(I am 12 years old. I am home alone, and raiding the fridge for a snack. I find nothing except some takeout my dad has bought. Inside is an innocent looking burrito. I take big bite and it is the spiciest, most painful thing I have ever eaten. I gulp milk and eat ice, but the pain is getting worse. I go into the living room and scream into a couch pillow so the neighbors won’t think I’m being murdered. I hear my dad and mom enter the kitchen and open the fridge.)

Dad: “Hey, did you eat my burrito? It is spicy; am I right?”

Mom: “Huh? No, I haven’t touched any burrito?”

Dad: “Then who is home?”

Mom: “Just [My Name], I think.”

Dad: “Oh dear… she doesn’t like spicy food…”

(They finally find me in the living room, and calmly watch me roll around on the couch in agony.)

(My fiancé is currently giving catnip to my 14-year-old cat, who has tried to smother him on numerous occasions.)

Fiancé: *mimicking my cat* “Good human, as long as you give me the drugs, I’ll stop trying to kill you in your sleep.”

Me: “So, pretty much like every drug dealer relationship?”

(My fiancé and I are taking our three-year-old son apple picking at a local orchard. I am currently 19 weeks pregnant, and already showing. When we finish getting our apples, we head into the store to see what else is available. We follow another group only to realize just in time that we’re about to enter the wrong door.)

Fiancé: “Oh wait; that’s the wine-tasting room.”

Me: “Oh, well I definitely don’t need to go in there right now!”

(I gesture to my belly.)

Fiancé: “Well, [Mutual Friend] said wine is okay in the third trimester.”

Me: “A lot of studies show that a glass a day is okay, but I really don’t need to be seen chugging a glass with my preggo belly.”

Fiancé: “You don’t even look really pregnant yet. People will just think you have a beer belly.”

Me: “You’re lucky my hormones aren’t in full swing today…”

(I have just started my first food-service job ever at a well known smoothie chain. It is my first closing shift, and I’m working alone with one of the night supervisors. We close at 9:30 pm, and I have been told the closing staff usually leaves around 10:30 pm.)

Night Supervisor: “Okay, I’m going to go in back and count down the tills. You get started on the closing list, and I’ll be out in a while.”

Me: “Okay. This is my first closing shift though…”

Night Supervisor: “You’ll be fine.”

(I get to work like he says, but I am unfamiliar with the tasks, so it takes me a while. I am still working on the list when he finally comes out at 10:30 pm.)

Night Supervisor: “Whoa, what’s going on? We’re way behind.”

Me: “Sorry, but I don’t really know the jobs yet.”

Night Supervisor: “This isn’t good. Let’s hurry and get done.”

(By the time we finish the list, it’s 11 pm. The supervisor approaches me with the sign-in sheet.)

Night Supervisor: “We can’t let them know how late we were here. We have to be out by 10:30 pm at the latest, or we’ll both be in big trouble.”

Me: “What do we do?”

Night Supervisor: “Just mark yourself down as 10:30 pm; it’ll be fine.”

(I’m a little upset by this, but naive enough that I go along with it. A few weeks later, I’m joking with one of the supervisors on the day shift.)

Me: “Yeah, I’m pretty slow at the closing stuff. [Night Supervisor] and I ended up staying until 11 pm the first time I did it, and had to lose the half hour of work so we wouldn’t get in trouble.”

Day Supervisor: “What? You’re not responsible for that. It’s [Night Supervisor]’s job to make sure things get done on time. You wouldn’t have been in trouble at all.”

Me: “Really?”

Day Supervisor: “Yeah, don’t listen to a thing he says about that. He’s the slowest closer anyway.”

(That was the last time I let someone talk me into working for free!)

(A customer approaches the cash desk with a console in a box.)

Customer: “Hi, I’m looking to trade this in?”

Me: “Sure, let me just make sure it works!”

(I open the box, only to find the entire console, wires, and control pads are covered in heavy condensation. It’s so heavy, that there are drops of water pouring down the system.)

Me: “Umm …I don’t think I can plug this in to check it.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “Well, it’s soaking wet. Generally speaking, it’s not a good idea to combine water and electricity.”

Customer: “Ah, it’s just a tiny bit of condensation. I had it in the car overnight; that’s why.”

Me: “I still don’t think it’s safe, sir.”

Customer: “Go ask your manager; he’ll tell you it’s fine!”

(I decide to humor him, and take the console out back to the manager.)

Me: “So I’ve got this customer for trade in, and he wants me to plug this thing in and check it.”

Manager: *not looking up* “So what’s the problem?”

Me: “I think you should have a look and see what the problem is!”

Manager: *looks at the console* “Is he for real?!”

(The manager picks up the console, and it almost slips out of his hands from the liquid on the surface. He heads out to the customer and deals with him.)

Manager: “We can’t accept this for trade in. Sorry about that.”

Customer: “Ah, why not!? It’s only a tiny bit of condensation; I don’t know what the problem is!”

Manager: “Well, if you’re happy to plug in electronics that are dripping with water, be my guest, but you’ll be a candidate for the Darwin Awards if you do. I’m not happy to risk the personal safety of my employees just for a trade in.”

(The customer looks at the console again.)

Customer: “And what if I come back in 10 minutes, and it’s dry?”

Manager: “I think that’d be something of a miracle, don’t you?”