(I am a natural redhead. I am at my great-uncle’s funeral. An elderly relative who I don’t really know approaches me.)

Relative: “You should be ashamed of yourself! Do you really think that hair is appropriate for a funeral?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Relative: “Young people today and their fashions. They won’t even show respect for the deceased!”

(She then went away to another relative and started telling them of my disrespect. I guess she’d never seen a redhead before.)

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(I’m a cashier at a place that sells small items of furniture, storage containers, and so on. We are having a 10% off sale. My last customer caused a huge amount of trouble due to getting angry and shouting over not understanding the difference between 10% and $10, so I’m feeling frazzled. A mother and her child, probably seven or eight, come up to my register and start unloading their items while they talk.)

Mother: *to the kid* “Now, this container was $19.95, but we bought two, so how much is that?”

Kid: “$39.90!”

Mother: “Well done! But remember, there’s 10% off today. What’s 10% of $39.90?”

Kid: “$3.99, so the real price would be… umm, $35.91?”

Mother: “That’s right! Nicely done! But now here comes the hard one, so look out! I have my membership card!”

(The child’s eyes widen. Membership cards give a further 25% discount.)

Kid: “Okay, okay, umm…”

Mother: “You can do it!”

(By this time, I’ve scanned the items and bagged them. Just as I’m about to say the total, the child beats me to it.)

Kid: “$26.93!”

Mother: “Fantastic job! I think we get to stop at the playground on the way home!”

Kid: “Yes!” *jumps up and down gleefully*

(After my last customer, a fully grown man who couldn’t understand what a percentage was, I’m literally dumbfounded. In the end, I call my manager and we give the mother a further employee discount, which her child also worked out.)

(My parents and I are picking up my half-brother from his grandparents in Florida. I’ve never had grandfathers as they both passed away before I was born. My half-brother’s grandfather is a gigantic man with a serious face, and sometimes intimidates even my mother. I have social anxiety and am four years old.)

Me: *staring up at my half-brother’s grandfather*

Grandfather: *stares down at me*

Mom: “Oh, don’t do that. You’ll scare her!”

Grandfather: “She doesn’t look very scared to me…”

Me: *looks around at everyone* “Why does big brother get to have a grandfather?! I don’t have a grandfather!” *walks up to my half-brother’s grandfather* “Will you be my grandfather?”

Grandfather: *slowly smiles* “Yes. Yes, I will.”

(And that’s how I finally got a grandfather.)

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(A friend of mine walks in and gets in my line. His ex-wife and he live close by each other, and he gets to see his daughter on his scheduled weekends, but also throughout the week if he’s not busy.)

Me: “How are you doing today?”

Friend: “Oh, not too bad. I have a date with a cute red-head this afternoon.”

Me: *knowing he is talking about his daughter* “Oh really? What do you have planned for today?”

Friend: “I don’t know. I think we’re gonna go to the park and let her ride her bike around, and then go get some lunch.”

Me: “Sounds good! Hope you guys have fun!”

(My friend wishes me a good day, and heads out the door. My next customer walks up.)

Customer: “It sounds like he’s going on a date with a four year old.”

Me: “Actually, she’s six!”

(A man and his four children are in the booth next to my family. I am four years old and am sitting next to my younger brothers. We are all quietly coloring at the table. The children at the next booth are climbing on top of the booth and playing with my father’s hat, throwing food, and running around the entire restaurant.)

Waiter: “Sir, your children are bothering other customers. They need to calm down, or you will have to leave.”

Other Dad: “They’re fine. They’re just running off some energy.”

(The waiter is called away to another table. The kids begin raising another ruckus. They are just getting to an unbearable level when a carrot lands on our table.)

Me: *sets crayon down* “Daddy, may I get up?”

My Dad: “Um, okay…”

(I march to the next table and assume an assertive stance with fists on hips.)

Me: “Excuse me, sir. You really need to learn how to control your children.”

(I get back in my seat and resume coloring. The other dad turns bright red. He gathers his kids and hurries out of the restaurant just as their food arrives. Later, my parents ask for the check.)

Waiter: “Actually, sir, even if this meal wasn’t on the house, almost every other customer asked to cover your check for you.”

(Twenty years later, my mom still calls this her proudest parenting moment. We even got a $50 gift certificate out of it!)

Related:
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 7
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 6
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 5
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 4
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 3