I work at a vape shop. An elderly woman comes in one day wanting a different tank.

Woman: “There’s nothing wrong with the one I’m using, but I was pressured into buying it at another shop. The employee there wouldn’t budge on showing me anything else! It’s way too big and powerful for me, and I loathe that. Other than that, I do like the quality.”

She has also brought in a very old model tank with missing glass.

Woman: “If you have replacement glass for this one, I’ll just go back to using it instead.”

Me: “I’ll check. We have tons of glass, but not that exact one, so it’ll take me a hot minute to see if we have a cross-compatible one.”

My coworker entertains her while I search, and I hear her say that she’s going to call her daughter to let her know she’s going to be late. I think she is going to complain that I am taking so long. I am searching as fast as I can, but finding replacement glass is a tedious process when you don’t have the exact one.

Instead, I hear her say:

Woman: “I’m so happy I found a shop where the employees will go above and beyond for me! I’ll be coming here from now on!”

After five or ten minutes of searching, I come back empty-handed, and she opts to just buy a new, smaller tank. As she’s looking through her options, I point out:

Me: “If you like everything about the one you have aside from the size, we have basically the half-sized ‘baby’ version.”

Her face lights up when I pull it out.

Woman: “That’s the one that originally came with mine! It’s the one I was looking for, but I don’t know enough about them to ask for it by name. The only reason I was stuck with the giant version was that I pointed it out at the other shop and said, ‘This is the one I want, only smaller,’ but the guy insisted that only the big ones exist.”

They didn’t even show her how to properly use it. She is dumbfounded at all the new information I am giving her about setting it up and using it. She leaves promising that she will only be stopping by our shop from now on, as will the rest of her family.

She returns today.

Customer: “The tank I bought is leaking. I’m not sure if it’s covered under the warranty.”

I look at the tank, and it is very solid.

Me: “Where is it leaking from?”

Customer: “From the inside. When I try to hit it, I suck up very hot liquid.”

Me: “What wattage have you been running it at?”

Customer: “I’ve been running it about ten watts lower than he recommended wattage. That’s what the guy at the other shop told me to do.”

Me: “That’s why you’re experiencing the hot splattering. You need to run your coils at least at the bare minimum recommended wattage. Otherwise, they’ll heat up the juice, but not enough to vaporize it, so you’ll just be sucking red-hot juice.”

I don’t understand why someone would tell a customer that. It’s baffling.

A woman who could easily be in her nineties is paying for her groceries. Since we’re busy and there is a long line, I silently apply the senior’s discount and give her the total as in the past this has been a timesaver. 

Customer: “How come it’s cheaper than last time?”

Me: “I… uh… I applied the senior’s discount, ma’am.”

Customer: “How rude! Do you think I look old enough to apply for the senior discount?!”

Customer Behind Her: “You look old enough to have been on the Mayflower. Stop moaning about saving money and let us check the f*** out!”

When I was about ten, my father and I were fishing from a pier in Florida. There were people every few yards, so it was pretty crowded so early in the morning. I’d been fishing for a while so I knew a bit about it, even as young as I was.

There was another father-son duo behind us on the other side of the pier. Everybody talked to each other in those days, so it was a pleasant outing.

Suddenly, the kid, maybe five or six, got a bite, and his dad was helping him reel it in.

As soon as the fish came out of the water, the kid hollered:

Kid: “It’s a baby whale! Daddy, I caught a baby whale!”

All the people within earshot took notice and watched as the kid reeled in his first blowfish.

My great-aunt broke her shoulder at one point. She lived alone (she was a fairly recent widow) but was doing well enough. She had pain meds for the arm.

One morning, the neighbors called her daughter.

Neighbors: “You need to come get your mother. She’s wearing a nighty and fur coat, and she’s hiding money in the bushes.”

One very concerning hospital visit later, it turned out that [Great-Aunt]’s pain meds were prescribed wrong. She was on a WAY higher dose than she should’ve been. Not sure if there were interactions with her other meds, but after the drug problem got sorted, [Great-Aunt] was back to her normal, sane self.

The family giggles about the mental image of [Great-Aunt] in her lacy nighty and best fur, hiding money in random shrubbery. (We can do this because she was okay at the end of the day. We wouldn’t laugh if it’d been something more serious or permanent.)

My friend was asked by a date, very early into said date:

Date: “Are you on your period? I have this strange talent where I can always smell when a girl is on her period.”

She picked up her bag and left immediately.

The unnerving part was that she WAS on her period.