(I work at the largest university in Alaska, and we frequently have earthquake drills and, of course, the required fire drills. I am designated as one of our building safety personnel in charge of evacuating the building and getting people to the designated “safe” area away from the building, a large portion of which is floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows. The meeting area is located safely behind the cement parking garage, a good distance from our building. However, people get weirdly stubborn about moving to the correct area, even as I wave and point and usher them. I start becoming very creative in handling these recalcitrant evacuees.)

Me: *in official vest and over bullhorn* “Please step this way behind the parking garage, towards the designated meeting area!”

(A few people move.)

Me: “Folks, please be sure to thank those people over there—” *indicates the people still stubbornly standing right next to the giant glass building* “—who have bravely volunteered to be a human shield for you in the event of a fire or other disaster in which our building, made entirely of glass, could potentially explode outward.” *pause for effect* “Their sacrifice in protecting you from the explosive shrapnel will be much appreciated!”

(The human shields eschew the honor and glory, and move to relative safety behind the parking garage, glaring at me all the while.)

Me: *mentally shrugging; it’s part of my job and I can’t get fired over this* “Thank you for playing the ‘How to stay alive during a natural disaster’ game! Herb, tell them what they’ve won!”

(Most people were laughing pretty hard at this point. The few holdouts glowered at me the entire time.)

Me: Anchorage jail booking.
Caller: Yeah, is my baby daddy there?
( It’s a slow night, so I decide to play ball)
Me: Whats the baby daddy’s name?
Caller: I’m not sure which one.
Me: How many are there?
Caller: A couple, I think it’s John.
Me: Last name?
Caller: I don’t know.
Me: What is the babys last name? Is it the same as yours? Or did you give the baby it’s dad’s last name?
Caller: Well yeah I gave her her dad’s last name! What kind of mom do you think I am!
(long silence)
Me: Well, whats the last name?
Caller: Hold on, I don’t remember, but I have her birth certificate somewhere…….
Hereit is! The last name is ____.
Me: We have no one by that name currently in jail.
Caller: Well maybe it’s the other one. Try Tony.
Me: Tony Who?
Caller: I don’t know
Me………….

When I was 16 years old, I worked in a children’s museum where I was in charge of the aquarium section. We had a “touch tank” where people could feel sea life. Because the animals are delicate, we had a strict policy that people could only touch animals I had put on trays at the edge of the tanks. Despite this policy, (and numerous prominent signs stating the policy) people would routinely stick their hands in the parts of the tank that were off limits.

One day, a woman came in and proceeded to repeatedly stick her hands into the tank, despite my requests. Finally, I forcefully said, “Ma’am, please don’t stick your hands into that part of the tank, as it distresses the animals.” She pulled her hands out, flicked water in my face, said, “You just need to chill,” and stomped off, cursing about “little s***s who think they know everything.”

So I’m in a convenience store perusing the aisles when a couple middle-aged blonde women walk down the aisle I’m on. I’m pretty sure they were tipsy, and there were talking really loudly in thick southern accents… but I was in a good mood and they were all smiles and giggles, so I couldn’t bring myself to be annoyed. I saw them staring at coffee brands before I walked to the next aisle over, and could hear them on the other side of the aisle trying to sort out what coffee brand they should buy.

Lady #1: *after a couple minutes of loudly discussing it with her friend* “We should call someone over here to help, I can’t decide.”

Me: *snickers to myself as her friend starts bellowing*

Lady #2: “Blondes in aisle 12 need service! Blondes in aisle twelve need service, over!”

Me: *from opposite the rack on the adjacent aisle in my best official mock-intercom voice* “Customer service suggests that the blondes on aisle 12 chose the Folgers, over.”

They burst into laughter asking one another who the heck had said that, meanwhile I walk down the aisle with a grin on my face, and on of the employees tells me that they ought to hire me for costumer service. Made my day, and the women’s day, too.

(I am working the floor at a large pet store. A young man, about 16 years old, comes in and says that he is thinking of buying some lizards and wants to know what he will need. I explain to him that these lizards will need an aquarium, a lid, a heat source, places to hide, a special lamp — especially as there is little sunlight in winter in Alaska — and a few other items. I also talk to him about what kinds of lizards would be good for him, and which ones will be relatively inexpensive. At no point do I try to sell him anything, since I figure he is just getting a feel for what he’ll need. While I am talking to him his mother comes in:)

Mother: “What are you doing?”

Son: “I’m thinking of buying some lizards, and I want to know what I need.”

Mother: “What did this guy tell you?”

Son: “Well, I need an aquarium, a lid, a heater, a special light, and some other things.”

Mother: “Why are you trying to sell my son this stuff that he doesn’t need?”

Me: “He asked me what he needs to keep lizards.”

Mother: “Don’t lie to me. You people are always trying to sell other people things they don’t need. You do not need a heater or a light. There is no way we are buying things from a liar like you.”

(The son looks absolutely mortified at this point.)

Son: “Mom! I asked him about this. He was just answering my question.”

Mother: “We are leaving, and if you can’t recognize liars who want to steal your money for things you don’t need, then you can’t go into any more stores.”

(The mother then physically dragged her son away while loudly complaining about liars, and her son just looked back at me with a horribly embarrassed expression on his face.)