(I am in line behind a young man who was obviously inebriated. He is trying to buy alcohol without an ID.)

Cashier: “Sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t sell you this beer without an ID.”

Customer: “F*** you! I am old enough. Do I look like a kid?”

Cashier: “No, sir, but it’s the law and I could lose my job.”

Customer: “It’s in the d*** truck. Do you want me to go all the way to the truck and get it?”

Cashier: “Sir, if you’d like to go get your ID I’d be happy to set the beer to the side for you.”

Customer: “You f****** b****! I don’t have to—”

(He’s interrupted when a slender, red-haired woman comes up behind him, slips her arms under his and pushes forward, hard. He’s bent over and unable to move his arms.)

Redhead Woman: “Now, that’s just about enough. I let the manager know, and my daughter is calling the police.”

(He tries to pull away and she takes her knee and pushes it hard into his back, making him yelp.)

Redhead Woman: “No, I said that’s enough. You’re going to apologize to the cashier here for fouling up her day, and then you’re going to be still until the cops come.”

(The manager comes sprinting over with security in tow, who take control of the angry guy while the cashier explains and the redheaded woman brushes off the front of her dress. Her daughter hands her the phone and the woman talks to the police for a moment and hangs up.)

Manager: “Thank you, ma’am.”

Redhead Woman: “Not at all. I cashiered in college and it flat sucked. People are d***s.”

(The woman says something to her daughter in a foreign language and the kid grins and looks over at the guy. The cashier rings me up, and as I’m getting ready to leave, I walk past where the cops have the guy cuffed and sitting while they talk to the redheaded woman. I pass by the kid and smile at her.)

Me: “Your mom is pretty tough, huh?”

Kid: “My mom is a bad-a**.”

(Totally made my day.)

(Since it’s nearing the Christmas season, we are currently doing donations for a cancer foundation. I lost my grandfather to lung cancer earlier this year.)

Me: “Your total is $[total]. Would you like to donate a dollar to [Cancer Foundation] today?”

Customer: “No, I would not.”

Me: “Okay, no problem.” *hits ‘no’ to proceed to payment screen and am about to tell the customer she can swipe her card*

Customer: “I won’t donate because there’s already a cure for cancer. It’s the biggest conspiracy out there.” *laughs*

(All I could do was just fake laugh, smile, and wish her a good day. If you don’t want to donate, just say no. That’s it!)

(I’m working the counter at a sandwich shop when a customer comes in looking VERY tired.)

Customer: “How big are your five-dollar foot-longs?”

(He looks like a good-natured sort, so I decide to risk joking with him a little to help him wake up.)

Me: “Eleven inches. I’m taking a bite for that question.”

Customer: *laughs* “I suppose I asked for that. How much?”

(Having just the previous night babysat a boy who likes The Lego Movie, my response is almost automatic.)

Me: “That’ll be forty-seven dollars.”

(The customer wears an expression of abject horror for a split-second… and then breaks into a broad grin.)

Customer: “Awesome!”

(With “Everything is Awesome” stuck in my head for the rest of the day, I got the customer his unbitten, normally-priced foot-long.)

(While working in the dairy department in a grocery store in a town that has two major universities, I have this discussion with a student, after getting out of a class myself in which the professor had just raved for an hour about how our university has some of the best and brightest minds in the country. The student is proudly wearing a sweatshirt displaying the university logo and os absolutely beaming with pride.)

Me: “Hi, how are you doing today?”

Customer: *looking rather confused while staring at the dairy case* “I need help. I’m trying to find something”

Me: “Okay, what can I help you find?”

Customer: “Well, I don’t think you carry them, but I’m looking for smaller gallons of milk.”

Me: “You’re right. We don’t carry smaller gallons of milk. Anything smaller than a gallon is no longer a gallon.”

Customer: *utterly bewildered and confused at my comment* “What? I don’t get it…”

Me: “A gallon is a unit of measurement. If you don’t have a full gallon it isn’t a gallon. It’s a half gallon, or a quart, or a pint.”

Customer: “Look, do you have smaller gallons of milk or not?”

Me: “No, we definitely don’t sell smaller gallons of milk.”

Customer: *walks away irritated mumbling something under his breath*

(The store did, of course, carry half gallons, quarts, and pints of milk.)

(I work at a smoke shop, and get a call.)

Me: “Hello? This is [Store]. What can I do for you?”

Customer: “Are you [Other Store]?”

Me: “No, sir, we are [Store].”

Customer: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes, sir, I am sure.”

Customer: “But your logo is red!”

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Customer: “So you admit you’re [Other Store]!”

Me: “No, sir, both stores have red logos.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I’m coming down right now to speak to your manager!”

Me: “Have a nice day!” *click*