(I am visiting my parents in another province for Easter. My boyfriend texts me to find out if we can have a phone date before I get home the next day.)

Boyfriend: “Sup?”

Me: “Knitting and watching Jeopardy. You?”

Boyfriend: “Don’t forget your prune juice.”

Me: “I’m drinking coffee. F*** you.”

Boyfriend: “I don’t know. Don’t want to break your hip.”

Me: “Shut up!”

Boyfriend: “Whoa there. Getting a little edgy, huh? Have you had your nap yet?”

Me: “I’m gonna kick your butt, sonny boy.”

Boyfriend: “I’ll just have to keep farther than your oxygen tank cord can reach.”

Me: “No lovin’ tomorrow.”

Boyfriend: “The Alzheimer’s will kick in and you’ll forget you said that.”

(I am standing at the cash register of our store. A customer comes up and asks about our tulip bulbs, so I point them out and she goes over to them.)

Customer: “Well, aren’t you going to help me count them out?

Me: “Sure, ma’am, how many would you like?”

Customer: “500, obviously. You can’t expect me to do that on my own!”

Me: “Sure, ma’am, I’ll help you for the moment.”

(As we reach the 200-tulip mark, three other customers finish their shopping and line up at the cash. I’m the only cashier, so I go to help.)

Customer: “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?! I don’t have 500 yet!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need to ring these people through. I’m the only cashier on duty. I can help you again once I’m finished.”

Customer: “You b****! You said you would help me, and now you want to back out? I can’t believe this!”

(Suddenly, the customer throws her bagged tulips onto the floor, scattering them everywhere. She then grabs handfuls of bulbs from the bin, throws them around the store, stands up, and marches out.)

(We have international newspapers that we keep behind us at the till. Also, I’m female. I’ve just finished ringing up some British newspapers for a customer.)

Me: “Have a brilliant day.”

Customer: “Can I take a look at your rack?”

(This not only catches me off guard, but all the staff and customers within earshot, who turn and look at us.)

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “I just want to see what else you’ve got to offer.”

(Everybody is still staring.)

Customer: *realizing what he’s said* “Oh! Your newspaper rack.”

(I work in a shoe store. Sometimes we have the same style of shoe in different colors and the colors vary in price. A customer is having a problem with the listed price.)

Customer: “Why are the green and black shoes different in price? You should give me the price of the green one for the black one.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the prices listed on the shoe are the final price. Different colors can be different prices, because they are a different shoe.”

Customer: “You can’t have a different price for a different colored shoe! That’s racist!”

(A couple, about mid-30s, comes up to the counter. The man has an account, but no card or ID on him. Her name is apparently on the account, though. Asking for his name, I pull up his account. As she’s fishing in her purse for ID, I look at his account. There are two women’s names on the account.)

Me: “Ah, so you must be [First Female’s First Name]?”

(Suddenly, the wife fires off a hateful look at her husband.)

Wife: *to husband* “I thought you took your ex-wife’s name off the account!”

Me: “Oh geez, I’m sorry. He probably just added you, not realizing her name was still on there. You must be [Second Female’s First Name].”

(She gives me an ice-cold stare.)

Wife: “NO, I’M NOT!” *storms out*

Him: “Well, guess these are for me, then.” *rents the movies and leaves, blushing redder than an apple*