(I am a brand-new employee at a grocery store bakery, but I have been working in customer service for years. One of my new coworkers is talking to a customer who looks to be in his mid-sixties.)

Customer: “No Italian bread today?”

Coworker: “Not just now, no. We’re shorthanded and one of our ovens is down and being worked on. However, the French crusty loaves are exactly the same, so you could get one of those, instead.”

Customer: “No, they’re not.”

Coworker: “Yes, they are. We use the same dough for both; we just put a different pattern of slices in the top before baking.”

Customer: “No, I’ve eaten both and the French is very different inside. I don’t want a French loaf; I want an Italian one!”

Coworker: “Well, that’s your choice, but it’ll probably be over an hour before we have any Italian loaves available for purchase.” 

Customer: *grumbles and leaves*

Coworker: *walks over to me* “I pan those up at least three times a week, but of course he knows that they’re different inside, so what do I know?”

Me: “But he’s a customer! Of course he knows better how to do your job than you do!”

(She cracked up. I think I’m going to like working here.)

(I work part-time at a small bakery chain. The way the register is set up, whoever clocks into the POS first, their names are on all the receipts until they sign out, even if there were others on shift. At this point, I’ve always worked the first opening shift and so my name has been on all the receipts. We have a coworker who I and others are fairly certain was only hired because this bakery chain is very keen on hiring those of the same ethnicity regardless of competency, and because he’s a friend of the manager’s son, who also works with us. Unbeknownst to me, this coworker messed up a cake order. I get a warning from my friend privately before messages come through the group chat on my day off.)

Friend: “Hey, dude. Heads up, [Manager] is really mad that you messed up.”

Me: “Wait, what happened?”

(The group chat notifications come in.)

Manager: “[My Name]! Why didn’t you write down an order for a cake on Tuesday?! The customer is furious!”

Me: “What? I didn’t take any cake orders on Tuesday.”

Manager: “Yes, you did! A woman came in and ordered a #1 blueberry cake and paid for it. I have the receipt with your name on it!”

Me: “What’s the time stamp?”

(She sends a picture.)

Me: “That shows the order happened at 12:18. I start work at 7:00 and take my half-hour lunch at 12:00. It was probably [Coworker] who took the order.”

Manager: “What? [Coworker] is this true?”

(He doesn’t respond until a couple of hours later.)

Coworker: “Oh, yes, it is. I’m sorry, [Manager], I completely forgot, lol…”

Manager: “Then why was [My Name]’s name on the receipt?”

Me: “Because I’m the first one to clock in and that’s how the POS works?”

Manager: “I see. Well, be more careful next time, [Coworker].”

(No, I did not get an apology. And later, I and a different coworker of the same ethnicity, neither of us the same as the bakery manager, slowly had our hours stripped away and were verbally abused until we quit so the manager wouldn’t have to pay severance, and she got to hire more of her son’s friends.)

(It’s a very busy day and we only have one person cashiering, and I’m trying to clean as quickly as possible. Our counters are glass-fronted; I have the glass lifted and am in the process of cleaning the underside, with my back to the shop, using the reflection to keep an eye on two teenage lads hanging about the sandwich selector. I notice another man acting strangely, picking up packets of cakes and putting them back down. Switching focus to him, I notice as he picks up a box of yum yums and turns to leave, so I pursue him out the door.)

Me: “DO YOU FEEL LIKE PAYING FOR THOSE?!”

(He turns, glaring at me, and I expect he’ll either walk off or attack me. To my astonishment, he does neither.)

Thief: “DON’T F****** SHOUT AT ME!”

(He then THROWS the cakes at me and runs off, and to my utter astonishment, I CATCH them in midair!)

Me: “Don’t steal, then!”

Teenage Boy #1: “Wow, that was a h*** of a catch!”

Teenage Boy #2: “How did you even see him?!”

Me: “I’m magic.”

(I think I was more shocked than anyone else that I caught those cakes! When I told my manager she was almost on the floor laughing. Still the coolest way I’ve ever stopped a thief at work.)

(I pick up the phone and get treated to this conversation:)

Me: “[Bakery]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Uh, yeah, my friends and I wanted to order a sheet cake for our buddies who are coming back from serving overseas in the army.”

Me: “All right, let me just get some information from you.”

(I ask him for details about what kind of cake he wants and he answers.)

Customer: “And you can write a message on the cake, right?”

Me: “Yeah. What do you want it to say?”

Customer: “Okay, we want it to say, ‘Thanks for standing tall and proud…'”

(I think I can hear him snickering slightly, which confuses me.)

Customer: “‘Your long, hard ordeal is finally over.'”

(Now, I can hear other people in the background trying to stifle laughter.)

Customer: “And then we… And then we want their names written on it.”

Me: *not buying it anymore* “Uh-huh.”

Customer: “Staff Sergeant Rod Johnson, Private Jimmy Wang, Rifleman Dick Peters, Gunner’s Mate Willy Cox.”

(The guy on the phone and his buddies were all cracking up.)

Me: “Aren’t you forgetting Schmuck Phallusworth? Or is that who I’m speaking to?”

(Bellows of outrageous laughter erupted from the phone before I hung up.)

(I work night-shift as a doughnut fryer. I don’t see people often, but when I do, I try to be extra helpful. It is about 11:00 pm.)

Customer: “Do you know where the crunchies are?”

Me: “Crunchies? Um, I don’t think so. Can you describe them?”

Customer: “They’re like apple pie, but with oatmeal on top.”

(I ponder for a moment, for that could apply to a great many things we make. Then it hits me. Cobbler. She means cobbler. Interesting fact: our store’s kitchen actually makes the cobbler. So, I show her where it is.) 

Me: “Here it is. The kitchen labeled it ‘cobbler’ but I think this may be what you are looking for.”

Customer: *sneers* “Yes, it is, but in my family, we call it crunchies.”

(Then, she walked away all snooty. All I could think was, “Yeah, but if you want people to understand you, you call it what everyone else f****** does.”)