(I am a waitress at a high-end restaurant. This night, I am particularly rushed and upset, and make a few customer service mistakes while serving a customer.)

Customer: “I’d like to speak to your manager, please.”

Me: “Sure, may I ask what about?”

Customer: “About you.”

(My manager is very strict, and he doesn’t believe in second chances. I am terrified. I go up to my manager.)

Me: “Manager, table six please; they want to talk to you.”

Manager: *walks over* “Yes sir, what did you need to talk to me about?”

Customer: “It’s about your waitress here.”

Manager: *starting to glare at me* “Has she done something wrong?”

(I am standing there holding back tears, sure that I am about to be fired.)

Customer: “Well, she has been very busy and rushed tonight. All the same, she has managed to take our orders and give us our food quickly and with a smile on her face. I used to be a waitress, and I know how hard that is to do. I just wanted to tell you that you have a Class-A employee here, and I’m leaving her a 50% tip. I also have reservations for next week, and I’d like to request in advance that she be our server.”

Manager: *stunned* “Yes, that can be arranged. I’m glad you thought well of her. Have a good day.”

Me: *almost crying* “I thought you were about to have me fired! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Customer: “Oh, it’s no problem, dear. Here’s your tip, and I hope your day gets better!”

(I’m working the counter, and I see a six-year-old boy walk in with his mother. The mother sits in the back while the boy goes to the counter to make his order.)

Me: “Hi, sweetie! What can I get you today?”

Boy: “Can I please have a small orange-creme shake?”

Me: “Of course. Anything else?”

Boy: “No.”

Me: “Alright, that’ll be one-ninety.”

(The boy’s face crumples, and he backs away from the counter, walks in a circle, then looks back at me.)

Boy: “What?”

Me: “One-ninety?”

(The boy begins crying, and rushes back to his mother.)

Boy: “Mommy! I need $200 for my shake, and we don’t have that kinda money!”

Mother: “What?”

Me: “Wait, wait, no, sweetheart! I mean it’s one dollar and ninety cents!”

Boy: “Oh, okay.”

(After that, he pays for his shake and acts like absolutely nothing has happened.)

(I always try to make conversation with the customers, especially the kids. I notice that the young daughter of the family I’m ringing up is wearing a shirt bearing a picture of Fluttershy, one of the ponies from the new ‘My Little Pony’ cartoon.)

Me: “I like your shirt, sweetheart! That’s Fluttershy, huh? Fluttershy’s my favorite pony!”

(The little girl glares at me.)

Me: “Is something wrong?”

Girl: *crying* “You can’t have Fluttershy for your favorite, because Fluttershy is my favoritest pony ever, in the whole wide world! I like her way more than you could ever ever ever, and she’s my pony pal, not yours! I love Fluttershy, so you CAN’T!”

Me: “Oh… uhm, can I say Pinkie Pie is my favorite then?”

Girl: *sniffling, wiping her eyes* “Yeah. You can have Pinkie Pie.”

(I volunteer regularly at a big science museum in Columbus, which has everything divided up into different ‘worlds.’ The world I work in is set up as ruins on a mysterious island, where you have to go around solving puzzles in order to ‘wake up’ statues and eventually enter the main tower. It’s a slow morning and the only guests are a mother and her kids, one about six months and the other about three.)

Mother: “What do you see when you wake up, [son]?”

Son: “Umm…”

Mother: “If you stand there and look straight up, what do you see?”

Son: *looks around, then down at his shoes* “Umm…”

Me: *cheerfully* “Up at the sky!”

(I raise my hands up and wave them around a little, trying to encourage him to look up. Eventually he does and his face lights up.)

Son: “A snake!”

Mother: “Hooray!”

Me: “Hooray!”

Son: “Hooray for me!”

(They proceed around the rest of the area with the mother gently directing her toddler through each puzzle. I’m meant to stay in my assigned area, but every once in a while I hear a little voice pipe up with ‘hooray for me!’)

(I work in a travel plaza in a town in central Maine, fairly close to the Canada/USA border. The plaza is the only sort of gas station, restaurant, and other amenity on the highway for miles, so we get the gamut of travelers, most of whom are weary from long hours of driving. We are encouraged to be as helpful as possible, and to make conversation while ringing up customers.)

Me: “Did you find everything alright?”

Customer: “Well, I did in here, but…”

Me: “But?”

Customer: “You from around here?”

Me: “Actually, I grew up in the next town over.”

Customer: “Excellent. What is there to do in this area?”

(I offer a few suggestions of popular tourist attractions, and unique local restaurants. The customer gives me an odd look and is silent while I tell him his total. While I’m counting his change, he suddenly explodes. He knocks half his purchases off the counter to get in my face and starts shouting.)

Customer: “DON’T YOU LIE TO ME!”

Me: “I’m sorry; excuse me?!”

Customer: “You stupid b****! There’s no WAY you’re from here! How do I know everything you just told me isn’t all fake? I want to talk to someone who is actually from this area!”

Me: “With all due respect, sir, what makes you say that?”

Customer: “You don’t have the accent!”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “See! I told you you were lying! If you really grew up here, you’d have that authentic Maine accent! ‘Pahk the arnge cah in the yahd’.”

Me: *drawling into a thick ‘Maine’ accent* “Ayuh well there sir what you got yourself there is a Boston accent; you ain’t soundin’ like no Mainer, deyah.”

Customer: “What the f*** did you just say?!”

Me: *in normal voice* “I said, I worked very hard growing up to learn to enunciate properly, but I can assure you I’m far more authentically Maine than these lobster souvenirs you just spent $10 on and then broke. I’m glad to know my hard work paid off. Have a safe trip now, ‘deyah.'”