(A customer has come in looking for a necklace she put on hold. We are unable to find it, which means that she probably didn’t pick it up when she said she would and that we put it back on the floor. I offer to help her find it again, but it is a piece of clearance jewelry so chances are it has already sold.)

Customer: “Are you sure it’s not behind that counter there?”

Me: “Ma’am, we only have two hold spots. One is underneath the register, which is filled currently with only associate holds, and one in the safe for fine jewelry. I checked personally and it is not there.”

Customer: “How do I know that an associate didn’t take my hold and put their name on it?”

Me: “None of the holds in there match the description you’re giving me. Chances are it was put on the floor and has already been picked up.”

(She continues looking for it but finally gives up and wanders off. I figure she has left, since she checked out prior to even looking for the necklace she was missing. I begin working on switching cases, and I have filled a basket filled with fine jewelry items — pearls, diamonds, gold rings, etc. — and am just about to move when she suddenly appears again.)

Customer: “Is my necklace in there?”

Me: “No, ma’am. This is all from a case I just emptied. No costume jewelry would be locked up like that, and I already told you that it probably got sold.”

Customer: “Can I look just to make sure?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but no. There is a lot of fine jewelry in here and I can’t have customers handling it. I assure you that we do not have it.”

Customer: “Fine.”

(I later caught her watching me as I filled the new case up, to make sure I still didn’t have it. All this for a clearance necklace that she probably forgot to pick up in time.)

(I am in my junior year of college. My friend and I go to a local fabric and craft store to get some supplies for a sewing project we have in our fashion courses. It’s around the holidays, so it’s extra busy. While we are waiting in line to have some fabric cut, we start to hear a woman screaming across the store.)

Woman #1: “Help! HELP! I NEED SOME HELP OVER HERE!”

Me: *to friend* “Geez, someone is being demanding. Doesn’t she realize it’s busy—”

(We then hear a large crash and look behind us. [Woman #1] has another woman by the shirt collar and is smashing her into a display of greeting cards.)

Woman #1: “Help! She’s trying to steal my purse!”

Friend: “Holy s***!”

Woman #2: “No, I’m not! You’re lying! I didn’t do anything! Let me go!”

(The manager comes running to find out what is going on. Turns out [Woman #1] had her purse in the front part of her cart and while her back was turned [Woman #2] tried to grab it and run away. That’s when [Woman #1] tackled her into the card display.)

Manager: “Okay, I’ve called the police; they’ll be here to sort this out.”

Woman #2: “No! NOOOOO! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” *sobbing* “I’ve never done this before! I’m sorry! Please don’t call the cops! Let me gooooooo!”

(My friend and I collected our fabric and checked out… clutching our purses tightly to our bodies.)

(I work at an aquarium. A woman walks up to me while I am tending to the fish. She looks slightly troubled.)

Customer: “Excuse me. Can you help me with something?”

Me: “Sure, what can I do for you?”

Customer: “Well, I see that you take care of all these fish, so you must know what you’re doing. I have never kept fish before, and I’m a little out of my depth.”

Me: “All right. I can help you out with that.”

Customer: “Great! See, my son just got sent to prison, but he had a fish tank. I was hoping that, if I show you a picture of the fish, you could identify them and tell me how to care for them.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear about your son, but I will certainly look at the fish.”

(The customer pulls out her phone and shows me a photo of a tank filled with large striped fish. I identify them instantly but am anxious about offending this nice woman.)

Me: “Those are… uh… Honduran red-point convict cichlids.”

Customer: *slowly smiling* “That’s perfect!” *bursts into laughter*

(We then happily discussed the proper care of her new inmates.)

(I work in the pharmacy of a regional grocery chain. We require the person picking up a prescription order to give us the patient’s name and date of birth; if they don’t give us the date of birth, we cannot release the prescription order to them. I am doing my scheduled counter rotation when a baby boomer who looks like a redneck Santa approaches. He is talking away on his cell phone.)

Me: “Hi there. Picking up?”

Customer: *pulls his phone away from his face* “Yeah I’m picking up for my mother-in-law. Wife’s after me to get this stuff.”

Me: “Sure thing. What’s her name?”

Customer: “Her name is [Mother-In-Law].”

Me: “And her date of birth?”

Customer: *scoffs* “I don’t know. She’s my mother-in-law. I don’t pay attention to that s***.”

Me: “Unfortunately, our system requires we enter the patient’s date of birth to help prevent prescription theft.”

(The customer quite literally turns very red. I steel myself for an angry tirade.)

Customer: “This is bulls***. Simple mother-f*****…” *storms off, ranting and raving to his wife*

Boss: “[My Name]… what was that all about?”

Me: “He didn’t react very well to me telling him I needed his mother-in-law’s birthdate to release her meds to him.”

Boss: “He was on the phone with his wife, wasn’t he?”

Me: “Yep. Don’t know why he didn’t just ask her.”

(After 20 years of seeing only female OB/GYNs, I have moved to a new city and can only get in to see a male gynecologist. I have been reassured by a friend, who is also a doctor, that he is one of the best in his field, but I’m nervous even after chatting with him at his desk. Once I’m by myself and getting “into the position” in an exam room, I notice only one stirrup is up, leaving my foot away from the wall hanging loose.)

Doctor: *knocks politely before entering* “Okay, are you settled in?”

Me: “Well, I couldn’t scoot to the edge of the table because only one stirrup is working. Is it broken?”

Doctor: *smiling and wincing* “No, I just wait until I’m seated to move up that one. Walking into it once was enough to never let that happen again.”

Me: *realizing it would be at groin level for him as well as for me* “Well, that is an occupational hazard I wouldn’t have considered!”

(He’s still my doctor a dozen years later.)