I make the five-minute-to-close announcement from the customer service desk.

Me: “Attention shoppers. The store is closing in five minutes. You have five minutes to get your items to a checkout.”

My manager, passing by, says to me:

Manager: “That’s not the standard script. It’s meant to be: “Good evening, shoppers! Just a reminder that we’ll be closing in five minutes. Please bring your final selections to the checkout. Thank you for shopping with us today!” It’s much friendlier.”

Me: “I don’t want to be friendly. I don’t want them to feel like we’re friends. If they feel like we’re friends, they will stay. Ever since we’ve moved to this version, they get the hint.”

Manager: “But we still want the customers to feel welcome.”

Me: “They are welcome! Welcome to leave!”

Five minutes later, every customer in the store was in the process of checking out, whereas in the past we’d had issues with stragglers. My manager let the more ‘direct’ announcement stay.

I’m in line at the drive-thru. I’ve already put my order in and paid at the payment window, so now I’m just waiting to collect. The car ahead of me is at the window, and they’re taking their time.

It’s a hot day, so my windows are up to preserve the air conditioning, but even with that, I can hear the customer shouting at the window worker and getting riled up. I lower the window a little to hear what’s going on.

Customer: “Your ice cream machine is always… f******… broken!”

Window Worker: “Ma’am, I have already apologized, and I’ve offered the phone number to call to complain, but if there’s nothing else we need to get the line moving.”

Customer: “You f****** b****-a** [n-word]—”

I’m so focused on the customer leaning out of her car window and releasing the flurry of swears, insults, and slurs, I didn’t see the worker grab a spray bottle, reach forward, and spray the customer. She actually stops her verbosity for a second.

Customer: *Half still enraged, half now shocked.* “What was that?!”

Window Worker: “Abuse spray! I use it on every customer who shouts abuse at me.”

Customer: “The f*** you—”

Window Worker: *Sprays again.*

Customer: “Stop, f******—”

Window Worker: *Sprays again.*

The customer rolls her window up and finally pushes forward. I pull up.

Me: “That was fun.”

Window Worker: “Well, management will just give her a coupon, so I had to find my own way to get the message across that I won’t be sworn at.”

Me: “Yeah, I know it’s a hundred degrees out here and we all want ice cream, but it’s not your fault the ice cream machine is broken.”

Window Worker: *After confirming my order and handing over my food.* “Thanks for being one of the sane ones.”

Me: “Does that spray bottle have a mist setting?”

Window Worker: “It does.”

Me: “Do I gotta scream and shout to get a little misting?”

Window Worker: *Laughing and holding up the spray bottle.* “I know it’s hot as heck out here, but this isn’t water, it’s vinegar.”

Me: “Never mind, then! Have a great day! Hope you don’t have to season any more customers!”

Back in the day, I was a manager in a movie theater. I came into work one evening and saw a woman in street clothes, working behind the snack bar. I get the attention of one of the assistant managers.

Me: “What’s going on?”

Assistant Manager: “She was complaining about the lines.”

Me: “Okay, that doesn’t help me.”

Assistant Manager: “Well, I asked her, ‘Do you want a job?’ and she said yes! I said we’d fill her paperwork out later.”

Back in those days, it was a very simple process (W-4 card), and it was a much simpler time.

She said she wanted extra money for Christmas presents, so she worked another six months!

I work customer service at a fairly large museum. Most of the calls I get are very general, opening times, prices, details on exhibits, etc. This one was a new one:

Caller: “Yeah, so I found a meteorite.”

So far, not totally out there. People think they’ve found a meteorite (or “space rock”) all the time.

Me: “Okay, sir, how do you know it’s a meteorite?”

Caller: “I was trying to sleep last night and something in the sky was making a d*** racket.”

Me: “You heard it hit the ground?”

Caller: “No, but I couldn’t sleep, so I went outside and shot it.”

Me: “You… shot it?”

Caller: “Yeah, and then I went back to sleep. Woke up this morning and found this rock on my driveway.”

Me: “Sir… are you claiming to have shot a meteorite from out of the sky?”

Caller: “Yeah. Anyway… how much do I get for it?”

Me: “I am not qualified to answer that.”

Caller: “Well, can you put me through to someone who is?”

What I say next I am proud of, because I did not lie once.

Me: “Sir, if you did indeed successfully shoot a meteorite and it landed in your driveway, this would be unprecedented and worthy of scientific study from the brightest minds in the nation, not a lowly museum like ours. You should call the Smithsonian.”

Caller: “Wow! Really? Thanks, I’ll do that.” *Click.*

It’s November 1st, breakfast time with my three-year-old. Trick-or-treating was yesterday.

Three-Year-Old: “I. WANT. CANDY!”

Me: “How about some eggy pancakes and syrup for breakfast?”

Three-Year-Old: “NO PANCAKES. CANDYYYYYY!”

Me: “Okay. Don’t eat the pancakes. These are my pancakes.”

Three-Year-Old: “MY PANCAKES.”

Me: “That shouldn’t have worked that easily.”