(A woman comes up and gives me $2 for her daughter to print. With our computers, you need to have money in your account in order to print. The daughter prints something, then tries to print again. The mother comes up twice, complaining that nothing is coming out and that something is wrong.)

Me: “How much is it saying it will cost?”

Patron: “We have enough.”

Me: “Okay, then it should print.”

Patron: “It’s saying it’s printing, but nothing is coming out.”

(I go over and try to print it. They don’t have enough.)

Me: “You need to put more money on the card.”

Patron: “Why?!”

Me: “The prints cost more than you have on there.”

Patron: “But she only printed once.”

Me: “This new print costs $1.50. She already spent at least $0.70, from what I can see. You only gave me $2.”

Patron: “So?”

Me: “So $2 minus $0.70 is less than $1.50.”

Patron: “I don’t get it.”

Me: “You need to give me more money for the prints.”

Patron: “But why?!”

Girl: “Hi. How much is it to print something in colour off a USB stick?”

Me: “It’s 60c per sheet, but let me see what I can do for you.”

Girl: “Oh, okay. Can I get 10 copies, please?”

(I take the USB stick and open the file she points out, an 11th birthday invitation done in a full A4 word file. At this point she becomes concerned.)

Girl: “Sorry to be a pain but is there any way you could make it smaller?”

Me: “No problem. I can do that.”

(I quickly modify the file, allowing four copies of the invitation to be printed on each sheet. I then print out the pages she wants and hand them to her. As I am having a great sales day and the fact I was impressed by her manners and polite attitude I decide not to charge her.)

Girl: “Thank you so much; how much is that?”

Me: “Don’t worry; it’s fine. You just have a great birthday.”

Girl: “Are you sure? Thank you so much.”

Me: “Not a problem. You have a great day.”

(She leaves with her friend, however about 15 minutes later the girl returns.)

Girl: “Hi. To say thank you for not charging me I brought you this.” *hands me a chocolate bar*

Me: “Oh, wow, thank you so much, but you did not have to do that.”

Girl: “You’re welcome. Thank you so much for your help!”

(She then walked away again with her friend, leaving me astounded. I am a large male, over 6’ tall, and I am not ashamed to admit after that exchange, it took all I had to fight the lump in my throat, as well as leaving me on a high all day.)

(I have just enrolled in university where I will be studying full time, leaving me little time for work. I am therefore applying for government payments. This exchange takes place when I am giving the social worker my details.)

Social Worker: “Alright, so you are about to start university. What is your course called?”

Me: “Bachelor of Arts, Pathway to Secondary Teaching. When I pass that, I will automatically go into the Masters in Teaching.”

Social Worker: “And how long does the course go for? Six months? A year?”

Me: “No. Three years for the Bachelor and a year and a half for the Masters.”

Social Worker: *jaw drops* “FOUR YEARS?!”

Me: “Um, yes. Three years is actually the shortest course you can do; my brother-in-law’s was seven.”

Social Worker: “NO WAY!” *regains her composure* “Alright, and how many hours a week will you be studying?”

Me: “Officially, I’m required to do ten hours a week for each unit: two at university, and eight in my own time. I’m doing four units a semester.”

Social Worker: “So that’s four hours a week? You should still be able to work if it’s only that small an amount.”

Me: “No, there are four UNITS, and I have to study for ten hours a week for each of them.”

Social Worker: “So, ten hours a week?”

Me: “Per unit. And I am doing four. I have to do ten hours of study for each unit per week.”

Social Worker: “That’s forty hours.”

Me: “Yes.”

Social Worker: “So, you have to do forty hours of study a week … per unit.”

Me: *giving up* “Yes.”

(A few days later, I was called because the system wasn’t registering my course. Despite me telling her the precise name, she wrote down ‘Bachelor of Teaching Masters.’ I don’t know how my claim ever managed to be processed.)

Customer: “Can I pay for my meal in guacamole?”

Me: “I–excuse me?”

Customer: “My wife makes a mean guacamole.”

Me: “Hi, did you need any help today?”

Customer: “Nope, I’m just looking.”

Me: “Alright, just tell me if you need anything.”

(The customer stops and looks at the live rats.)

Customer: “DO PEOPLE EAT THOSE?”

Me: “N-no, no they don’t…”

Customer: “Oh, okay. Just wondering!”

Me: “…”

This story is part of our Even-Crazier-Pet-Owners roundup!

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