(My family is on vacation in Europe with a large tour group, consisting of about 40 people from Canada and the US. My sister and I are trying to order at a Parisian McDonald’s, while a middle-aged Texan woman from the same tour is waiting in the next queue over.)

Me: *in bad French* “Uh, could I have a… McChicken?”

Employee: *in French* “Sorry, what did you want?”

Me: *in French, more clearly* “Um, McChicken.”

Employee: *in French* “Ah! Of course. That’ll be [amount].”

Sister: *to me* “I think you were trying too hard to get the accent right. You sounded ridiculous.”

Me: “I didn’t think it sounded that bad… At least I tried.”

(While waiting for our food, we can’t help but overhear what’s going on in the next queue…)

Texan Customer: “Yeah, I’d like a combo number four–”

Employee: *in French* “Sorry, what?”

(The woman gives the flustered employee a death stare, then speaks loudly and slowly.)

Texan Customer: “COMBO. COOOOOMBO.”

(We left then, so I don’t know if the customer ever got her food. To this day, no one in my family ever says the word ‘combo’ without putting on an exaggerated drawl!)

(I’m working as a cashier. I have a line of three people.)

Me: “Hi. How are you doing tonight?”

Customer #1: “Not bad, and you?”

Me: “Well, to be honest, it’s my first night, and it definitely could be going better! I just had a customer pay for her entire $25 order in dimes and nickels!”

(Customer #1 and Customer #3 wince and make sympathetic noises as I finish ringing out Customer #1. Meanwhile, Customer #2 goes absolutely white as a sheet.)

Customer #2: “I’m really, REALLY sorry. You are going to hate me.”

(Customer #2 places a $40 bottle of whiskey on the counter, and begins emptying his pockets…of pennies.)

Me: *whimpers*

(Thankfully, Customer #2 and Customer #3 helped me count!)

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(I work in a fast food restaurant that only sells chicken sandwiches. People often jokingly ask for burgers, so I usually try to joke back with them.)

Customer: “So, I know you guys are a chicken place but can I just get a burger?”

Me: “Haha! Yeah, sure… Now, what can I get for you today?”

Customer: “A burger.”

Me: “Sir, we really only have chicken. There is a [Competitor’s store] down the street if you want a burger.”

Customer: “Seriously, though. You don’t have any burgers back there?”

Me: “I promise. It’s all chicken.”

Customer: “Fine. Can I get a fish sandwich then?”

Me: “…”

(I am disabled and have a service dog that accompanies me everywhere, including my job. I typically run a register, and he will either sit or lay beside me on the rubber mat behind the register. I typically don’t talk about my disabilities with strangers, since some people can be rather mean.)

Customer: “Oh, a service dog! Are you training it?”

Me: *ringing up customer’s items* “No. He’s mine.”

Customer: “But you don’t look disabled.”

(I just smile and continue their transaction.)

Customer: “Oh! Do you have seizures?”

Me: “Something like that.”

Customer: “Diabetes?”

Me: “Something like that.”

Customer: “PTSD?”

Me: “Something like that.”

Customer: “Well! I wasn’t trying to be nosy. Hmph!”

Me: “Sorry about that. Your total will be [total].”

(The customer pays and takes his bags, starts heading for the door before turning back to me.)

Customer: “I’m sorry. That was rude of me, wasn’t it?”

Me: “Something like that.”

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(Today all my customers have been placing the exact same order, so I decide to have fun with the next one who comes in.)

Me: “Hello. Can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi! Can I have—”

Me: “A pound of [Brand] oven roasted turkey? Sliced thin?”

Customer: “Um, yes…”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Coming right up.”

(I slice the turkey for her and hand it to her.)

Me: “Would you like anything else today?”

Customer: “Can I also have—”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. One pound of [Brand] white American cheese, coming up.”

(Her eyes go wide but she doesn’t say anything. I look through the cold case but don’t find an open package of the cheese.)

Me: “Oh, looks like I need to open a new package. One moment, please.”

(I step out from behind the counter and open up the door on the front of the case to get a new package of cheese.)

Customer: “Wow! I didn’t know—”

Me: “That’s okay. Most people don’t know the doors open from the front.”

(Her eyes get even wider. I try not to snicker as I slice her cheese.)

Me: “Aaaaand there you go. Will that be all for you, ma’am?”

Customer: “What number am I—”

Me: “42.”

(She snatches the cheese and runs out the front door at full speed.)

Coworker: “How did you know what number she was thinking?”

Me: “Douglas Adams, dude. 42 is always the answer.”

Coworker: “You’re sick, man.”

Me: “I knew you’d say that.”