(I’m ringing a young girl up at my candy store, and she’s a dollar short on her purchase. She turns to another, younger girl, who looks to be around nine or ten years old.)

Older Girl: “Go get Mom?”

Younger Girl: “No.”

Older Girl: “What? Come on, go get Mom.”

Younger Girl: “No!”

Older Girl: “I don’t have enough money!”

Younger Girl: “So?”

Older Girl: “Go. Get. Mom!”

Younger Girl: “NO!”

(Visibly frustrated and upset, the older girl turns to me.)

Older Girl: “Is it okay if I run and get my mom real quick? I just need another dollar.”

Me: “It’s fine. I’ll hold your bag for you.”

(The older girl runs off, and I frown at the younger girl. Seeing me looking at her — and apparently COMPLETELY misinterpreting my expression — the younger girl beams at me proudly.)

Younger Girl: *smugly* “I never do anything anyone tells me to!”

This story is part of our Kids-In-Candy-Stores roundup!

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When I am around five or six years old, my family decides they want to do something nice for the neighborhood, so they buy a great deal of candy and plastic eggs for a community Easter Egg Hunt. Easter morning arrives and a bunch of kids have already started hunting for eggs when two other kids from down the street arrive and ask to join.

Now, these kids aren’t exactly known for being the nicest children on the block, but my parents shrug and figure that everyone should have a chance. My dad speaks as he’s handing the kids their Easter baskets.

Dad:  “Okay, try to let the little kids get some eggs, too, guys! And please don’t roughhouse with anyone; we’re all just here for fun!”

Rowdy Kids: “Don’t worry; we’ll be good!”

They immediately run off, and the second the adults’ eyes are off of them, they start pushing kids over and taking eggs from their baskets. My dad pulls them aside after hearing the yelling and tells them off, informing them that if it happens again, they’ll be kicked out. I suppose he should kick them out right then, but he wants to be nice to everyone.

All seems well after that, aside from the bigger kids outrunning the toddlers and hoarding all of the eggs to themselves, so once all of the eggs are found, my dad announces:

Dad: “Okay, guys, since the little ones didn’t get the chance to get as much candy as everyone else, we’re going to redistribute it so everyone gets a fair share!”

The rowdy kids take off running before my dad even finishes his sentence. My parents look at each other in irritation and dismay, deciding just to have a discussion with their parents after the event is done. After the candy is given out and the cleanup is done, my parents go over to the kids’ house and explain the situation.

Rowdy Kid’s Mom: “Well, how is that my problem? Serves you right for letting them in!” *Shuts the door*

Yeah, my parents never did anything for the neighborhood after that. We always felt really badly for those kids, though, having parents like that. I hope they’re doing well now.

(I’m an attendant at a landfill. One day, a customer stops on the way out and puts down the back window so his child can ask:)

Child: “Why does our dog have to stay in the car?” 

Me: “Because he’s not wearing shoes. There are broken glass and sharp bits of metal on the ground; we don’t want your dog walking barefoot on that any more than we want you walking barefoot on it.”

(The father looks awestruck.)

Father: “Good answer!”

(I see a lady and her son in the feminine care aisle and go up to offer help.)

Me: “Hi, can I help you find anything today?”

Customer: *holding up a box of tampons* “You don’t have this in ultra, do you?”

(I look at the box; the highest “level” seems to be called ultra. Unfortunately, it looks like we don’t have that type.)

Me: “Oh, no, it looks like we only have the super plus.”

Customer: *sigh* “That’s too bad. For me, I mean. Oh, well, I’ll find something. Thanks.”

Me: “All right. If you have any other questions, I’ll be around.”

(A few minutes later, I’m at the registers when the customer comes up to check out.)

Me: “Hi again! Besides the ultra, did you find everything all right?”

Customer: “Yup. Though my son just asked me how these work.” *pointing at the tampons* “He asked if they block the signals to the brain.”

Me: *laughs* “Uh, something like that!”

Customer: “Exactly like that, yeah.”

Me: *to her son* “Don’t worry; in a few years you won’t want to know how they work.”

Customer: *chiming in* “That’s right. You won’t want anything to do with them, trust me.”

(I finished the transaction and the customer and her son left. The poor kid looked so confused, but his mom was so amused about it!)

It’s 1995. I am three years old and my teenage uncle is watching me while my grandma runs to the store. My uncle puts a tape into the VCR for me to watch.

Me: *Amazed* “Where it go?”

Uncle: “It ate it! Om nom nom. I’m going into the kitchen, okay? Can you stay right here for me?”

Me: “Okay!”

My uncle makes me a peanut butter sandwich and gives it to me before making his own food. He comes back into the living room and sees me sitting in front of the TV empty-handed.

Uncle: “Where’s your sandwich?”

Me: *Proudly* “It ate it!”

Uncle: “Oh, no.”

My uncle spent two days trying to clean peanut butter out of the VCR, gave up, and had to buy another one.