! We told you that if you did this again, we’d call the police! Get out!” 

Crazy Man: *Even louder* “Alcohol is a sin! The Bible tells us all those who drink alcohol are sinners!”

Suddenly, a voice can be heard from the back of the store, in that stereotypical Black woman sassy voice that is so New York City.

Customer From The Back: “B****, Jesus turned water into wine! Get yo crazy a** out of the store and into church!”

Thankfully, Stan complied. My friend loved his sinful gift.

I am a manager making my way between departments in our department store. A customer stops me and pulls me aside.

Customer: “Could you please tell me why you’re allowing [N-words] to be parading around the store with their pants down?”

Me: “Sir, your word choice is beyond unacceptable.”

Customer: “Calm down! I wasn’t saying it to them! But aren’t you going to do anything? We can all see their underwear!” 

Me: “I’m not the customer dress code police, and I don’t intend to start being one.”

Old Man: “Why do you hate your own race?”

Well, that came out of nowhere! I stare directly at the customer and make intense eye contact.

Me: “No, it’s race-ists. I hate racists!”

Old Man: *Pauses* “This whole country is becoming a joke!” *Power-walks away*