I’m one of two servers assigned to a large lunch party of roughly twenty-five people, most of whom are children. I’d just finished delivering drinks to the children’s table when a little boy, no older than ten years old, walked up to me.

Boy: “Soo… Do you come here often?”

Me: *In a deadpan voice.* “I work here.”

Boy: “Oh yeah.”

A second little boy, this one obviously younger than the first, seems to materialize out of thin air and pushes the older boy back.

Second Boy: “Don’t mind my cousin. He’s an idiot.”

I live in the only real “city” in a pretty rural area, so our big shopping mall tends to attract families who come in from nearby villages for their big stock-up trips a couple of times a year. This was back when self-checkouts were still a novelty, but our mall’s grocery store already had a few. 

I’m using one when the machine next to me frees up. A trio swoops in: a grandmother, a mother, and a little girl who’s maybe four, all clearly on an Exciting Family Shopping Adventure. Their cart is packed.

They poke at the touchscreen for a bit until they get the hang of it, and then Grandma starts scanning. After every single item, Grandma leans in and makes the most enthusiastic little “Beep!” sound.

After a minute, Mum suddenly asks:

Mum: “Mum, can I do the beep, too? I’ve always wanted to do that since I was a kid!”

Grandma bursts out laughing and says:

Grandma: “Of course! It’s fun, isn’t it? I always wanted to do it, too!”

So now both of them are doing dramatic, delighted BEEPs with every item, and the little girl gets her turn as well, with some help from her mother. They’re absolutely thrilled, and honestly? It was adorable.

The attendant monitoring the self-checkout eventually walks over, smiling so hard I thought her face might crack, and gives them a small discount.

Attendant: “Because you ladies just made my whole shift.”

I’m about four years old, staying overnight at my grandparents’ house. I watch my grandpa take out his dentures before bed.

Four-Year-Old Me: *Stares, stunned.*

I immediately start poking around inside my own mouth.

Mom: “Sweetie… what are you doing?”

Four-Year-Old Me: “I’m trying to take my teeth out like Grandpa!”

Mom: “What are you looking for?”

Four-Year-Old Me: “The button to make them come out!

Yup. Four-year-old me was searching for the “release button” that must let my teeth pop out.

My mom laughed and explained what dentures were. I stop searching, but I do not stop being disappointed.

I’m sitting on the bus. A small girl and her father are sitting in front of me. The girl is misbehaving a bit and won’t sit still, even though her father has told her to settle down several times.

Eventually, he lets out an exasperated:

Father: “Why won’t you do what I tell you to?”

Little Girl: *Matter-of-factly.* “Mom always tells you to stop washing your balls in the sink, but you still do it!”

They got off that bus very quickly as every single person around them was desperately trying not to laugh.

My goddaughter was eight at the time of this story. She was going for one of her scout badges, and it required that she run some sort of small commercial enterprise, like a bake sale or a lemonade stand.

She decides to be creative and make ‘hot coco-balls’. She buys chocolate molds, pours melted chocolate into them, fills them with cocoa powder (and sometimes marshmallows), and seals them. She then waits for them to dry, then decorates them with painted chocolate and sprinkles.

She’s been selling these balls, caramel apples, and cups of fresh milk from a stand. Her parents have asked me to take a look at her books for them because I’m an accountant, and her numbers don’t match up. 

The amount of cash she has brought in is much higher than her recorded sales, but her inventory hasn’t been dropping proportionally as though she were selling off the books. If this were a business, I’d suspect money laundering or that they were keeping a separate set of books for an illegal business in the basement. 

But I also notice another interesting detail: There are plenty of small bills in the till, and her parents have not reported frequently going to the bank to break larger bills. Most businesses quickly run out of small bills and need to break them. This gives me an idea of the likely cause.

So, I sit down with my goddaughter and ask very gently:

Me: “[Goddaughter], what are you doing when someone asks for change?”

Goddaughter: *Extremely sweetly.* “I say thank you for the tip, and smile at them until they stop asking.”

Mystery solved.