(I’m straightening up some shelves near the front of the store during Christmastime when a guy comes in open-carrying a gun on his hip. I’m alarmed at the gun, but I remain professional.)

Customer: “Where are your dolls located?”

Me: “Oh, back of the store. Go down the middle there, turn right, and it’ll be a couple of aisles in.”

Customer: “Don’t worry; it’s not for me.”

(I wonder briefly if he is talking about the gun, and then I realize he is commenting about buying a doll. He starts to walk away.)

Me: “I wouldn’t judge even if it was for you.”

Customer: “You should!”

(It’s a busy Sunday morning at the grocery store, with all of the checkout lines but one at least three-deep with full carts. I think I just got lucky because the last line has a customer just about checked out, and then only a lady with a small cart of produce waiting to pay. The first customer leaves as I start unloading, leaving plenty of space on the belt for the items remaining in the lady’s cart, although she’s playing with her cell phone rather than unloading the cart. When the manager moves to the bagging section immediately, I should have known something was up.)

Customer: *mumbling* “$2 dollars, must be $2. I only have $60 this week.”

Cashier: “Your bag of Brussels sprouts is $2.35.”

(The customer grabs the bag, reaches into it, and throws a handful of sprouts in the direction of the manager. She then returns the bag to the cashier and goes back to playing on her phone.)

Customer: “Must be $2.”

Cashier: “Okay, the Brussels sprouts are $1.94 now, but your limes are $2.16.”

Customer: *throws a lime at the manager, and goes back to the phone* “Must be $2.”

(This went on for thirty bags of produce, having the cashier weigh each bag and then tossing anything in excess down the belt, all while barely looking up from the phone. I sympathize with people being on limited budgets, but this was a major grocery store, with at least a dozen scales in the produce area that could have told her the price and printed a label. Once she had paid and the manager took away the shopping basket full of rejected produce, the woman grabbed each produce bag — including light ones with lettuce or herbs — and proceeded to double grocery bag each individually. When she left, the cashier gave me a sympathetic smile, as I’d been waiting in the “short” line for at least a half-hour, but I’d already unloaded my whole cart before realizing that “The Price Is Right” was about to go down ahead of me. Apparently, the woman does this every time she comes to the store, and today was actually a good day because if she buys a melon or other large produce item which can’t be reduced in size, she refuses to put it on the belt until they’ve gone through all the bags. Inevitably, she doesn’t have enough money once the melon is added in, and ends up tossing stuff out of the already run-through bags and insisting they be voided out and re-weighed.)

(My partner sometimes talks in his sleep. He just looks at me, utters a few nonsensical things, and goes right back to deep sleep.)

Partner: *mumbling* “I’m sorry! I enabled them.”

Me: “What?”

Partner: “I enabled them! I enabled the gay monsters to s*** in here.”

Me: “O… kay. Sure, baby.”

Partner: *mumbles and snores softly*

(I thought he was messing with me at first but, as usual, he was sound asleep and will have no recollection of it when I retell the story later.)

(I am a very punctual person. Every day, I go to lunch at the same time, down to the exact minute. On this day, I’m getting my car smog-checked during my lunch break, so I warn my officemate that I may be a bit late returning. I don’t bother telling anyone else, because I have no planned meetings and I figure no one will notice or care. This is what happens when I walk back in.)

Coworker #1: *opening the door for me* “We’ve been waiting for you!”

Coworker #2: “[My Name]! We were worried; I was sure something must have happened to you!”

(I was four minutes late.)

(My best friend and I are in my bedroom. She’s got a hickey on her neck.)

Friend: “Look at the lovebite [Boyfriend] gave to me; it’s huge. Do you know of a way to cover it? I need to hide it from my mother.”

Me: “I have no idea. Makeup, perhaps?”

(Just at that moment, my elder sister comes into the room; it’s clear she’s been listening to our conversation. She is quite immature but always tries to better other people and be an expert on everything.)

Sister: “You should do what I do; I always make sure that any lovebites I get can be covered by clothing.”

(She pulls down the shoulder of her top and shows a small lovebite at the top of her arm before walking out.)

Friend: “Uh, you know that she did that to herself?”

Me: “Yeah, I know. She and [Other Friend] were practicing lovebites the other day.”