I was at a soccer game. I decided to take a short walk around the concourse and treat myself to a souvenir Dippin’ Dots cup. The kiosk has all of four flavors available (cookies & cream, rainbow sherbet, cookie dough, and brownie batter), and none of them look alike.

Me: “One cookie dough, please.”

One lady took my order and handed the bowl to her coworker, saying cookie dough. While she took my payment, the coworker filled the bowl (the “menu” of sorts covers the glass, so it’s not possible to see what she’s doing from the front side of the cart). A minute later and she hands a bowl to me, full of cookies & cream (obvious by the Oreo pieces).

I hated to complain, but I said:

Me: “I asked for cookie dough.”

Worker: “Isn’t that cookie dough?”

Lady Who Took My Order: “Nah, cookie dough has the brown bits.”

I hand the bowl back, and she takes a fresh bowl and fills it. A minute later, and I’m looking at brownie batter (obvious by the brown, not white, dots and almost black bits of brownie).

Me: “That’s brownie batter, but it’s okay, I’ll take it.”

That was my second choice, and I didn’t want to ask her to redo my order again. She came around to my side of the kiosk.

Worker: “WHICH one?!”

I pointed to the photo. The light bulb went on, and a minute later, I was walking away with my cookie dough dots.

I was in the manager’s office with the manager, interviewing for a 2 AM to 10 AM shift. I don’t remember exactly what we were discussing, I was a young adult who didn’t have much work experience. I think the manager was trying to explain to me the store’s college education funding program.

Anyway, that’s when we heard the shouting up front. The manager told me to stay put and went to check the security cameras.

Over her shoulder, I could see that a guy was holding a gun on the cashier up front.

This wasn’t a ‘rough’ neighborhood. It was pretty normal for Chicago. The store was pretty small, a front area for the customers, a ‘backroom’ with cleaning supplies and some limited storage, and a manager’s office.

I don’t really know what I expected. Maybe for the manager to go out there and interrupt what was going on? Perhaps for someone to call 911?

But the manager didn’t do anything. She just watched as the cashier handed over the money to the guy, and he left. She nodded to herself.

Me: “Does… does that happen often?”

Manager: “No, honestly, it’s the first time it’s happened since I was hired four years ago.”

Me: “Are we… supposed to do anything if we get robbed?”

Manager: “No, our money isn’t worth your life.”

Me: “Weren’t you supposed to call the police?”

Manager: “I already did, it’s just a single button press. No need to actually dial in, there’s a silent alarm.”

Then she gave me a very serious look.

Manager: “I’d love to sit around and answer your questions, but I strongly suspect I need to comfort a badly traumatized employee. Let’s reschedule finishing this interview for another day.”

As freaked out as I was by what happened, I was seriously impressed by her calm and collected response.

I wound up working there for three years, and we weren’t robbed again in my time there. They also helped pay a quarter of my college fees, per their employee college benefits program, which was nice.

I work for the company that hosts touring Broadway shows and musicals as they make their way to Chicago, and as such myself and my coworkers get to see the shows, usually around opening week or press nights. 

‘Beetlejuice: The Musical’ has made its way to Chicago for one week only, and while I go opening night, I unfortunately miss this gem, which was relayed to me by my coworkers who went the following night.

Sometime after the start of Act Two, a character is supposed to sing a tango number, but her lavalier mic (microphone worn by the actors) doesn’t work for the duration of the song.

Rather than stop the show to troubleshoot, a stagehand dances his way on stage during the choreography and gives her a handheld mic.

Which doesn’t work either. 

So, they bring her another mic.

Which ALSO doesn’t work.

The number concludes without her audible singing, and following that is an emotional ballad by the lead of the show, and as she kneels on stage, ready to begin, suddenly over the “god mic” (the microphone used to make announcements in the theatre) a voice booms out saying:

God: “IT DIDN’T WORK THE WHOLE F****** TIME, NOW IT F****** WORKS?!”

The crowd erupts into cheers and laughter, and the lead actress sits there on stage, stunned for a solid fifteen seconds before the performance resumes as normal.

I was born and raised in the US, but I wear a hijab and speak Arabic with my family. Most people are fine with it, but every now and then, I get one or two jerks.

On the first day of the college semester, I’m in class, and I see another student staring at me wearing an annoyed look. My heart sinks, but I decide to just ignore her unless she says something. Both of us stay after class to talk to the professor, and I brace myself when she turns to me.

Girl: “By the by, this has nothing to do with anything, but your outfit is seriously awesome. With all the different shades of blue, you look like a Disney princess!”

I start laughing, I’m so surprised.

Girl: “Huh? I… thought it was really pretty…”

Me: “No! It’s… it’s not that. You were staring at me earlier, and I thought you were angry or something.”

Girl: “Staring at y— Hang on. Was I making this face?”

She lets her expression drop, and her face immediately slips back into the “I will break your nose and laugh” expression.

Me: “Yes!”

Girl: “Sorry I freaked you out! I was just zoning out, and I have chronic resting b**** face. I promise I wasn’t glaring at you!”

Both of us were laughing by that point, and we finished up and left happily.

I’ve had two classes with her since then, and she’s turned out to be pretty awesome. We passed Calculus I and II with flying colors after studying together, she loves the same kind of horror movies I do, and we’re totally planning on taking neurobiology together next semester so we can keep studying together.

A customer in a business suit shambled into the coffee shop where I work with bags under his eyes at about 8 AM.

Customer: “Give me the largest black coffee you’ve got and put in as many shots of espresso as you can before I have to sign a waiver.”

I prepare him an Americano with eight shots, he downed it, ordered another while he went to the washroom, downed that, and took one to go.

His parting words?

Customer: “Don’t have kids!”

Related:
Americano-No-No, Part 2
Americano-No-No