I am 17. I see a “Help Wanted” sign across the street from my high school. The shop is also across the street from a large university campus. I go in and ask for an application. This all proceeds as normal; the barista gives me an application and offers me a free drink.

The next day, I return to the coffee shop to turn in my completed application. The barista directs me to the manager and I turn my application in to him. While busy, he seems friendly enough, and offers to give me an interview at 4:00 pm the next day.

I show up the following day about ten minutes early. The manager is nowhere in sight, so I inform the barista that I am ready for him, and once again, I am offered a free drink. I sit in the coffee shop and wait for the manager to come.

And wait.

After an hour with no sign of the manager, I ask the barista if my interview has been cancelled. The barista, who seems to have forgotten I was there, yelps in surprise and tells me that the manager isn’t in. She then goes to the back and calls him. She returns and tells me that he stepped out to run some errands and should be back in about 20 minutes.

The manager finally arrives, and after getting directions from the barista, comes over to me with a stack of applications. He shuffles through the papers, finds my application, and skims over it. He looks up at me and says, “You’re in high school?”

I answer, “Yes.”

“Sorry, we’re actually only looking for college students right now, because they have more availability.” The manager then dismisses me before I even have the chance to explain that I only take classes in the morning.

(A customer comes to pick up his to-go order.)

Me: “Is there anything else I can get you? Napkins? Utensils?”

Customer: “I want ranch.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll just go get you some.”

(I go and fill two to-go ramekins.)

Customer: “I want more than that.”

Me: “How much more?”

Customer: “I want two of those soup cups full.”

Me: “They’re sixteen ounces each.”

Customer: “So?”

Me: “We will have to charge you.”

Customer: “WHY?”

Me: “Ranch isn’t a condiment; it’s a dressing. I’m not even allowed to give you the two smaller ones I just poured for you without charging you.”

Customer: “This is highway robbery!”

Me: “Do you get free bottles of ranch at the store?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “How is it any different here?”

Customer: “I want to talk to your manager! You’ll lose your job; I’ll have you fired!”

Me: “Over ranch?”

(My manager comes over. Needless to say, she tells him the exact thing I just told him. He threatens to call corporate.)

Manager: “They’re going to tell you the same thing, sir.”

Customer: “So, are you going to give me my ranch?”

Manager: “Have you paid for it?”

Customer: “No.”

Manager: “Well, if you haven’t, and you don’t intend to, you’re not getting ranch.”

(My long-term boyfriend and I are regulars at a comic book shop, and often talk with the staff while we browse. On this day, there’s a young man and a younger woman working.)

Young Man: “My girlfriend’s birthday is just a few days after Valentine’s Day. February is a real minefield for me.”

Me: “Sorry to hear that. I find it so much easier to not focus on arbitrary dates like that. Huh, baby?”

Boyfriend: “What’s that?”

Me: “We don’t worry about Valentine’s Day, do we?”

Boyfriend: “No, thank god.”

Young Woman: “You have to be careful about that.”

Me: “Pardon?”

Young Woman: “Well, I mean, I tell my boyfriend I don’t really care, but of course I do care.”

Me: “What? Then why tell him you don’t care?”

Young Woman: “Because he should know.”

Me: “You… expect him to read your mind? I really don’t get this.”

Young Woman: *impatiently* “I’m a girl! Of course I care!”

Me: “I’m a girl. I don’t care.”

Young Woman: “Well, you have to be careful about believing that! We all care!”

Me: “I am standing here saying that I don’t care. You’re not hearing it second hand from [Boyfriend]. I don’t care.”

Young Woman: “Yeah, right, you won’t dump him if he just skips Valentine’s Day.”

Me: “We have been together for five years. We’ve skipped every Valentine’s Day. I. Don’t. Care.”

Young Woman: “Well, you really have to be careful about that. I would dump my boyfriend if he skipped Valentine’s Day after I told him I didn’t care about it.”

Me: “Oh, my god! You’re the reason women are stereotyped as unreasonable! Thanks a lot for that! Is it really so frickin’ hard to just say what you mean?”

Young Woman: “He should know!”

Me: *to Boyfriend* “Don’t you dare get me anything this year.”

Boyfriend: “I was thinking of getting you a new tablet sometime this month. If you want to call that a Valentine’s gift, we can.”

Me: “No, let’s not call it anything. But that’s very very sweet; I do need a new one.”

Boyfriend: “Okay, want to go look at tablets?”

Me: “I love you.”

Young Woman: *as we’re leaving* “Don’t believe it! She wants jewelry!”

(I approach a table with an elderly couple to drop off the check.)

Customer: “I want to talk to a manager!”

Me: “Was everything all right?”

(I happen to know that everything was all right. I visited their table multiple times; they said everything was fine.)

Customer: “I want to talk to your manager!”

(I go and get the manager, who happens to be my mother. She doesn’t take anyone’s crap, to put it nicely. I tell her they never addressed an issue with me about anything.)

Mother/Manager: “Hello, sir. What’s wrong? Was there an issue with the service you’ve gotten this evening?”

Customer: “OUR FOOD WAS TERRIBLE, COLD, AND DISGUSTING!”

Mother/Manager: *looks down at their empty plates* “Is that why you ate it all?”

Customer: “I’m not paying!”

Mother/Manager: “Oh, you’re going to pay, even if the police are here breathing down your neck to make you do it.”

(They paid.)

(I’ve spent eight hours flying, and am looking forward to finally arriving at my destination. I use a personal wheelchair to get from gate to gate, which means I leave it when I board the plane each time, and it should be waiting for me as I exit. It’s not there when I arrive. I ask the crewmember overseeing the strollers and other gate-checked luggage:)

Me: “Um, sir? Where’s my wheelchair?”

Crewmember: “Oh! That was yours?”

Me: *panicking now* “Yes! What happened?”

Crewmember: “Well, this old lady was having so much trouble walking, we thought it must be hers! She’s being taken to… well, probably wherever her next flight is, or maybe home.”

Me: “But I have a luggage tag! I put a tag on it! You were supposed to check it!”

Crewmember: “Well, I guess we can try to track her down.”

Me: “My wheelchair costs $1,500 and I can’t function without it!”

Crewmember: “Let me call for a transport wheelchair for you. My coworker will be able to help you catch up to her.”

(I panic more as I wait, because the longer it takes, the more likely I’ll never see my chair again. Finally, his coworker arrives.)

Coworker: “Hello, ma’am. I understand you need help finding someone in the airport?”

Me: “He gave away my wheelchair and now she’s God knows where!”

Coworker: “No problem. We’ll track her down in no time.”

(Surprisingly, we do. I’m so relieved. The lady and I switch wheelchairs, and she goes on her way. Before the coworker leaves, I ask him one final question.)

Me: “Don’t you want to check my luggage tag to make sure everything’s right this time?”

Coworker: “Nah! I’m sure you’ve got it!”

(He walked away as my jaw dropped to the floor. I did check it myself, at least!)