(Every Saturday before work, I stop by a small local coffee shop, and pick up my regular customized drink. They sell them for a reasonable price. One morning I come in and there is a new employee working behind the cash register.)

Me: “Hey can I get dark roast, hazelnut coffee, but one shot of caramel?”

New Cashier: “One caramel latte and a hazelnut latte, both with caramel?”

Me: “Nope, just one dark roast hazelnut coffee with one caramel shot.”

(I assume it is because he is new and just learning, so I remain calm.)

New Cashier: “No caramel latte with no caramel. But one dark roast caramel with the hazelnut shot?”

Me: “Almost, but it’s one dark roast hazelnut coffee with a caramel shot.”

New Cashier: “Hey, can I get a DARK ROAST, HAZELNUT COFFEE WITH ONE CARAMEL SHOT!”

(The barista making the coffee yells back to the new cashier.)

Barista: “You got it!”

New Cashier: “Can you please confirm you heard me right?”

Barista: “One dark roast, hazelnut coffee with one caramel shot.”

New Cashier: “Okay, perfect. One dark roast, hazelnut coffee with one caramel shot is being made.” *looks at me* “Is this correct?”

(At this point I’m almost ready to lose it and start laughing.)

Me: “Yes. I’ll pay with debit.”

New Cashier: “Cash or credit?”

Me: “Debit.”

New Cashier: “Okay, you’d like to pay for your dark roast, hazelnut coffee with one caramel shot with debit?”

Me: “Yes.”

(I looked over the barista, and we were both laughing. Unfortunately, this happened every time I went to get coffee, but it did crack me up every time, too.)

(Somewhere along the line my job evolved to include purchasing coffee and tea and all the related supplies for the office. Sometimes I get strange requests. Some are stranger than others.)

Coworker: “We need spoons. Could you buy spoons next time you go shopping?”

Me: “We have lots in this cupboard right here.” *opens cupboard and shows coworker huge box of plastic spoons*

Coworker: “No, real spoons, not plastics ones. Those are no good.”

Me: “No good? What do you mean? Are you using them for more than just coffee or tea?”

Coworker: “I only use them for tea, but when they get hot they smell! If they smell, that means the plastic is getting into my tea. So, I don’t want to use them; I only want to use real spoons. I don’t want to drink plastic!”

Me: “Um, okay. I will see what I can do to get you ‘real’ spoons.”

Coworker: “Okay, thank you! Oh, and can you buy some stir sticks, too? We are almost out.”

Me: “Sure! Are wooden ones okay?”

Coworker: “No, plastic is fine.” *walks away*

(I am working as a cashier at a bulk food place. One of the duties for cashiers is cleaning up the store after closing. A colleague and I are cleaning, then a few minutes later…)

Colleague: “Hey, [Supervisor], my dad is here to drive me home.”

Supervisor: “You’re not done cleaning yet, though.”

Colleague: *whining* “But my dad is waiting!”

Supervisor: “Well, okay, you can leave.”

Me: “But that will leave me to do all the cleaning by myself.”

Supervisor: “You’re not getting a ride home, though, right? You have your own car.”

Me: “Well, yes, but—”

Supervisor: “So there’s no problem!”

(The supervisor leaves to do other work, and [Colleague] happily goes home. It takes me ages to do all the cleaning myself, so much so that I submit a claim for overtime. The following day…)

Big Boss: “What the heck? Why did you claim overtime for staying late last night?”

Me: *explains*

Big Boss: “I see. Okay, I’ll make sure you’re paid what you’re owed, and don’t worry; this will never happen again.”

(The supervisor got a royal chewing-out, with the admonition that no one would go home until the cleaning was done, period, not even if the Queen herself was waiting to give someone a ride.)

(A patron approaches me at the circulation desk in our public library.)

Patron: “I have something awkward to tell you.”

Me: “I won’t judge. I promise.”

Patron: “Well, you might.” *she shows me a heavy coffee table book, “Selfish,” Kim Kardashian’s selfie book* “The pages are all stuck together, and I thought you should know I found it like this.”

Me: “Well, it’s in no condition to circulate.”

Patron: “The thing is—” *lowers her voice to a whisper* “I know this smell and it’s a man’s… you know.”

(It took a moment to register, before I nervously called over my more senior coworker for moral support. We chucked the book because it was clear the damage was done within the library, since there was no way we would check a book out to anyone in that condition, nor would we return it to the shelf like that. Neither of us could be sure the sticky stuff was what the patron suggested it could be, but we were taking no chances there.)

(I’m setting up for a stand-up comedy show one afternoon at the theatre on campus. It’s late morning, and I’m the only one in the building. I’m sweeping the stage when a middle-aged woman walks into the house, and the following exchange occurs.)

Woman: “The Nutcracker isn’t here, is it?”

Me: “No.”

Woman: “It’s at [Other Theatre], isn’t it?”

Me: “Possibly, but I’m not sure.”

(I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the show here was called “D**k Loss Prevention”!)