(A woman is calling to check on the status of her order. She has given me her name and company.)

Me: “Do you have your order number with you today?”

Caller: “Yes.”

Me: *after leaving a short pause so I won’t talk over her if she starts giving the number right away* “And what is your order number?”

Caller: *no reply*

Me: “Ma’am?”

Caller: *no reply*

Me: “Are you still there, [Caller]?”

Caller: “I’m still here.”

Me: “May I have the order number, please, ma’am?”

Caller: “Oh, I thought you were waiting for something.”

(I walk to a local chain coffee shop every day in the summer. I like to sit at the tables outside and write. One of the tables happens to be right next to an ATM for a bank. It’s a beautiful, sunny day but with a stiff breeze, so I sit next to the ATM to block the wind. I’m enjoying my iced latte and typing on my laptop when a woman parks her large, expensive SUV and comes up to me. She says something, but I have my headphones in. She stands there, so I take my headphones out to be polite.)

Woman: “Are you hacking into that ATM?”

Me: *thinking she’s joking* “Ha, yeah.”

Woman: “Are you hacking into that ATM?”

Me: *realizing she’s not joking* “Uh, no.”

Woman: “You’re stealing people’s information! You are! You’re hacking into that with your computer!”

Me: “…”

Woman: “You’re taking pictures of everyone and stealing their PINs! I’m going to report you! They’re going to arrest you!”

(She goes into the café, and when she comes out she points at me and gets back in her expensive car and drives off. Starting to become concerned, I wander in.)

Me: *to barista* “Did some whackadoo lady come in here and say I was hacking into the ATM?”

Barista: “Yeah, that lady is crazy. We told her you’re in here all the time, and she told us she wanted us to call the police because you were stealing from the ATM. I don’t know why she told us. We don’t care. We don’t own the ATM!”

(God, I love baristas.)

(I’m assisting an elderly lady who’s nice but very chatty. As I’m ringing her up, she suddenly asks:)

Customer: “So when is your baby due? Are you pregnant?”

Me: “Um… no, I’m not.”

(I am short and curvy, and wearing a wrap dress with an empire waist, which is a common maternity style; I figured that’s why she assumed that. The customer looks a little embarrassed, and I kindly change the topic. After she leaves, I go over to tell my two coworkers, and we all laugh about it.)

Me: “I hear this happens all the time to women in retail, but this is my first. Check that off the list! I’m kind of reconsidering this dress, though.”

Coworker #1: “Oh, gosh, I was helping this lady in my line, and she fumbled and her hand kind of smacked against my stomach. I was about to tell her it was fine, but she freaked out and started yelling ‘Oh, no, I bumped the baby! Is the baby okay?!'”

(For the record, [Coworker #1] has no curves at all, and is very skinny.)

Me: “Seriously?!”

Coworker #1: “I didn’t really know what to say! I kind of joked that maybe I needed to go running after my shift, but the people in line behind her all told me after ‘Oh, no, you’re fine. You don’t need to do that.'”

Coworker #2: “Maybe they all thought you were pregnant and didn’t want you to run with the baby.”

Coworker #1: “Oh, God… I didn’t even think of that!”

(Free advice: even if it seems obvious to you that someone is pregnant, it’s best not to assume or bring it up. It prevents a lot of awkwardness in the long run.)

(For reference, our bags of ice are stored outside, and you can’t see the storage containers from inside the store. If you were to point toward them from the registers, you would be pointing directly at our customer service desk.)

Customer: “I need yellow.”

Me: “Yellow? Um…”

Customer: “Yellow.”

(The customer points to the customer service desk, right at these yellow Western Union card things we have.)

Customer: “Yellow book.”

(Note: he could have also said “yellow bag”)

Me: “The Western Union?”

(A manager conveniently walks up.)

Me: “Hey, [Manager], do you know if we have… uh…”

Manager: “How can I help you, sir?”

Customer: “I need yellow.”

(My manager wanders off after looking at me seriously confused, and the customer leaves the store. Two minutes later, the customer walks back inside carrying a bag of ice.)

Customer: “Yellow, yes?”

(The bags of ice at my store and the storage containers for the bags of ice do not have anything about them that are yellow, nor has anyone put anything on or near them that are yellow. And no, my manager couldn’t make sense of it either.)

(My family has a running joke that my dad knows everyone; this fact will be important later. I moved to Alabama from Louisiana about six months before this story. It is an eight-hour drive from one city to the other. My partner and I are three hours into the drive to visit my family when a tire pops on the interstate. Our spare is also ruined, and was supposed to be replaced a month ago at a visit to the tire shop. It takes about three hours to get to the tire shop from the interstate and to get news about the state of our tires. At this point, it’s not looking hopeful. The salesman tells us the tire and spare are both no good, and he has none in the same size. But, LUCKILY, he has a tire that was special ordered to be picked up that day, but the man who ordered it had to reschedule pickup for a few days longer. So, he sells us the tire and reorders for the other customer. We are paying, and the guy asks where we are headed:)

Me: “I’m from [City] in Louisiana, so we’re going to visit my family.”

Salesman: “That’s where I was born and raised. Who’s your kin?”

Me: “[Last Name].”

Salesman: “Oh, I went to high school with a [Dad], [Aunt], and [Cousin].

(My partner starts laughing while I just sigh.)

Me: “My dad is [Dad]. And he does literally know everyone, no matter where I go!”