(I work as a lifeguard during the summer at the local park pool. Being an outdoor pool, it is hard to regulate the temp. The pool tends to be warmer in the afternoon when the sun is directly overhead. A lady comes up to me mid-morning:)

Customer: “The water is too cold!”

Me: “You will have to wait until the afternoon; then the water will be warmer.”

(To most, the reason would be obvious, but she blankly stares at me.)

Customer: “Why?”

(I’m not certain what comes over me, but I reply:)

Me: “Because the water is always warmer after the kiddie swim classes.”

(She contemplated my answer for a minute before it dawned on her and she walked away, disgusted.)

I work as a staff member at an airport club, the kind that you have to pay to belong to and that offers WiFi, desks, tables, phones, snacks, and so on for busy travelers.

The men’s room is located directly adjoining the staff office, with doors that are virtually identical except for small stylish plaques saying, “MEN,” and, “STAFF.” Consequently, it’s not uncommon for men in a hurry to lunge into the staff office, do a double-take, and then excuse themselves and go next door.

Today — Super Bowl Sunday, as it happens — a couple of us were sitting at the table in the staff office when suddenly the door flew open and a man all but ran into the room, with his fly unzipped and his junk already out. I can only assume he expected it to be a one-seater that he wouldn’t have to share with anyone.

Embarrassing for him, embarrassing for us. But what really made it memorable was his response to the situation. Standing there gaping at us, he shouted, “I’LL SUE!” 

Then, he turned and ran back out… without making any real effort to cover himself.

I looked at my coworker and she looked at me. “Did that really happen?”

(I work in a self-serve ice cream store. The machines and toppings are all out front so customers can help themselves without our assistance. Your price is determined by the weight of what is in your bowl, not by separate ingredients. One of our most popular toppings are huge hazelnut pirouline sticks. This is a story told to me by my manager and my assistant manager. My assistant manager has just finished serving a mother and her two daughters, who look to be about seven and ten. She waits to see that they are seated and do not need anything else and then goes to the back to cut up strawberries. No sooner than five seconds after she gets back there, my manager comes bolting out of the office, yelling:)

Manager: “They’re stealing toppings! They’re stealing toppings!”

(My assistant manager follows her out to the front, where they are greeted by the girls standing right near the jar of hazelnut sticks. They are each clutching one. Their mom is busy texting.)

Manager: “Girls, stealing is very wrong.”

(The girls say nothing but move to put the sticks back.)

Manager: “No, you can’t put them back now because you touched them, but don’t let me catch you stealing again, okay?”

(The girls stay silent, but the mother comes over.)

Mom: “What’s going on?”

Manager: “Well, we just caught your daughters stealing toppings from us.”

Mom: “Oh? Well, I can pay you back for the toppings. How much?”

Manager: “Oh, you don’t need to; they literally would’ve only added a penny or two to your purchase. Please don’t let it happen again, though.”

Mom: “No. I insist.”

(She took two dollar bills out of her purse and literally threw them into the now-stunned face of my manager, and then she stormed back to her table. My manager stood still for a moment and then put both dollars into the tip jar and headed back to their office. Later, as the family was leaving, my assistant manager heard the mom say, “We are NEVER coming back here again!” At first, she thought she was saying this to the children as a punishment, but then she realized that the lady was saying it to her, angry because we reprimanded her children for doing something wrong!)

(I work in a self-serve ice cream store where all of the toppings are out front for customers to reach. A mother and three daughters, ages six to sixteen, are pouring toppings into their bowls.)

Mom: “Now, girls, be careful and don’t make a mess, or you’ll be the ones cleaning it up!”

Sixteen-Year-Old: “Oh, I’m not going to be cleaning up anything. That’s not my job.” 

(She took a big spoonful of mini candy, looked me in the eyes, smirked, and dropped the candy onto the floor. The mother didn’t say a thing.)

(I just got off work where my uniform is a blue polo shirt and black dress pants. I walk into a drug store there the uniform definitely isn’t.)

Customer: “Sir, can you help me find the hair dye?”

Me: “Sure.” *looking down at my large logo on my shirt that says, “[Company] Gas Station”* “Come with me.”

Customer: “Oh, thank you so much. I wish more employees were as attentive and helpful as you.”

Me: *confused and amused look* “Sure, no problem. Have a good night.”

(The customer went over to the manager at the checkout and pointed to me, talking and smiling. The manager looked confused at me, and I just shrugged my shoulders.)