(My mother is in town visiting my sister and me. My sister has a three-month-old boy, and while I love my nephew I have no plans to ever have children of my own. I am also the only person in my family who doesn’t use marijuana. This happens after I’ve gotten off my night shift and am spending “quality time” with my family.)

Sister: “Here, have some cookies.”

Me: *barely awake* “Thanks. Hey, these cookies don’t have weed in them, do they?”

Sister: “Nope!”

(Later:)

Sister: “Okay,[Boyfriend] and I are going to the store. You guys stay here.”

(She leaves with her boyfriend. As soon as she’s gone, my mother darts outside, pulling my brother after her.)

Me: *alarmed* “Wait, where are you going?”

Mom: “Oh, don’t worry; this will be good for you!”

(She leaves, and two things penetrate my sleep-fogged mind: 1) my sister lied about the cookies, and 2) I am alone with the baby. I start to panic a little. I can’t find my cell phone, and there are no clocks, so I set the microwave timer for 15 minutes and reset it every time it beeps. I march around the house to stay conscious, stopping periodically to make sure my nephew is still breathing. After at least 45 minutes, my sister returns.)

Sister: “Hello, feeling good yet? Wait, where’s Mom?”

Me: “…your baby’s still alive. I need to lie down and then I want to go home.”

(My dad, my sister, and I are in the car driving home after they picked me up from work. Our mom works at a local wildlife rescue and rehabilitation center, where they take in injured wildlife and nurse them back to health. There has been an injured coyote in our neighborhood that she has been trying to capture for the past few months. As we are driving on the street parallel to the street our house is on, the injured coyote runs across the street. We pull over and call our mom, who is still at work.)

Mom: “[Wildlife Center], this is [Mom]. How may I help you?”

Sister: *on speakerphone* “Hello, we were driving along and an injured coyote ran across the street in front of us.”

Mom: “Where are you located?”

Sister: “[Street next to ours].”

Mom: “What side of town is that on?”

Sister: “East.”

Mom: “Oh, I live over there. Was it a front leg injury?”

Sister: “Yes.”

(At this point, Dad and I are nearly dying trying to hold back our laughter. My sister is having trouble keeping a straight face as well.)

Mom: “Yeah, I’ve been trying to catch this one for a while. Is he moving?”

Sister: “Well, he ran across the street, but we haven’t seen him move from behind the car in this driveway here. ”

Mom: “Yeah, I live over on [Our Street] and he’s been sighted a couple of times but is always gone when we come and try to find him. I will see if I can drive by and see if I can see him.”

Sister: “Okay. Bye, Mom!”

Mom: “Wait… what?!”

(We then explained to her that it was us the whole time. Apparently, she was going to call us once she got off the phone to go and check it out!)

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(It is nearing the end of my shift and I am busy with cleaning the lobby since I have no customers. A girl’s volleyball team from one of the local schools enters and I wait on them. When they sit at their tables, they begin getting quite loud and obnoxious, deliberately spilling their meals everywhere, and some even throwing pickles at the window and seeing if they could really race them as they slid down, like in the movie ‘Billy Madison.’ While they are getting ready to leave, I am getting the mop bucket and such ready to clean up the mess straight away. The coach of the volleyball team stops me.)

Coach: “Give me those.”

Me: “Oh, no, sir. It’s quite all right. This is just part of my job.”

Coach: “I understand that, but my girls were very irresponsible tonight. I need to teach them this kind of behavior is not acceptable.”

(In a surprised daze, I give all my cleaning supplies over to the man and he gathers up all the girls.)

Coach: *to his team* “You think this kind of behavior is funny? That you can just come in here, make complete fools of yourself, trash the place up, and just leave? I expected better from all of you. I hope you all have as much fun doing this young man’s job for him as you had making this mess.”

(The coach forced his entire team to clean up the mess, from sweeping to mopping to cleaning off the windows, until the entire lobby was clean. The entire time he watched with a look of disappointment. I applauded the man for taking amazing action with teaching a lesson above and beyond a spot.)

(A customer sits down at the bar and proceeds to wave her arms at me as if I cannot see her.)

Customer: “Um, hi! Bartenderrrr! Hi! I need to order a drink!”

Me: “Okay. Let me finish taking this order and I’ll be right with you.”

Customer: “Okayyy, but I’m really thirstyyy!”

(The customer and her friends giggle as if it’s the first time I’ve heard anyone say this. I finish with the order and walk over to her.)

Me: “Yes, ma’am. What can I get for you?”

Customer: “I really, really, really want something fun and fruity. How about a Malibu and pineapple? Ooooh, and do you have cherry juice? I love cherry juice!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. We have grenadine. Give me one moment and I’ll get that for you.”

(I go to make her drink. It’s one and a quarter ounce of Malibu, which is a coconut rum, three ounces of pineapple juice, and a splash of grenadine. I hand her the drink. She squeals when she sees that I’ve poked the straw through a cherry.)

Customer: “That’s just adorrrable!”

(I walk over to aid another customer, but the original customer calls me back.)

Customer: “Oh, my god! UGH! Bartender! BarrrrrTENDER!”

Me: “Yes? Is something wrong?”

Customer: “Oh my GODDDD! I cannot drink this. You put coconut in this! I hate coconut! I didn’t ask for coconut!”

Me: “Wait. I thought you said Malibu?”

Customer: “I DID. But you put something with coconut in it. Do you even know what you’re doing?”

(I try to explain that Malibu is a coconut rum, but the customer isn’t listening.)

Customer: “I want a new drink… Now! Remake this without the coconut!”

Me: “If you want, I can make that drink with white rum instead of coconut rum.”

Customer: “Yes! Just a Malibu and Pineapple with the cherry juice. But no coconut! I hate coconut! Just Malibu, pineapple juice, and cherries! NO COCONUT!”

(I ignore the fact that she’s talking to me as if I’m five. I make the drink with white rum and hand it to her.)

Customer: “Oh, my God. This is so much better. You should have just made it like this the first time. I don’t blame you, though. Don’t worry, honey. I can tell you’re new with drinks.”

(The customer drinks a few, and pays her bill.)

Customer: “You really should be careful. People could be allergic to things, you know. Imagine if I had a coconut allergy! Oh, you just need to pay ATTENTION. You could save somebody’s life!”

(I smiled through gritted teeth and watched her walk out the door. When she finally left, the remaining bar guests gave me a round of applause. I bowed.)

(I am a fourth-grade teacher and there is a guest speaker in our class talking about the dangers of tobacco.)

Speaker: “Do any of you have family members at home who smoke cigarettes?”

Student: *to the boy behind him* “My dad smokes EVERYTHING!”

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