We have a coworker who is neurodivergent. He’s worked for the store longer than almost anyone else save a few managers, and he is known for keeping the fresh fruit and vegetable sections looking like works of art.

[Coworker] doesn’t interact with the customers too often due to some social anxieties and other factors, so he comes in very early at the same time as the produce shipments and makes sure the displays are perfect (and I do mean perfect) with minimal customer overlap. His shift is usually over only an hour or so after we start letting in customers.

Something happens with [Coworker]’s family, and he has to take two weeks off for it. He’s not too happy with this, as he is comforted greatly by his routine, but we’ve all been encouraging him how great he’s been doing in “trying new things” lately, and he can tell us all about his trip when he gets back.

Coworker: “Oh, no, that’s not what I am worried about. I’m worried about the displays. I have a specific way I make the apple pyramids, and it looks better when the cucumbers are stacked diagonal, not to mention—” 

Manager: “[Coworker], while I know for a fact that no one can do that better than you, we’ll find a way to manage without you, I promise.”

[Coworker] goes on his trip, and while we make our best effort, we can’t make the fruit and vegetable displays look as amazing as he does. It gets to the point where it’s noticed by the customers, and I have a variation of this conversation multiple times.

Customer #1: “Oh, your fruit displays aren’t as neat as they usually are. I know it’s a little thing, but it always makes my day when I can tell someone has made a conscious decision to stack the loose carrots by size. These things go noticed, you know!”

Me: “I’m glad you noticed, and yes, our regular stocker is off for the next two weeks.”

Customer #1: “Oh! Nothing bad, I hope?”

Me: “Not that I am aware, but I do know he’s looking forward to coming back to work to make the displays all pretty again!” 

After the two weeks are up, [Coworker] returns to work, and within a day, the displays are back to the perfect standards he is known for. This time, the regulars have noticed, and in that small window when [Coworker] and the customers are in the store at the same time, variations of the following conversation occur.

Customer #2: “Excuse me. Are you the man who puts out the fruits and vegetables?” 

Coworker: “Uh… yes. I am.”

Customer #2: “You do such a wonderful job! You were missed when you were away! You can tell they did their best in your absence, and I know it’s only a silly little thing, but it really is joyous to see how much care you put into your work! Now that I know it’s you, I simply had to thank you.”

Coworker: “Oh… uh… you’re welcome.”

Rinse and repeat to the point where, the next time I see [Coworker] in the break room:

Coworker: “I had to go away for two weeks because my grandad died. My mum was there, and she told me that I wasn’t going to ever make anyone happy in my life. But since I got back, I’ve been told that I’ve made six complete strangers very happy.”

Me: “Oh, my. I’m sorry about your mum, but I am glad you made some people happy.”

Coworker: “I think I am going to try some new designs with the cabbages tomorrow. That will show them!” 

Our manager has since promoted [Coworker] to the head of the produce department, and he’s developed several regulars who are “fans”. He even hangs around a little longer at the end of his shift instead of leaving immediately to talk to them.

The displays have only gotten better and better.

CONTENT WARNING: Death, Cancer

I’m serving an older woman at my table. 

Customer: “Hmph! What does your mother think about your tattoos?”

Me: “Well, my father doesn’t mind.” 

Customer: *Not taking the hint* “Well, what about your mother?”

Me: “She’s dead. She doesn’t do a lot of thinking.” 

Does she stop there? No… of course not.

Customer: “Did she die of shame?“ 

Me: “No, breast cancer.”

And with that, I dropped the check. She wasn’t done eating, but her table companions looked like they wanted to leave.

My mom just died in 2021, and we inherited some money from her. I invested mine into my tiny home, and I was waiting for it to be finished so that I could move out of my mom’s house, where I was still living when she passed away.  

I live from month to month on a fixed income.

It was getting to grass-cutting season, so I called my uncle and asked him if he would come cut my grass, which he had always done for my mom. He said that he always was paid $40 to do so, in addition to a $10 tip. I said okay to the $40.

He came and cut it, and he left the grass all over the concrete; he did not blow it off or anything. Well, I had already made out the check for $40. He started to bad-mouth me, saying that it took gas to come up here, blah, blah, blah, to try to get the extra tip out of me.

Me: “I already made the check out for the amount that we originally agreed on.”

He accepted the check as it was written, but the next time he passed by the house, guess who was cutting her own yard? Me! I had managed to save up and get myself a push lawn mower.

I never asked him to help me with my own yard again as long as I lived there.

From my years of working in retail, this will always be my most memorable encounter. I work in a big box store in the electronics department. A customer is purchasing a high-end gaming laptop.

Customer: “I can finally play me some Call Of Duty! Yeah, baby!”

Me: “This system should be more than enough to handle that! How will you be paying today, sir?”

Customer: “Cash, baby! After my grandpappy died, he left me the money tin under his bed. It was full of cash!”

Me: “Oh… well, sorry for your loss.”

The customer hands over the cash, and my eyes go wide.

Customer: “I know! Bet you haven’t seen that much cash in one go before, huh?!”

Me: “Do you… uh… Do you mind if I call my manager over? To verify?”

Customer: “Why? I checked; it’s real money!”

Me: “Oh, I don’t doubt that at all, sir. That’s why I would like to call my manager over.”

Customer: *Getting agitated* “Hurry, then! I need to get home to play my new games!” 

I call my manager over and show him my issue. He understands straight away.

Manager: “Sir, where did you get this money?” 

Customer: “From my grandpappy. He died and left me the money box from under his bed.”

Manager: “And how long was this… box… under the bed?”

