This happened in the 1950s. My grandfather Al was an abusive jacka** but was also an excellent auto mechanic. When other mechanics couldn’t figure out the problem, they’d tell their customers to take their car to Al. He’d fix the problem, but he’d yell at the customer for not doing the required maintenance or some other infraction.

One day, a woman pulled up to the garage. The car battery kept dying. She’d had the battery, alternator, and countless other parts replaced by other mechanics to no avail.

Grandpa walked around the back of the car, opened the trunk, twisted the metal bracket holding the trunk light in place, and then closed the trunk.

Grandpa: “Problem fixed, no charge.”

The woman burst into tears.

Back in those days, the trunk light turned off and on via a mercury switch — a little glass vial with wires and a blob of mercury. When you opened the trunk, the vial tilted and the mercury contacted the wires, creating an electrical connection and turning the light on. The bracket holding the vial was bent, so the light was always on, draining the battery.

I live close to a zoo and am a member, so I visit regularly and have come to know the keepers and the animals. I suppose I’ve begun to exude an air of confidence while I am there because people come up to me ALL the time to ask for help with directions, information on the animals, etc.

The fact that the zoo has a very specific uniform and that I’m NOT wearing it should be a tip-off, but oh, well. (One time, I was wearing a bright red Christmas jumper, and even that didn’t act as a deterrent.) I’ve had several interactions which have just been absurd.

Customer: “My son wants to pet this one. Bring it out.”

Me: “I can’t do that, ma’am.”

Customer: “Why not?!”

Me: “Well, for one thing, I don’t work here. For another, that’s an American Alligator, and it will eat your child rather than let him pet it.”

I partially overhear a conversation between my housemate and his three-year-old after they return from the store.

[Child] walks in eating a tiny cupcake.

Child: “My daddy gave me a cupcake!”

After finishing it:

Child: “Daddy, can I have another cupcake?”

Father: “After dinner, sure.”

A short time later from across the house, I only hear [Father]’s response.

Father: “That was very polite, so you may have another cupcake.”

Another maybe twenty minutes pass, and [Father] steps outside to have a cigarette. A minute after that, [Child] walks down the hallway proudly holding a box of cupcakes.

Child: “My daddy got me cupcakes!”

Me: “And your daddy gave you that whole box, did he?”

Child: *Excitedly* “Yeah!”

Me: “[Child], are you sure he gave you that entire box right before dinner?”

Child: “Yeah!”

[Child] sits on the couch and starts to open the box.

Me: *Louder* “[Father], I’m assuming you did not give [Child] an entire box of cupcakes.”

Father: “I absolutely did not! [Child]!”

When my dad was seventeen, he did a year of high school in the USA; we’re from The Netherlands.

Classmate: “All foreigners are weird.”

Dad: “Why do you think that?”

Classmate: “It’s weird that you don’t speak English.”

Dad: “Why is that weird?”

Classmate: “It’s useless to make up a sentence and then translate that to a foreign language in your head before saying it out loud.”

Dad: “What do you mean? Wait… Do you think that everyone from other countries thinks their words first in English and then just makes the extra effort to translate it into the language of their country?”

Classmate: “Yeah… don’t you?”

Dad: “Why would we do that?!”

Classmate: “See! I told you! It’s stupid!”

Dad: “It sure is!”

I work for a theme park, and I have decided that I absolutely loathe it when we get school groups coming in. School groups tend to carry meal vouchers, and I’ve decided that I also hate meal vouchers with a passion because dealing with meal vouchers brings out the jerk in everyone. It lists on the back of the voucher what types of meals you can get and where you can get them.

Otherwise, there is a HUGE sign at every other place that is not listed on the back. It states clearly: “BRING YOUR MEAL VOUCHER HERE FOR [MEAL] AND REGULAR DRINK. UPGRADE TO A SOUVENIR BOTTLE FOR $9.99!”

We have three brand-name restaurants in different parts of the park. There is only one that can serve the chicken-strip meal for a voucher. The other two have to serve the cheeseburger meal. That’s how it rings up when we scan the voucher, and that’s what we have to follow due to inventory. Naturally, I am NOT at the chicken strip meal location today.

A huge crowd of shouting kids comes up to the counter all wearing the same school shirt and all waving meal vouchers. They start to toss me a gigantic wad of meal vouchers. I have to scream to be heard.

Me: “Everyone, pick your meal voucher back up! One at a time only. Once I give the person before you their drink, you can hand me your voucher!”

This begins twenty minutes of total madness. When I ask one kid what their drink is, I get fourteen different answers, none from the kid I was talking to.

I also have to move my receipt printer because some kids keep trying to snatch up the receipts as they print. This horribly jams the printer, as it likes to be left alone when it feeds paper.

I finally come to a dad and his daughter.

Dad: “I want the chicken strip meal with this voucher.”

Me: “We only do the cheeseburger meal at this location.”

Dad: “Uh… no. You do chicken strips. It says you accept any meal here.”

Me: “Wow, really? Where does it say that?”

Dad: “On the back of this voucher.”

Me: “That actually says the location in [Cowboy-Themed Location].”

Dad: “This is [Cowboy-Themed Location].”

Me: “This is the [Boardwalk Location].”

Dad: “Wow. You of all people should know this is [Cowboy-Themed Location].”

Me: *Patience is gone* “In order to get here, you walked directly under a flamboyantly colored archway that said, ‘Boardwalk’ in giant letters.”

Dad: “I don’t care! I want chicken strips!”

Me: “There is no option for me at this location to give you chicken strips on a voucher. The voucher will scan as a burger meal only.”

Dad: “GET ME YOUR MANAGER!”

I get my supervisor.

Supervisor: “What’s wrong?”

Dad: “Okay, I’m not even going to begin to talk to you. You’re not a manager.”

Supervisor: “I am the only manager of this restaurant.”

Dad: “Your name tag says supervisor. So, no. Get me a manager.”

Supervisor: “I’ll have to call someone to come over, and even then, it will take a while.”

Dad: “Just do it!”

Supervisor: “Hold your horses; the phone’s in my hand!”

Did I mention that I’m the only cashier and our second cashier isn’t coming in until three? The whole park is completely swamped, but for some reason, they won’t start turning people away even when every square inch of standing room is taken up. I help all the other customers while the dad is standing there trash-talking the park to his daughter.

Finally, the manager shows up.

Dad: “My daughter and I want chicken strips on this voucher.”

Manager: “Follow me. I can help you with that.”

Dad: “Finally!”

Manager: “You’re gonna go left all the way down and then right all the way down to [Cowboy-Themed Location]. If you don’t like that option, we can serve you cheeseburgers here.”

Dad: “I. Don’t. Want. Cheeseburgers!”

Manager: “That’s fine. Let me escort you to [Cowboy-Themed Location].”

Dad: “I don’t want to walk over there.”

Manager: “Then I don’t know what to tell ya, buddy. Those are your only options. If you wanna know where to get anything else on the back of your voucher, don’t hesitate to ask.”

The dad, realizing that nobody was going to budge, muttered something under his breath, but he ended up getting the cheeseburgers after all.