This story reminded me of why I used to drive fifteen miles past three other grocery stores to shop at my favorite one.

My son was five years old and not exactly the best at remembering anything. For example, he’d forget he was clutching one of his favorite toys, or he’d forget that we don’t live in the grocery store.

We were about to check out when he said:

Son: “I left Mr. Mouse on a shelf.”

Me: “Which shelf?”

He just shrugged. Terrific.

I asked at the customer service desk if anyone had turned in a palm-sized stuffed mouse with half of a plastic Easter Egg on its head. (What can I say? My child was creative.) No one had. I looked through the aisles where we’d gone, but the mouse never turned up.

As I was leaving, they asked me if I’d found it. They seemed genuinely concerned.

Well, they seemed genuinely concerned because they WERE genuinely concerned.

Whatever transpired next in the store must have involved an aisle-by-aisle search with walkie-talkies and storewide announcements, scouring the place from top to bottom, hunting for Mr. Mouse. By the time I got home, I had a message on my voicemail. Mr. Mouse was secured, orange helmet and all.

We put away the groceries and returned to the store. I made sure my son thanked everyone he could.

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Years ago when I worked as a museum educator, I was running a drop-in gallery program. A small girl around five years old confidently approached me and leaned on my table like she was about to smoothly order a drink at a bar. 

Little Girl: “I like this museum, and I would like to work here.”

I was about to play along and ask her if she knew a lot about history when a woman, presumably her mom, appeared behind her

Woman: “No, honey! You can’t work at the museum! Remember…?”

And this little girl sighed, eye-rolled, and said:

Little Girl: “I know, I know! Child labor laws!”

I sensed that they’d had that discussion before. I think that kid is going places!

I had to travel from New York to Boston during one of “those” storms — like the one in this story. I could see that the weather was likely to cancel flights, so I booked a train. My flight was (as expected) cancelled. My train was cancelled. I got on another, which sat for four hours (without heat) in New Haven waiting for a replacement engine.

The [Rideshare] from the station to the hotel, which should have taken five minutes, took twenty-five minutes because streets were blocked due to flooding and snow drifts. I had to walk through a metre (three feet) of snow to get to the [Rideshare].

When I checked into the hotel:

Staff: “We apologise, but there is no room service right now. The kitchen is closed as the staff didn’t make it in today. In fact, out of about thirty bookings for tonight, you’re the only one who has actually made it to the hotel today! There’s probably only one bar that might have an open kitchen within walking distance; you could try that for food and drink.”

I was secretly pretty pleased that my plans to get to Boston worked. Even though it took nearly ten hours, it was better than being stuck in New York at the airport trying to get on a flight. The airport didn’t really open for two more days!

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My coworker announced that she was pregnant with her third child. This would be my first time working with her while she was pregnant, so when the discussion came about whether we should pool together our money for some baby gifts, I was excited and was all in. We also decided to turn it into a small party, and we would each make a dish for lunch.

The tricky part of this is my coworker is allergic to many things — dairy, gluten, shellfish, tree nuts, tomatoes, certain fruits, and many more things. We have talked about her allergies before when discussing what to get for takeout lunches, but we hadn’t committed the list to memory. Over the course of two or three weeks, we would try to have her allergies naturally come into conversation, and someone not talking to her would write down the good foods and the bad foods. When we were pretty confident that we had gotten enough, we shared the list with everyone in the office.

The day of the party arrived, and we set up the table while my coworker was on her morning break. When she came back, we led her to the table, and she was surprised by all of the gifts. Once she opened the gifts, we started to bring out lunch. We went around the room explaining our dishes and what ingredients were included and/or excluded. She realized we had all made the dishes specifically to fit with her diet, and she burst into tears, saying that it was one of the nicest things that had happened to her.

It was a rewarding feeling, to be able to do something so small as make lunch for someone and get that reaction.

Going forward, we don’t make everything without her allergens, but we do make sure there are at least a few dishes she can have, and we prevent cross-contamination whenever possible.

I work in a cafe counter inside of a chain retailer. I was not directly involved with this incident, but I got the details from the manager, and I saw the entirety of the exchange.

A customer came up to the register our store manager was counting and demanded service.

Customer: “None of your incompetent cashiers have been able to help me, and they said you were the manager!”

The manager closed his till and turned to her

Manager: “Yes, ma’am, how can I assist?”

Customer: “I want to purchase this toaster for the sticker price, which shows $1.50, but your cashiers are saying that is impossible.”

Manager: “Can you show me where it said it was $1.50?” 

The customer proudly showed her phone screen to our manager with a smug look as if she had caught him in a lie.

Manager: “Oh, I see the confusion. The price here is what we pay to display this toaster, and the price is for our inventory prices. It is listed as display — see here?”

The manager pointed to the name of the item which, instead of saying the type of toaster, said, “DISPLAY,” and then showed her that next to the price, it said, “INVENTORY PRICE”.

The customer started gasping like a fish.

Customer: “Well, this is false advertising, and I need to be compensated! You can’t overcharge me for a $40 toaster when you pay $1.50.” 

The manager held up a hand. 

Manager: “No, we pay $1.50 to display this. We pay the price for the toaster and then some.”

Customer: “Well, I want a discounted price!” 

Manager: “Sure. We can give you a discounted display price. Let me go get the display, and you can have that at a discount.”

Customer: *Shouting* “I don’t want a display that has been out and touched by people! I want a brand-new-in-the-box toaster!” 

Manager: “Ma’am, you do not have to shout, but you will not get a brand-new toaster for the display price. You can either get a display price for the display model, or you get full price for a brand-new toaster.” 

Customer: “No! The customer is always right! I will get a cheaper price for this. You will open that drawer up and take my $1.50, and I will leave with this brand-new toaster!”

Security had arrived after she had started yelling the first time and was waiting behind her.

Manager: “No. I will not be doing any of that. If you want that price you will have to find it elsewhere, and security will be escorting you out. Have a great night.”

The manager plucked the toaster from her hands and put it under the counter, and then he turned to his till, opening it to continue where he left off.

The customer reached into the till and attempted to grab money from the till. The security guard body-blocked her attempt, letting her know the police were on their way.

The customer freaked out and started booking it out the door. Little did she know, security had been having lunch with his officer friend in his office, and the lady was greeted by the officer’s partner who was waiting outside for their shift to start.