(It is the end of the year, and almost every classroom is being used for testing. Because of this, my class has been forced to wait in the hallway. All of us are all tired and hot. Classmate #1 is lying on their backpack.)

Classmate #2: *walks over to [Classmate #1]*

Classmate #1: “Don’t touch me.”

Classmate #2: *hovers hands over [Classmate #1] without touching them*

Classmate #1: “Stop it.”

Classmate #2: “Stop what? I’m not doing anything.”

Classmate #1: “[My Name], make him stop.”

Me: “[Classmate #2], stop doing nothing.”

Classmate #2: *pokes [Classmate #1]*

(My little brother doesn’t want to go to bed.)

Mom: “Time for bed!”

Brother: “You’re not my dad! You can’t tell me what to do!”

Dad: “I am your dad and I say go to bed!”

Brother: “Yeah… but you aren’t Mario. I only take orders from Mario.”

(My family is full of nerds, so we have a Mario hat. I happen to know where it is. I run to get it, put it on, and come back.)

Me: “IT’S A-MEEE!”

Brother: *sighs dramatically and walks out of the room*

My sister and I were deeply in love with Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5 from the first time we saw them on the Ed Sullivan Show, Thanksgiving, 1969. She was six and I was nine.

Fast forward to Christmas, 1971. Our parents give us a portable record player. Our parents had a couple of Jackson 5 records and we played them over and over, ad nauseam.

In August, 1972, Michael Jackson released the album Ben. Oh, we wanted that album so badly; oh, so badly. So we started saving; all of our Sunday school money, all of our candy money, any money we found anywhere went into the Ben Bank. After about two months we had enough for the album. We hounded our mother unmercifully to please take us to the department store so that we could buy the album.

Finally, late on a Sunday, she takes us there, does her shopping, and then she leads us around to where the albums are sold. Now mind you this is a Sunday in the 1970s. All stores close at 5:00 pm and it’s 4:45. My sister is the keeper of the bank, so she is walking in front.

We walk to the counter and politely ask the young lady working there if there is a copy of Michael Jackson’s Ben. She goes and gets it. Oh, my, we are so happy, practically vibrating with excitement. The young lady is smiling, too; she can see we are so happy.

She says that will be $5.45. My sister puts the paper bag that holds all the money we saved for this album on the counter and upends it. Five dollars and fifty cents worth of dimes, nickels, and pennies roll out and we start counting. My mom walks away at that point. After about 10 minutes of us going 1,2,3,4,5, because by that time we have given her all the silver and we are into the 300 pennies that are included, the young lady just starts sweeping it off the counter and throwing them into the register.

My sister and I say, “But we didn’t count it for you.” The young lady says, “That’s okay; I can see that it’s enough.”

That happened 45 years ago and yet I can still see that young lady’s face fall as all those coins rolled across the counter. To the young lady I wish to say, “I’m so so sorry we did that to you. Thank you for being a kind soul to two little girls ten minutes before closing.”

(I’m on spring break with my family in Chicago, visiting my favorite museum. We decide to eat lunch at nice cafeteria-style restaurant inside the museum. My dad grabs food for both himself and my mom so my mom can find us a table in the banquet-style seating, which is moderately busy. She places shopping bags and purses in 4 seats and puts out silverware and napkins for each of us. I’m the first one back at the table and I see an older gentleman starting to sit down at one of the places my mom laid out.)

Me: “Oh, excuse me, sir. I’m sorry, but my family and I are sitting here.”

Older Man: “No one is sitting here so I’m going to sit here.”

Me: “No, I’m sorry, but we had already planned to sit here and that’s why there are napkins and silverware out in these spots.”

Older Man: “I need to sit here.”

(We are at the middle of a banquet style table that has at least eight other seats open on either end.)

Me: “Sir, there are seats just down there that you can sit at. As you can see, my family is already sitting here.”

Older Man: “I need six seats! I have to sit here! You don’t get to tell me I can’t sit here when I sat down first. No one was sitting here when I sat down.”

(At this point he is alone, there is no one with him.)

Me: “Sir, there are six open seats right down there at the end of the table.”

(He moves over one seat, which is still one of the ones we were sitting at. At this point, a lot of people are looking at us because he is quite loud and me and my family are standing there, waiting.)

Me: “No, you need to move down at least one more.” *I’m losing my patience at this point* “Those are still our seats.”

Older Man: “You told me to move so I moved, god-d****t! I moved!”

Me: “We need these four seats here.” *motioning* “There are four of us.” *pointing to me and my family*

Older Man: “You said I could sit here!”

Me: “No, I said you could move down to those empty seats that no one is currently sitting in.”

(He grumbles insults at me for another minute while he finally moves. My family and I sit down and start to eat. I watch the people he was with finally show up and they make him get up and move to the other side of the table where they were already sitting. After a few minutes of him making a scene with them as well, they end up picking up and leaving him there alone. Then, a few minutes later, one of the museum associates approaches our table.)

Associate: *to my dad* “Excuse me, sir, could I see your receipt?”

(My dad hands it over and the associate walks away. We’re left wondering what’s going on, thinking we were maybe mis-charged for the wine my parents purchased at the bar or something. We were long past worrying about the old guy and his family at this point. The associate comes back after a few minutes and hands my dad his receipt back plus another receipt.)

Associate: “Here you are, sir. Have a good day.”

(He walked away before we had a chance to say anything. My dad looked at the new receipt and said he was refunded for the glasses of wine my parents bought, as well as for one of our meals. We tried to ask the associate why he did it, but he wouldn’t give us a full answer, other than thanking us for visiting, and we were left to assume that he had witnessed the exchange between me and the old man and it was a way for the museum to apologize for the difficulty. Still my favorite museum!)

(I’ve recently quit one retail job, for a better one with more hours and more pay thankfully, due to having several problems with the job. One of the major problems was that on weekends multiple coworkers were there to back me up if there was a line, and one coworker in particular ignored the customers. She would just talk to her friends that worked there, making a lot of the other cashiers upset. I’m working with her one Saturday afternoon, when I get a line of seven or eight customers. I call her over.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], I have a line here; can you help me out?”

Coworker: *ignores me, continues to talk to friend in nearby sales section*

Me: *to Supervisor* “Hey [Supervisor], can you call over [Coworker] to come help me out here? I just got two more people.”

Supervisor: “You know she won’t. It’s cool. I’ll help you out.”

(After patiently waiting a few minutes, I excuse myself while a customer digs through her purse to find her credit card.)

Me: *to Coworker* “EXCUSE ME! Can you please help me with the line and talk to your friend later? I’ve got ten people in line right now!”

Coworker: “Don’t talk to me like that! I’m your superior, and I will report you to management for being rude to me!”

Me: “You’re kidding, right? You’re not my superior, and you do realize there are security cameras in this store, right?”

Coworker: “Well…”

Me: “You were hired to be a cashier, right? You’re here working today, right? Help me out or just go home!”

Coworker: “Fine, but don’t expect me to help you out like this again!”

Me: “I expect you to help me every time there’s a line!”

(Coworker helped me out, with Supervisor smiling at me when I returned to ring up the rest of the customers in my line. Clearly she heard everything I said. I later went in the back and reported what happened to the manager, so the coworker didn’t try to make me look bad, even though I kind of raised my voice at one point. The manager told me the supervisor talked to them, and I was definitely in the right, and they commended me on properly excusing myself and not just abandoning my line to go and talk to the coworker. The supervisor told me Coworker got a final warning, and that she threw a fit over being yelled at by a coworker. I wasn’t scheduled with her after that, and I started my new job two weeks after. I’ve never been happier!)