(The cafe I work at has a group of regulars who play Dungeons & Dragons at a corner table in the weekend. It’s generally funny to listen in on the game when it’s quiet.)

Dungeon Master: “The thugs attack you. Congratulations; it’s a bar fight. Initiative, please.”

Girl Playing Wizard: “I will hide under the table and plug my fingers into my ears.”

(The rest of the players give her this slightly amused look.)

Girl Playing Wizard: “My character is a bookworm and a coward. Deal with it.”

(Every time she routinely hides during combat — in a wardrobe or a bush, polymorphing into a tree or turning invisible and stomping her feet in place to simulate running away — the group loves it. Later on in the campaign:)

Dungeon Master: *sighs heavily* “The innkeeper’s daughter, charmed and fascinated by your stories, is now in love with you.”

Guy Playing Bard: “Nice!”

Dungeon Master: “She’s sixteen. Her father calls the town guard.”

Guy Playing Bard: “Wait… Oh… What?”

(Cue a twenty-minute discussion about whether the age of consent applies in a largely medieval fantasy setting, before putting it up to vote with us and the patrons listening in. The bard is sent to jail with all votes — jokingly — against him. The adventure moves to breaking the bard out of jail.)

Dungeon Master: “The cell door is locked.”

Girl Playing Rogue: “I try to pick the lock.” *fails*

Girl Playing Wizard: “I think I have a spell for–”

Guy Playing Fighter: “I stuff my stick of dynamite in the lock to blow it open.”

(Total table silence.)

Guy Playing Fighter: “Hey, if it works!”

(Much later in the campaign:)

Girl Playing Wizard: “I cast…. uh… Charm Person on the warlord?”

Dungeon Master: “He throws his axe down and grasps your hand, proposing to you on the spot.”

Girl Playing Wizard: “I try to politely reject him!”

Dungeon Master: “He’s charmed by you, and his behavior hasn’t changed. He grapples you…” *rolls dice* “…and carries you off. That ends today’s session; we’ll pick up next week for the wedding.”

(I’m an employee in a supermarket. One of our regulars is an autistic young man who is tall, wide, and built like a wrestler. He also has some unique social quirks, the main one being his mood; he’s either very social, friendly, helpful, and attentive, or just in a plain bad mood. He also has the habit of dressing in shirts from various animes, and a red vest which has a darker shade of red than the employee shirts; this causes some customers to confuse him for an employee, despite his vest lacking the store logo. Here’s one of the situations we had with him. He’s choosing fruit to buy, and he’s having a bad mood day.)

Customer: “Excuse me. These apples look rotten.”

Regular: “Not an employee.”

Customer: “What do you mean? You’re wearing a red shirt; go get me fresh apples!”

(He finishes choosing his fruits and walks over to the next aisle. The lady follows him and starts to get angry, so I head over.)

Customer: “Hey, don’t ignore me! Do your work!”

Me: “Ma’am, he’s not an employee. I’ll help you with your apples. Now, please stop shouting and don’t make him angry.”

Customer: “I don’t care! He should be polite to customers!”

(She gets fed up and swings her purse at him, which he catches and yanks from her hands before flinging it over the wall into another aisle. He turns to the lady, red-faced, eyes narrowed, and breathing heavily.)

Regular: “NOT. AN. EMPLOYEE!”

(He calmed down pretty much instantly and continued his shopping. The next time I saw him, he was in his good mood, and he came right over to me and apologized for five minutes about causing a scene.)

(I volunteer at a local farm, feeding animals, cleaning stables, etc. It is open for visits, and we easily get around twenty or so grandmas visiting a day with their infant grandchildren.)

Me: “Excuse me. I see you have a bag of carrots. I’m sorry, but visitors aren’t allowed to feed the animals.”

Customer: “It’s just four carrots, and you have two donkeys; it won’t make a difference.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but that’s what everyone says. If we allow that, the donkeys will overeat and that’s bad for their health.”

(She just walks off to the field where we keep the donkeys and I let her. The farmer is nearby and has already spotted her, so I continue work. About ten minutes later, she returns with one of her grandchildren crying.)

Customer: “One of your donkeys bit my grandson! You didn’t warn me that they bite!”

Me: “No, I warned you that you’re not allowed to feed them; if you went ahead and ignored me, then it’s not my fault your grandson got bitten. The wound isn’t even bleeding, so I doubt he’ll get infected with anything.”

Customer: “Well, I’m taking him to the doctor, and if he has anything, I’ll come right back and you can cough up the medical fees!”

(I work as a volunteer job at a retirement home. The people living here usually aren’t problematic, but visitors can be. I am helping the cafeteria with another volunteer, a quiet bear-type who looks like he’s only there to find his WWE membership card. It’s busy and every table is packed; I’m running around trying to get residents seated on tables that only have one or two other residents. I see a table coming free, so I go to the entrance where an elderly couple is making their way over to said table, to guide them there. Two guys who are obviously not visiting anyone take the table. This happens often, as our prices are way lower than a cafe, so people take advantage.)

Me: “Sir, could you please leave the table? We give residents priority.”

Customer #1: “No, they should have been faster.”

Me: “Sir, these people are well over 80 and 90 years old, respectively. I’m asking you to leave the table.”

Customer #2: “Well, we were here earlier; go dump them somewhere else and bring us two coffees.”

(I’m too shocked to form a reply, but then I hear chairs scraping and see my man-bear coworker helping the couple to take a seat.)

Customer #2: “Hey, what the h*** are you doing? We were here first; get them out of here and get us our coffee!”

(My coworker walks over to the pair, and places his hands on the back of their necks.)

Coworker: “You two are not here to visit residents, are too cheap to go to a café, and are very rude to my coworker and our residents. She asked you to leave, and now I’m telling you: leave, or I’ll make you.”

Customer #1: “Go ahead and try; I’ll call your manager and have you fired.”

Coworker: *begins lifting both men from their seats* “Well, too bad I value our residents over a volunteer job.”

(He drags them to the exit where he drops them — literally. The two get back up, but by now a couple of nurses, volunteers, and half our visitors are up and looking at them.)

Customer #2: “I’m going to call the cops on you guys! I’ll have this whole place closed down!”

(My coworker went back to the counter, took off his jacket, and asked me what the couple ordered. Then, he paid for their order and made me a coffee to get over the experience. He was later called in by the director, lightly scolded for getting physical, then commended for protecting the residents. He’s still working with us, and he’s really cool.)

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(I work in a shop that sells yarn and knitting supplies. A lady has come in and spent some time looking at our yarn, and since she looks a little puzzled, I go over and ask if I can help. Yarn is usually sold by weight, in skeins of 50 or 100 grams, and knitting patterns tell you how many grams of yarn you need.)

Me: “Can I help you find anything?”

Woman: “Yes, I was wondering if you have really large skeins of dark-grey yarn.”

Me: “I’m afraid these are the only dark-grey yarns we have.” *pointing at different kinds of yarn in 50-gram skeins*

Woman: “That’s such a shame. I have a pattern that says I need 450 grams of yarn! Fifty is definitely not enough.”

Me: *desperately trying to keep a straight face* “You could just get nine 50-gram skeins.”

(It took her at least a minute to work that out!)