(I am bagging groceries and happen to notice a box of Earl Grey tea, sitting at the end of the register next to me.)

Me: *out loud* “Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.”

(There are quite a few customers in the line I am bagging in. A customer in line pipes in, recognizing a popular ‘Star Trek’ phrase.)

Customer: “Right on!”

(The other customers look at us in confusion. Later on in the transaction…)

Cashier: “Wait, did you put three or four of those in the bag?”

Me: “There are four in the bag.”

(By sheer coincidence, the customer and I both say, at the same time:)

Customer & Me: “There… are… four… lights!”

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(A customer comes into the restaurant and buys a juice for $1.60 with a $20 bill. I’m a bit suspicious of people who pay small totals with much larger bills, as I had just been scammed that weekend and had to pay $19 to the store.)

Me: “Thank you, let me just get your change.”

Customer: “Wait, wait! I just found the change in my purse. Here’s $1.60.”

Me: “Okay, thank you. Here is your $20 back.”

(I stare at the bill I hand back to her for a full second before actually giving it back to her. I have to be sure I hand her a $20 bill, as that’s how the scam works.)

Customer: “Hey, you only gave me back a dollar.”

(As if to prove this, the customer waives a dollar at me.)

Me: “Ma’am, I am absolutely sure I gave you a $20 bill.”

Customer: “No you didn’t; take this dollar and give me my $20.”

Me: “Ma’am, I know I gave you a $20 bill. If you’d like I can pull this drawer right now and count it. If it’s over by $19, then it’s my mistake, but I am sure I gave you back your money.”

Customer: “No, no, I’m very busy.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am; store policy is that I pull and count the drawer, so I’m going to go ahead and do that. It’ll take a few minutes if you want to take a seat.”

Customer: “No! I’m very busy. I have to get to work. I can’t wait for you. Just give me my $20.”

Me: “There are cameras watching this drawer. I cannot do that. I have to pull the drawer.”

Customer: “Well, you do that! I’ll be back later!”

(The customer ended up leaving the dollar she was waiving at me on the counter. My drawer was spot on plus the extra dollar she left. She tried to scam me and instead lost money! She never came back, of course.)

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(I’m a server in an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant. I’m serving a party of 10 customers. Customer #1 has food allergies, and asks that her rolls not be on the same platter as the others. I pass that to the kitchen, who screw it up. Everything else she orders either gets forgotten, sent to other tables, or is delivered to the wrong people at her table, who eat them without realizing it. Some of her meal has to be reordered three times before she finally gets to eat. We’re approaching the end of the meal; the rest of her party is getting their dessert and she finally gets her meal. After she eats her ice cream, she finds a piece of plastic in her mouth. The ENTIRE table is getting upset, except, surprisingly, the customer with allergies herself.)

Customer #2: “We’d like to see the manager, please!”

(My boss comes over and says he solved all the problems when she got her meal, even though it was an hour late and didn’t include the missing orders. He also tries to convince her that the plastic is cabbage.)

Customer #2: “We think she should get her meal for free.”

Manager: “The best I can do is 15% off.”

All Other Customers: “WHAT?”

(They continue to argue with him, and I see all hopes for a tip from this group I’ve been working my butt off for disappear. He ups the offer to 20% off the $25 tab, but they aren’t biting. Finally, Customer #1, the woman whose food was the problem chimes in.)

Customer #1: “You know what, guys? Forget it. I’ll pay what he’s asking. They just lost 10 customers, though.”

(After the manager walks away, she turns to me.)

Customer #1: “Can I ask you a tactless question?”

Me: “Uh… sure?”

Customer #1: “Do you guys pool your tips or can we tip just you?”

Me: “Unfortunately, we pool them.”

(She beckons me over and gives me what amounts to a 25% tip.)

Customer #1: “That’s for you. YOU were great.”

(One after another, each member of the party comes over and sneaks bills into my apron pocket or my hand, with instructions to keep them for myself. I choke back tears. How cool was it to get an entire group that doesn’t penalize the waitress for kitchen errors!)

(I am a female in my early twenties, the only female working this particular shift with three burly male coworkers. I am on the front register taking orders and money, when a customer walks in. He is a sloppily-dressed old man.)

Me: “Hi there! How are you?”

Customer: “I’m doin’ great, sweetie. How ’bout you get me a big cup of coffee?”

Me: “Sounds great. Do you need any room for cream in there, sir?”

Customer: “I got some cream for ya!”

(He winks lewdly at me. I try to shake it off.)

Me: “Alright, here is your coffee. Anything else for you, sir?”

Customer: “Nope. What’s my total so you can ring me up?”

(The customer seems oddly eager to pay. I give him his total and he hands me a very worn credit card. I try to swipe through our machine once or twice before determining its magnetic strip is too worn to be read. I am about to start typing in the numbers, when he interrupts me, looking very flushed and excited.)

Customer: “No, no, don’t type it in. It’ll work if you just rub it on your chest.”

(I am a little creeped out, but I wipe the card off on the bottom of my apron and give it another shot. It still won’t run through.)

Customer: “No, no, sweetie, I said it’ll work if you rub it on your chest. Actually, it’ll work best if I rub it on your chest for you.”

(At this point, I’m done. I step back from the register without another word and call for one of my coworkers, a big, burly 33-year-old man whose other job is construction. He comes over as I am walking away.)

Me: *to my coworker* “I’m going to the back because the man at the front is asking to rub things on my chest.”

(My coworker walks up to the register and looks down at the customer. He is a good foot taller than the customer.)

Coworker: “I heard you like rubbing things on people’s chests? Well, have at it.”

(My coworker leans forward just as I go into the back room. I didn’t see what happened next, but my coworker told me the customer panicked and ran out of the store without paying and without his coffee. We never saw him again!)

(During a house move, my father blows out his knee, putting a hold on our plans for a couple of weeks while he recovers. We have just finished packing the car full of most of our stuff, and my father and I are trying to decide what to take next when we approach the shed. After loading a particularly heavy item into the van, our soon-to-be-former landlady comes up.)

Landlady: “Hey, [Dad’s Name]! You’re gonna have to move your van; it’s blocking the road.”

Dad: “No it’s not, unless [Neighbor] needs a 12-foot berth when he pulls in and out of the driveway.”

Landlady: “You need to move the van so people behind you can get through.”

(The path is wide enough to hold two trucks side by side.)

Dad: “No I don’t; it’s fine.”

(The landlady walks away for a few moments, then comes back.)

Landlady: “When am I getting the house keys back?”

Dad: “When I’m done moving.”

Landlady: “Yeah, I’m gonna need them back by the end of the day.”

Dad: “Not happening. I still have stuff in my shed, and my son has his stuff to move.”

Landlady: “It had d*** well better happen!”

Me: “Not to sound like an a**, but we’d get done a lot quicker without you mouth-breathing down our necks over minor details.”

Landlady: “That’s it! Gimme the f*****g keys or I’m calling the cops!”

Dad: “Look, I’m going to say this plainly. You’re getting your keys when we leave this place for good. After that you can go in there and twerk all over the counter for all I care, but you’re not getting the keys until I’m done.”

(The landlady leaves and turns around to say something, but my dad cuts her off.)

Dad: “And I’ll move the d*** van, too!”

(As she leaves, I look at my dad with a surprised grin.)

Me: “That… was… AWESOME! Usually it’s Mom who explodes like that.”

Dad: “I have my moments. But compared to your mom, it’s like holding a candle next to the sun.”