A coworker is working the kitchen at our food stand in a sports stadium. A kind of drunk customer is making an order when my coworker is getting ready to go on her break and another coworker is about to take over the deep fryer.

The customer is telling the cashier what he wants, but then he notices the staff change. The outgoing coworker is Black, and the incoming one is white, as is the customer.

Customer: “Oh, no, no, no, no. I want that [n-word] there to cook my food; at least they know how to run a deep fryer.”

Security had to come and get the guy. My coworker was so upset about what happened that she almost didn’t come back from break. They had to calm her down.

I work on and off at an American football stadium in a concession stand. Well, kinda. Technically, I’m a volunteer for a non-profit organization that I was a part of, and while I’m a volunteer and thus not paid, the organization gets a cut (for us, 10%) of any sales I make. With how inflated prices are at stadiums, and with how many people we can serve in any given game, you can see why we do it.

In American football, our biggest lines at the stand occur right before the game and during halftime. Everyone who’s ever been to a game knows this. Most customers are fairly nice and understanding about this, even when their team is losing. However, every season, I get one customer who isn’t.

Customer: “You’re too f****** slow! Get me a f****** [food item] and a beer, and be quick about it!”

Now, since the non-profit I represent gets money, you’d think I’d sigh and just do it. Nah. I’m a volunteer, I don’t get not-paid to handle this. I can deal with grumpy, but swearing at me or my fellow cashiers gets met with something like this:

Me: “Sir, your money’s no good here. Please go to a different stand.”

Customer: “What do you mean? I’ve been waiting in this f****** line for fifteen minutes—”

Me: “And now you get to wait in another one. Better hurry; you’ll miss more of the game.”

Customer: “I’m going to get you fired for this!”

Me: “NEXT!”

And the next customer, who has been patiently waiting in the same line, invariably comes up and starts ordering, and the rude guy invariably shuffles off because the police hangout is immediately across the concourse.

Still haven’t been asked to not come back, strangely.

I work at a recreation complex with tennis courts.

Caller: “I want to book a court for [five days in the future] at 2:00 pm.”

Me: “Yes, we have some availability.”

Caller: “Will it be raining at 2:00 pm that day?”

Me: “The weather report says it’s unlikely.”

Caller: “Yes, but I need you to tell me for sure.”

Me: “There’s no way we can know that for sure.”

Caller: “Don’t you guys have a radar or something?”

My brother and dad have an ongoing rivalry where each hates to admit that the other one was right about something. My brother and I are going to see our local Major League Baseball team play one evening. We live outside the city where it’s warmer, but the city itself is freezing, even in summer.

Dad: “You guys should wear pants to the game tonight and bring sweatshirts. It’s going to be freezing.”

I wear jeans and a sweatshirt, but my brother sticks to shorts and a T-shirt. At one point, the fog rolls in along with the wind and it gets cold. I look over at my brother, and he’s clearly cold.

Me: “Are you cold?”

Brother: “Yes.”

Me: “As an Eagle Scout, I’m always prepared, so I brought an extra jacket. Want it?”

Brother: “Sure, thanks.”

Me: “Are you going to be a good Eagle Scout, as well, and bring your own next time?”

Brother: “No.”

Me: “Why?”

Brother: “Because then I would have to admit that Dad was right, and I don’t like it when I have to admit that Dad was right.”

When I was in college, I took a job selling tickets at the university’s hockey arena. University staff and students got in for free when they showed their university ID, but everyone else naturally had to pay for their tickets. I’m working one night before a game when an older man — maybe in his late fifties or early sixties — and a young boy step up to my window.

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Arena]! One adult, one child today?”

Man: *With a friendly smile* “Yep! Taking my grandson out to his first [University] hockey game! Do you still allow staff and students in for free?”

Me: “Yes, if you can show your university ID card.”

Man: “Well, I have my student ID with me, but I graduated thirty-five years ago. I don’t suppose it would still be valid, would it?”

He gives a polite chuckle.

Me: “Um… I don’t think so, but I could ask my manager. She might be willing to make an exception.”

The man tries to stop me from going to get my manager, but I get her anyway. My manager ends up letting him get a free ticket for holding onto his university card for so long. I hand over their tickets and my manager and I tell him to enjoy the game.

Man: “Just to be clear, I was only joking about getting a free ticket, but thank you!” *Turns to his grandson* “[Grandson], how about we run to the merchandise store before the game and get you a souvenir?”

The man and his grandson came to a few more games that year, but he never tried to jokingly ask for a free ticket again. I want to stress that he was very clearly joking the first time, too, and not just pretending it was a joke like so many NAR customers. The smile on his and his grandson’s face every time they came up to the ticket counter was enough thanks for all of us ticket sellers.