(Rent is due on the 1st of each month, and late after the 5th. After the 5th, a late fee applies. Today is the 6th.)

Tenant: “Here’s my rent. I was going to drop my money order in the drop slot last night but I got tied up late at work and was too tired to drive over. I’m sorry. Can you waive the late fee?”

Me: “Well, let me see. Hmm, the date the money order was printed on was today, the 6th. So you just lied to my face.”

Tenant: *completely unashamed* “Ha ha. Well… yeah. You know.”

Me: “No, I don’t know.” *hands back rent* “Please come back when you have the additional late fee.”

Tenant: “That’s just wrong! It’s only a day!”

Me: “No, ma’am. It’s the lying that’s wrong here.”

Tenant: *slams door and leaves in indignant huff* “I’m going to call your boss and have you fired. Oooh, and you’re racist!”

(It is a busy Sunday morning, and I accidentally turn my register off. It takes about five minutes for the system to completely reboot and get back up and running. In that time a customer has pulled into my drive-thru lane.)

Me: “Sorry, it should be just a minute before I can get your order in.”

(As I say this, my computer crashes and I have to reboot it again. Since there is a line of customers ahead of them, they can’t pull up to the window to order either.)

Me: *over the speaker* “I am so sorry about this! As soon as we get the line moving, I can get your order in at the first window.”

Customer: “Don’t worry about it; we’re not in a hurry. Take your time!”

(It takes two more minutes before I can get their coffee order in and they get to the first window to pay. They speak to my coworker.)

Coworker: “Hello folks! Sorry it took so long. Your order has been paid for already, so go ahead and drive up to the next window.”

Customer: “Paid for? Who paid for our order?”

Coworker: “Actually, the girl that took your order felt so bad about her computer crashing she paid for your coffees.”

(They leave a verbal thank you for me and leave. I think this is the end until an hour later the manager is screaming my name.)

Manager: “What did you DO?!”

Me: “I don’t know; what happened?”

(The manager shows me the huge tray of piping hot homemade cookies. Apparently the customer’s wife decided to repay my kindness and made us all cookies! Best day of work ever!)

(In high school, I was wrongly kept off of the honor roll. When this was corrected, it embarrassed a few of my teachers, and they never forgot. A few years later, I’m at my first year of college, and my sister is at her first year of high school. I’m doing quite well in my classes, and she can’t help but update my former teachers on my progress. But her updates annoy my former math teacher, and he calls a parent-teacher conference with my mother, under the pretense that my sister is struggling.)

Mother: “So, you called this conference today to talk about my daughter. I do know that math has always been one of her more difficult subjects, so if there’s anything we can do at home to help her.”

Teacher: “Actually, I think the main problem with your daughter is your son. He’s being a very bad influence on her.”

Mother: “Really? How so?”

Teacher: “Well, your daughter keeps going on and on about how well your son is doing at [college]. I don’t think that your son getting into some liberal arts college is an accomplishment to be proud of.”

Mother: “I beg your pardon?”

Teacher: “I mean, your son was supposed to be some kind of super-genius, right? If that’s true, why isn’t he going to some ivy-league college down in the States?”

Mother: “I’m sorry, but you called this conference to talk about my daughter. I don’t see what my son has to do with it.”

Teacher: “Don’t worry about your daughter. She’s doing fine. The real concern, I think, is your idiot son who wasn’t good enough to get into Princeton.”

Mother: *getting very angry* “Look. My son’s grades were good enough to get into any college he chose. After he did all the research, he determined that [college] was best for his budget and career goals. I don’t need to defend his choice of school to your or anyone. Now, you called this meeting to talk about my daughter.”

Teacher: “Whoa! Touchy! I guess Harvard telling your son to hit the bricks is still a sore spot in your house.”

Mother: “We’re done here.”

(My mother storms out of the classroom. Halfway down the hall, she hears my former math teacher calling after her.)

Teacher: “JUST ADMIT HE’S NOT A GENIUS!”

This story is part of our Parent-Teacher-Conference Roundup!

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(I’m teaching a piece of choral music to a high school choir. It’s a long piece, so we’ve broken it up into lettered sections for ease of rehearsing.)

Me: “Okay, let’s start at the ‘C’ section.”

Student: “I shouldn’t have to sing that part!”

Me: “Why not?”

Student: “Because I was born naturally!”

(My history professor is discussing insurrection. He has a very vivid style of teaching that involves putting us into the situations we’re learning about.)

Professor: “Assume that you are the government. You want to stay in power, so you need to bring an end to the rebellion. What seems to be the best way to do that?”

Outspoken Classmate: “KILL EVERYONE!”

Professor: “You would make an excellent tyrannical despot! Everyone remember this. If I go down, do not elect her your new leader.”