Customer: “I dunno, forever. Why?”

Manager: “It’s just… You’re presenting us with a $1,000 bill, and those are rare.”

Customer: “Still legal tender, ain’t it?”

My manager looks at me, and I shrug. I don’t actually know! We both end up Googling it and shockingly, while no longer issued, any discontinued large-denomination bills still in circulation are still legal tender, up to the $10,000 bill! 

Manager: “It appears that it is legal tender, but sir, this is a rare collectible item. It’s likely worth far more than what’s printed on it.”

Customer: “It’s real and it’s legal! I want to use it to buy my gaming laptop!” 

Manager: “Sir, you misunderstand. I’m not saying it’s not worth the $1,000; I’m saying it’s likely worth more.”

Customer: *Still not getting it* “You trying to short me? I know it’s old and s***, but it’s still legal tender! I looked it up! It’s a thousand, so you gotta take a thousand!”

My manager calls the store manager over, who just so happens to be a coin collector (and another reason why this story is so memorable to me so many years later). The store manager checks the bill and gets excited; according to his expert analysis, it is real.

While the customer is shouting, I find a website selling vintage real discontinued money as collectible items, and I show it to my manager and store manager. 

Store Manager: “Sir, it looks like you could get $4,000 for this bill.”

Customer: “I don’t want money. I want my gaming laptop! Take my money!” 

Store Manager: “Sir, I—”

Customer: “Take my money! You just discriminatin’ now!”

Store Manager: “Sir, I will happily take your money and sell you this laptop, but I just wanted to make it absolutely clear to you that you could sell this bill for a lot more than the thousand it’s worth in this transaction right now. Do you understand?” 

Customer: *Seething now* “Do you understand that if you don’t sell me my laptop right now, I’m gonna stop askin’ so nicely?!”

Store Manager: *To the manager and me* “Process the payment, [My Name], and sell the good man his laptop.”

I do as I’m told, and the customer walks away with his laptop smug and happy.

Me: *To my managers, holding the $1,000 bill* “What do we do with this? I obviously don’t have a drawer for it.” 

Store Manager: “Do you want to swap it for $1,000 in bills that are in circulation and take it home with you?”

Me: “You seriously think I could get $4,000 for it?”

Store Manager: “I actually think I know someone who would be willing to buy it for that much.”

Me: “But it belongs to the store… You’d give it to me?”

Store Manager: “The customer spent a thousand in cash. As long as the store gets a thousand in cash, who am I to know what denominations those bills came in?”

My cash drawer was due to be cleared in a couple of hours. The store manager said that if I wanted it, I would have that long to replace it with smaller bills.

I took the plunge, and on my lunch break, I took out $1,000 in ten $100 bills from my account (thanks, student loans!) and replaced my cash drawer (with my manager witnessing for protection). 

The next day, my store manager introduced me to his collector friend, who excitedly offered me $4,000 for it!

I hope that customer is happy playing his “Call Of Duty”.

CONTENT WARNING: Pet Death (By old age)

My sister has severe asthma and allergies. When she was in eighth grade, she was sick a lot throughout the year and, as a result, was at the doctor’s office a lot. Another patient at the doctor’s office noticed how often she was there and got our phone number. She was a dog breeder and wanted to give my sister a chihuahua puppy because she swore they were good pets for people with asthma/allergies because “they can predict your symptoms and attacks!”

My sister and mom were skeptical, but we all loved dogs, so we weren’t going to say no to a “free” dog. (There was a stipulation that we could give him back if we couldn’t care for him.)

Several months later, the breeder’s dog gave birth, and a few months after that, the pups were old enough to go to their new homes, so the breeder called my mom to come pick him up. He was a cute little black and tan that my sister named Max.

On the day Max was brought home:

Dad: “He’s not allowed on the furniture. He needs to mostly be outside because I don’t want the house to smell like dog.”

Mom: “He can’t be left outside! He might wander into the woods and get lost.”

Sister: “Yeah! Or the hawks could eat him!”

Dad: “Okay, then we can build a fence, and he can be left outside at night.”

Me: “But then an owl might eat him.”

Dad: *Sighs* “FINE! He can stay inside, but y’all had better not let him on the furniture or let him do his business in the house.”

A few weeks later, we had Max mostly potty trained, and our dad had Max sitting on the couch with him, snuggled next to him.

Dad: “What? He likes sitting next to me to watch TV.” *Rubs Max’s ears* “He’s a good little dog, so he can be on the couch.”

A few months later, Max was sleeping on the pillow next to our dad’s head when our mom went to wake him up for breakfast one morning.

Dad: “He was obviously cold. It’s fine because he’s a good dog and deserves to be warm.”

Throughout the years, my dad doted on that dog like he was a child and always had a treat and a snuggle for that sweet little dog.

It got to the point that when my son was born and Max was jealous, he reassured Max that everyone still loved him, too. He held my son so that Max could sniff him.

Dad: “See? He’s just a baby. He’s a new person for us to love, but he won’t replace you.”

For eighteen years, that dog was my dad’s shadow. For eighteen years, he was my dad’s little buddy.

In early 2024, my sister had to have him put down and was heartbroken. Our dad was heartbroken, too, and buried Max himself. He was talking to my mom after having just buried Max on a cold day in January.

Dad: “It’s so cold out. Max hated the cold so much. I hate that he has to be out there in it.”

I had already cried for Max, but hearing my mom tell me how heartbroken my dad was over a dog that he hadn’t wanted in the first place, but had come to love so much, made me break down crying again.

Please, love your pets and give them a snuggle for me and my dad.