(I live in a little more affluent area where a lot of people work in tech. I am ordering some fast food to go, inside the restaurant. I walk in when it’s pretty quiet, with only one other person ordering and one other person in the lobby. I hear the end of the woman’s order and the cashier is reading back the order.)

Cashier: “So, that’s going to be [laundry list of food, enough to feed six or seven adults and a few kids]. That’s going to be [total].”

(The woman pays.)

Cashier: “Thank you. Here’s your receipt; you will be number 256.”

(I walk up, order a single burger and a drink, pay, and get number 257.)

Cashier: *two minutes later* “Order 257 ready.”

(I begin to walk up, but before I get to the counter…)

Woman: *shouting* “You’re kidding me! You give him his order first?! I was here before him, and I want my food, and I want it now! Are you guys racist or something?!”

(I’m Asian and she’s white. The staff here are a variety of ethnic backgrounds. The manager comes running out to see all of this.)

Manager: “Ma’am, you need to calm down or I will ask you to leave. He got two things; you got about ten times the amount of food. Your order will take a bit more time.”

Woman: “I want my food; my husband is CEO of [Big Tech Company]!”

(I rushed to the counter to grab my food and leave. As I left, I just heard more shouting but I just wanted to get out of there.)

(In the state of California, we are required by law to put up a warning if we have chemicals that can cause cancer — prop 65. The warning is only posted so consumers can make an informed decision about whether or not they want to make a purchase. These chemicals are usually trace amounts and not very harmful, but can be in large amounts. A customer notices this sign.)

Customer: “What are those chemicals?”

Me: “Well, we use chemicals to clean and sanitize, as do all restaurants.”

Customer: “What cleaning?”

Me: “Like soap to clean and sanitize the dishes and work areas. I don’t really know much about the warning.”

Customer: “But what about the cancer?”

Me: “I don’t really know much more than that, but you can look it up on the website there.”

Customer: “I want you to answer me! What chemicals?!”

Me: “I don’t really know. There’s a website for more information.”

Customer: “You’re supposed to know this! You work here and are trying to give me cancer!”

Me: “I’m sorry; I don’t have more information. You can look on the website.”

(The customer PUT OUT HER CIGARETTE and walked into our bathroom mumbling something about cancer-causing chemicals. I wanted to tell her that there were more cancer causing chemicals in that cigarette than some soap and sanitizers, but I held my tongue.)

(I work at a locally-owned massage business as a receptionist. A fairly skinny woman comes in:)

Customer: “Hi, I want to make an appointment, but can I use your bathroom really quick? I’m pregnant and have to pee all the time.”

(I notice she’s not visibly pregnant, but brush it off.)

Me: “Okay, it’s upstairs, the first room on the right.”

Customer: “Thanks.”

(She looks around and says, fairly loudly:)

Customer: “WOW! THIS PLACE IS GORGEOUS!” *runs upstairs*

(She’s upstairs for a long time, when finally I hear the bathroom door shut. She doesn’t come down for a while. I hear her thumping around upstairs, and then finally she comes down, in a rush.)

Customer: “I JUST REMEMBERED; I HAVE TO MEET MY SISTER! I’LL BE BACK. BYE!” *rushes out the door*

(I knew she took something, but we don’t keep anything valuable upstairs. She took a metal bowl and a desk clock, but the weirdest part was that she crumpled up a newly-folded blanket and threw it in the corner. She never came back.)

(I am working the express lane for those who have twenty items or less. I really hate being on it because I often get customers with a lot more due to the fact that the sign is hard to see. I try to have them leave by letting them know ASAP so I’m not wasting their time, but sometimes I don’t notice them in time and let them through, which clearly frustrates the customers with only a few things. I am ringing up a customer with only a few items and there is no one else in my line. A woman with a full cart comes in.)

Me: “Uh, ma’am, this line is only for twenty items or less.”

(She stares at me, and I quickly revert my attention back to the customer I was helping, assuming that she is going to leave. However, she doesn’t and starts to put her stuff on the belt.)

Customer: “Oh! This is for twenty items or less.”

(She then proceeds to SEPARATE ALL HER ITEMS BY TWENTY. As she is doing this, the store progressively starts getting busy as a stream of customers with only a few items in their hands make their way to my register.)

Me: *whispers* “Kill me now, please.”

(I am seven. I become very ill, so ill that I’m taken to the hospital and stay there overnight with medicine and IVs. This is, understandably, upsetting and frightening. My mother is the one who takes me there, but as soon as the staff are done asking questions, she leaves. I ask the nurse to call my dad, and he visits me. Shortly after he arrives, I suffer a grand mal seizure and get taken for an emergency surgery, since I’ve injured myself. I wake up hours later.)

Me: “Dad, what happened? Why does it hurt?”

Dad: *doing his best to keep me calm and explain how a child could understand* “It’s okay now. You got too hot from being sick, so your body panicked. And when your body panicked, you got hurt. The doctor fixed it. But hey, since you’ve been so good, I called your mom and she said she’s on her way with chicken nuggets.”

Me: *satisfied by the answer, but a little grumpy* “Okay, I guess. Can you stay while I read?”

Dad: *smiles* “Okay, let me know if you find a hard word.”

(Two hours pass. We are both hungry.)

Me: “Did Mom drive to another city?”

Dad: “She shouldn’t have. I’ll page her.”

(My father uses a payphone to page my mother. She arrives twenty minutes later, dressed like a jazz singer, in a flashy dress with a slit up to the hip, with makeup, jewelry, and perfume on. This is strange because she never wears perfume or dresses formally without reason. A man in a button-up shirt is with her but waits outside the room.)

Mom: *maximum sass and attitude* “What? I was on my way. Why couldn’t you just wait?”

Dad: “It’s eight pm; you know we usually have her fed by seven pm. She was worried. I called you hours ago. Where were you?”

Mom: *sighs indignantly* “I had a job interview!

Dad: “Since when do you go to job interviews with perfume and a dress that’s cut up to the hip?”

Mom: *shouts* “Since I said! Now shut up and eat.”

(She throws the bag of food across my legs. Being hungry, I grab what is obviously meant for me and take a bite.)

Me: *sad* “It’s cold.”

(I put my food back in the bag, grossed out.)

Mom: “Well, if you waste it, I’ll make you wish you’ll have to stay here longer! So eat!”

Dad: *takes the bags off of my legs* “No. If she doesn’t want to eat food that’s been sitting out long enough to get cold, she doesn’t have to. Kids have instincts about stuff like this. What if she is this sick because you forced her to eat bad food already?”

Mom: *smirks, then turns to face the hall and shouts* “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF CHILD ABUSE! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO DIDN’T GET HER ANY FOOD!”

Man In Button-Up Shirt: *impatient, speaking to my mother* “Come on. Let’s just go. We are going to miss the movie!”

(Yes, my dad did get investigated. However, it was determined that it wasn’t unreasonable of him to trust that my own mother would bring edible food after agreeing to get dinner! And the man in the button-up shirt who waited for her? He became my stepfather within a year.)