I’m a sixteen-year-old male. I work at a pretty big grocery store that sells beer. The catch, however, is that you need a smart serve and must be at least eighteen years old to sell beer.

Most of the time, customers don’t realize this and don’t read the sign to see which lane sells beer and when I tell them this, they either put up a bit of resistance or just move to another line.

It’s about 11 AM on a Sunday morning shift when a father and his daughter who looks to be around four or five years old come into my lane. I don’t realize that they have beer since they have a large cart full of items.

The father acts kind, asking me how I am, and I begin to scan his items. However, I get to the beer and kindly tell him that I cannot scan the beer because I’m not of age and don’t have a smart serve.

This leads to the father getting a little annoyed and after much pushback, makes me call somebody who does have a smart serve to override his beer because his having that six-pack of blue ribbon is just so important.

Somebody comes to override the beer and tells him politely that he should watch out for the beer lane sign next time because the company could get in trouble for a minor selling alcohol.

I kid you not, this guy freaks out and begins to yell, dropping the f-bomb on multiple occasions, going on about how they shouldn’t hire people under eighteen if it will, and all of this other ridiculous crap. All in front of his FOUR-YEAR-OLD DAUGHTER.

He then proceeds to call the manager, complaining to him, and then once I finish scanning him out, he grabs the receipt right out of my hand and tells me to go f*** myself.

The manager ended up talking to me after, commending me for the way I handled the situation and we laughed about it.

I am the oldest of three kids; my brother and sister (twins) are no less than ten years younger than me. Naturally, as soon as I was old enough to be trusted in the house alone, I was expected to babysit my siblings whenever my parents were out of the house.

After a couple of years, I came to resent my parents for constantly announcing their nights out at the last minute, given that I was a teenage boy who had made friends, found a girl I liked, and could not safely plan to hang out with them because my parents might suddenly decide I was babysitting.

Fast-forward to a couple of years after I graduate. That girl I liked has become my girlfriend, proposed to me, and asked me to move home with her to Japan, to which I have replied with an emphatic yes. There are cheers and tears and snot from everyone we tell about this in the month between the rings and the wings. I am gradually meeting her extended family, getting used to life in Japan, and generally thinking I might want to live the rest of my life here.

My cell phone rings; it’s my father.

I stare at my phone for the whole ring cycle, distinctly remembering that I told everyone back in Canada to text me once I’m overseas. Have I missed a message? No, there’s nothing waiting.

Almost as soon as the ringtone stops, my phone rings again, and this time it’s my mother. I answer the phone, REALLY hoping this isn’t what I think it is.

Mother: “Hey, [My Name]. Why didn’t you answer your dad?”

Me: “Why the h*** are you two calling me?”

Mother: “We’re going out tonight. I need you to watch [Brother] and [Sister].”

Me: “I beg your… what?! I can’t babysit!”

Mother: “Well, why not?”

Me: “I’M IN JAPAN, YOU STUPID S***! I told you up and down for a month that [Fiancée] and I were moving to Japan! I can’t just come over to watch the kids on a whim anymore!”

Mother: “But we’ve got reservations for [Fancy Restaurant]!”

Me: “Then hire a babysitter! Or take them with you! Or cancel! Just make plans instead of expecting me to drop mine at the last minute because I physically can’t anymore!”

I hung up on her and turned to my fiancée to find her glaring at my phone with IMMENSE disapproval.

There were several months between that conversation and the wedding, during which time I was treated to several missed calls from my parents — because I stopped answering the phone when they tried to call me — and numerous texts demeaning me for “acting like your tourism is more important than taking care of your siblings”.

My parents were NOT invited to the wedding.

This story is part of the Readers’-Favorite-Stories Of-2023 roundup!

Read the next story!

Read the roundup!

This story happens immediately after my wife has given birth to our daughter. We are still in the hospital, and the midwife is discussing what our newborn baby should wear to sleep.

Midwife: “It’s actually quite hot in these rooms, even overnight, so she will probably want something light under the swaddle.”

Me: “Okay, that’s fine. We brought a…”

At this point, I am completely exhausted and can’t think of what to call a short-sleeved onesie, so I finish with:

Me: “…an Armless, Legless Thing.”

At that point, everyone dissolved into fits of giggles. Honestly, it made us feel better after the difficult birth. To this day, we still call those kinds of onesies “Armless, Legless Things”.

A man comes in and pays for his food. It’s nothing unusual until I count his coins: pesos, euros, and who knows what.

Me: *Politely* “I can’t accept the change as it’s not legal tender.”

I’m now scanning his dollar bills, too.

Customer: *Instantly furious* “Any store in the country will take Canadian money!”

Me: “Canadian is one thing; this money is not Canadian.”

I show him a coin. He points at it.

Customer: “It has French on it!”

Me: “It does, but it’s not Canadian. Sir, you cannot pay with this money. No store can accept this.”

Customer: “No store… in the country?”

I shake my head no.

Customer: “F*** it. You keep it.”

And then he paid with a card. I’m thinking this man was actually trying to scam with foreign currency.

I work at a bookstore as I thought it would be the perfect workplace for a bookworm like me. My manager bends over backward to kiss the a**es of the customers and then constantly berates the staff when that causes problems in the long run.

I’ve been there for half a year and realized it’s not getting better, so I’m seeking employment elsewhere. A new bookstore opens in the city, and after a couple of weeks, I decide to pay it a visit — mostly to browse their selection.

As I step in, I’m greeted by a worker whose face and voice are both very androgynous.

Worker: “Welcome to [Bookstore]! Can I help you find anything?”

Me: “I’ll be good, thanks. Just looking to browse.”

Worker: “All right. If you need assistance, let me know.”

They turn back to what seems to be an abandoned pile of books. I go to browse for a moment, and I soon hear this.

Worker’s Voice: “Welcome to [Bookstore]! Can—”

Man’s Voice: “Go f*** yourself, [trans slur].”

I look up to see [Worker] holding their arm out to block a young-looking man, their customer service smile gone.

Worker: “Aaaand you’re not welcome here.”

Young Man: “What the f*** is wrong with you? Get me your manager!”

An older man in a suit approaches from across the store.

Young Man: “Tell your f****** employees to—”

Suit: “No. Get out of my store.”

Young Man: “Excuse me?”

Suit: “I heard the way you addressed my employee. Get out of my store, or I’ll have you trespassed.”

Young Man: “F*** the lot of you!”

The young man storms out of the store. I approach [Suit] with admiration.

Me: “Are you guys hiring?”