(Happy hour is ‘two for one,’ from 6-8 pm, on cocktails and beer. I settle in, and try to confirm that my usual rum and soda would be covered, presuming I use the well rum. Keep in mind English is not the bartender’s first language.)

Me: “Is it happy hour, and what does that cover?”

Bartender: “Yes. Two for one, cocktails and beer.”

Me: “So, I’ll have a rum and soda.”

Bartender: “Rum?”

(I proceed to point to rum in the menu he handed me.)

Bartender: “No, not rum, just these cocktails.”

(He points to the previous two pages of a random selection of mixed drinks. So I skim that list again, and realize a way out of my predicament.)

Me: “I’ll have a mojito, but please leave out the lime, sugar, and crushed mint.”

Bartender: “Okay, no problem.”

Me: “And that’s two for one?”

Bartender: “Yes, it is cocktail.”

(In other words, I just ordered… a rum and soda.)

(A customer brings in her desktop for repair.)

Customer: “Excuse me, sir, can you help me? I’ve done something terrible.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. What seems to be the problem today?”

Customer: “Well, I was on the computer, and all of these naughty images started to pop up. Well, I didn’t want my grandkids thinking their grandma was into something nasty, so I started to delete things and, well… I’ve deleted the Internet!”

Me: “It will be all right, ma’am. I think we can save the Internet.”

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Me: “Hi, welcome to [Restaurant]. What would you like today?”

Customer: “I’d like fried rice with the chicken and broccoli.”

Me: “Sure.” *I put food on plate*

Customer: “Now, add lots of the broth on the rice. Lots and lots and lots.”

Me: “Okay.” *I add sauce to rice*

Customer: *watches and starts making noises of pleasure* “Ohhh! Yeah! Ohhh!”

Me: “…”

(I am working in a grocery store meat department on Thanksgiving day, stocking the hams and turkeys as fast as I can. I have just announced over the speaker that we have five fresh, unfrozen turkeys left, and we are waiting for the rush of people to get them. When there is only one left, predictably two customers grab for it.)

Customer #1: “Hey, this is mine. I saw it before you did.”

Customer #2: “No way! I walked all the way across the store to get it. It’s mine! I’m going home with it.”

Customer #1: “Why don’t you get a ham or something? I need this turkey for my dinner tonight. You can get something else.”

Customer #2: “Listen, you fat cow, you can buy the f****** ham. I’m getting this turkey.”

(At this point I figure I’d better get involved and run over.)

Me: “Ladies, we do have fresh turkey breasts available as well as hams and ducks. There are even a couple of geese leftover—”

Customer #2: “F*** you! I’m getting this d*** turkey and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

([Customer #2] then shoved her cart into the other woman, causing her to fall into the display of stuffing next to her, and ran off with the turkey. Hoping it was over, I went to help [Customer #1] get up, but she slapped my hand, got to her feet, and tackled the other customer. I called security. Before they could get there I saw that [Customer #3] had spotted [Customer #1]’s now abandoned cart and purse. She ran over and dumped [Customer #1]’s purse into her own and then grabbed just about everything out of her cart, including a bag of prescription medication, before running off. I shouted at her but she disappeared into a crowd of people. [Customers #1 and #2] were by then rolling on the floor in the bread aisle while security was trying to pull them apart. While this went on, [Customer #4] approached [Customer #2]’s cart and grabbed the turkey and most everything in her cart. Security eventually pulled them apart and they were both arrested. Sadly, [Customer #3], who stole [Customer #1]’s purse, was never caught as the cart was in a blind spot.)

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(Our library has a new program where we showcase an artist’s work in our park next door. The first choice of art was a giant head made of discarded wood. After it was replaced, I have this conversation with a maintenance page.)

Page: “I like the new sculpture much better. The giant head was a bit weird.”

Me: “Yeah, it reminded me of The Wicker Man.”

Page: “What’s that?”

Me: “It’s a horror movie. The newer one has Nicolas Cage—”

(Suddenly, a library patron nearby begins shouting.)

Patron: “Not the bees! NOT THE BEES!”

Page: “I have got to see this movie.”

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