(I am an 18-year-old male. I work at a local bakery around the corner from my house on the weekends. I’m busy dealing with a customer, who happens to be my sister, who is older by five years. Since it’s quiet at the moment, I’m just having a quick chat with her whilst my coworker deals with the only other customer in the store.)

Me: “Well, anyway, I should get back to clearing the shelves. I will see you at home later?”

Sister: “Yeah, sure!”

(The other customer has apparently been eavesdropping, and walks up to my sister.)

Customer: “Don’t you think you should wait until you’re older before you start dating men?”

(The customer then turns to me.)

Customer: “AND YOU! You should be ashamed of yourself! This girl can’t be more than 16, and you’re taking advantage of her!”

(To be fair my sister is short and very slim. I’m 6′ 2″ and quite bulky, so she is often mistaken for being younger than me.)

Me: “I’m terribly sorry, but you seem to have misunderstood. This is my sister, and she’s actually older than me.”

Customer: “Don’t you try to justify yourself to me, you monster; you’re taking advantage of this poor girl.”

(The customer then tries to take my sister by the hand and lead her out of the store.)

Customer: “Come with me, dear; I won’t let that man hurt you.”

Sister: “No, that really is my brother! You don’t understand.”

Customer: “No, dear, don’t believe his lies. Let’s get you away from here and call the police.”

(He drags my sister out onto the street. I rush after them, because as far as I’m concerned, this man is in the act of kidnapping my sister.)

Me: “Hey, stop! GET OFF MY SISTER!”

(The man turns around to face me, at which point several other store owners have come out to see what’s going on. I decide to make a last ditch attempt to reason with this man before I try and force him to let go of my sister.)

Me: “Look, I’ve got my ID on me and so does my sister! If we show them to you, will you accept that what were telling you is the truth?”

Customer: “Fine, but I warn you: I know fakes when I see them!”

(My sister and I both show our IDs, which bear the exact same surname and our dates of birth. I see that it all finally clicks into place in the customer’s brain.)

Customer: “Oh, well, why didn’t you just say so?”

(The customer saunters off down the street, merry as you like. Once were sure he’s gone, my sister walks round the corner back home. It’s only then we realize that in all the drama, the customer never actually paid for the bread and cakes he had bought. We all now wonder if he just forgot like we did, or if we were a victim of the most impressive scam to steal bread and cake in history!)

(I am visiting with two of my best friends at their little bakery. They are married, and have been best friends since the day I introduced them. The wife and I are doing some shopping for ingredients while business is slow. As we return to the bakery, a man stops and holds the door open for us. I go in first and the wife follows after me; we both thank him.)

Wife: *suddenly yelps*

Me: “What? What happened?”

Wife: “He slapped my a**!”

Man: “Don’t you know a true gentleman opens the door for a lady, and then slaps her a**? It’s a compliment, you stupid b****!”

Wife: “Excuse me?!”

(The wife is about five seconds from kicking the living crap out of this guy, when her husband walks over and calmly steps in front of her. He himself is wearing a suit and tie still, because he has not changed into his work clothes yet.)

Husband: “Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

Man: “Why?! I didn’t do anything!”

Husband: “A true gentleman opens the door for a lady, which is true. However, a true gentleman NEVER touches a lady without her consent. Ever.”

Man: “Man, why the h*** do you care so much?!”

(The husband simply smiles and then looms in close to the man’s face. The man is nearly 5’7″ while my friend is 6’2″. The man’s face goes sheet white.)

Husband: “For your information, that little lady is my wife. I own this bakery, and unless you would like me to show you how long it will take me to beat you to bloody pulp, I suggest you leave.”

(The man scurries off and is later charged for assault. As for my two friends, let’s just say the husband got an extra treat that night.)

(My mom decides to get pies from the bakery around the corner. When she gets home, my mom decides to take a peek at the pumpkin pie, and discovers that the entire surface is a sickly shade of green. Needless to say, she goes to return it.)

My Mom: “Hi, I’d like to return this pie.”

Cashier: “Sure, what seems to be the issue?”

(My mom opens the box and shows it to the cashier, and the cashier flies into a rage.)

Cashier: “That’s not one of our pies!”

My Mom: “I assure you it is. I ordered it here.”

Cashier: “THAT’S NOT ONE OF OUR PIES! YOU BOUGHT THAT SOMEWHERE ELSE AND YOU’RE TRYING TO GET A REFUND HERE! I’LL SHOW YOU ONE OF OUR PIES!”

(The cashier comes out of the back with a box, and without looking at it, opens it, and shoves it into my mom’s face.)

Cashier: “SEE? THIS IS WHAT OUR PIES LOOK LIKE!”

(The cashier notices my mom’s incredulous expression, because she flips over the box, only to find an identical, green pie staring back at her. Needless to say, we don’t get pies there any more.)

(I work in the in-store bakery at my supermarket. Our shelving-display signs warn that all of our products either contain nuts, or are prepared in the same food areas as products containing nuts. Two young girls aged about eight approach the shelving, and read aloud the notice.)

Girl #1: “The sign says that some of the food contains nuts. I wonder which things have them in.”

Girl #2: “Well duh, obviously all of the doughnuts have nuts. The clue is in the name. DOUGH. NUTS.”

(I work at a bakery, and my manager is working on a Superman groom’s cake.)

Manager: “Perfect! Now I just need to color the sugar for the ice house.”

Me: “Ice house?”

Manager: “Yes, this Superman cake has an ice house!”

Me: “Come on! It’s called the Fortress of Solitude!”

Manager: “Oh, whatever! To me, it’s an ice house! I bet [Other Employee] calls it an ice house, too.”

Me: “No way. [Other Employee] is a total comic book fan.”

Other Employee: “So what’s left on the cake?”

Manager: “We need to spray paint the sugar pieces.”

Other Employee: “Oh, for the ice house?”

Manager: “Hah! I told you he’d call it an ice house!”

Me: “But it’s the Fortress of Solitude!”

Other Employee: “Sorry. I’m more of a Marvel fan.”

This story is part of the Superman roundup.

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