(I’ve just started college, and am working a register, when a kid who looks to be about 14 sets a six-pack of beer on the counter. Our store has partnered with the state to send “testers” through random cashiers’ lines to make sure we are only selling liquor to those over 21.)

Me: “Can I… help you?”

Kid: “Yeah, give me the beer.”

(I glance down at the logo on his shirt and fight back a grin.)

Me: “Nope. Not a chance, kid. Get out.”

Kid: “Good job! You passed your test!”

Me: “No offense, kid, but I saw that one coming a mile away.”

Kid: *genuinely surprised* “But I was convincing! I’m a good actor! How did you know?”

Me: *points at his shirt* “[High School] mascot. I graduated from there last year. And your shirt has your grad year on it, freshman.”

Kid: “DANG IT!”

(It still counted as a pass, and I got commended by my manager!)

I was slower than expected getting my driver’s license. One day, when I was still new to driving and didn’t have class, I had to go run some errands. I went to the bank, and my brain momentarily forgot how to park.

I ended up close to, but not actually, damaging someone’s car, and couldn’t get out of the situation. The woman in it called her husband, a truck driver, who came out and offered to help me readjust my car. I hopped out and trusted him to do so, crying and having a full-out panic attack. It was the first I ever had, and I still feel it a little sometimes when I remember what happened. I noticed the bank security guard coming out to watch the situation; he kept looking at me and smiling, nodding reassuringly but staying near his post.

The guy fixed my car’s position and then went to the security guard, asking him something I didn’t hear as I went and got everything I needed out of my car.

The couple continuously reassured me that everything was fine, not a mark on the vehicles, etcetera, and then the man led me inside, where the security guard was just bringing me a cup of water to help me calm down.

(My friends and I order pizza for delivery and it gets to us pretty quickly. Because my friend used her debit card, the pizza guy says:)

Pizza Guy: “I need your driver’s license number.”

Friend: “Why?”

Pizza Guy: “Ma’am, it’s the company rules, not mine.”

Friend: “Okay, why?”

Pizza Guy: “Ma’am, I have no choice. This is what they tell me to do.”

Friend: “No, I understand, but my driver’s license starts with the letter ‘Y.’”

(You could see the light bulb go off when he got it, but I blame her, too. He was cool, though, and laughed hard at himself. She actually gave him a decent tip for the laugh!)

(Hurricane Irma hit our area on Sunday night, knocking out power to most of the state. On Thursday, I venture out to a [Coffee Shop] to see if maybe I can get a cold drink and sit in the air conditioning for a while. They are open, but there is a sign on all three doors, at eye level, that says “LIMITED MENU AVAILABLE. We have no dairy products at this time but can use coconut milk, soy milk, and almond milk.” As I’m sitting near the counter, this happens:)

Customer #1: *walking back from the condiment bar* “Excuse me, could I get milk in this?”

Employee: “Would you like coconut, soy, or almond milk?”

Customer #1: “Skim milk.”

Employee: “I’m sorry; we don’t have any dairy right now.”

Customer #1: “Okay, I’ll have cream, instead.”

Employee: “Ma’am, that’s made with milk.”

Customer #1: “You should tell people before they order! This is so stupid!” *takes drink and leaves*

Me: *to employee* “How many times has that happened today?”

Employee: “Too many.”

(Not even 15 minutes later…)

Customer #2: “I want a [size] latte.”

Manager: “Do you want that made with soy, coconut, or almond milk?”

Customer #2: “What?”

Manager: “Soy, coconut, or almond milk?”

Customer #2: “None of those. Just regular milk.”

Manager: “I’m really sorry, but we don’t have any regular milk in the store. We can make a latte with another type—”

Customer #2: “It’s only 1:00. How can you be out of milk?”

Manager: “Ma’am, we had no power for three days. Everything had to be thrown out.”

Customer #2: “Why didn’t you just order more?”

Manager: “We had no power. Where would we have kept it?”

Customer #2: “Fine! I’ll go to the one on [Street]!”

Me: “Do they not understand how milk works, that it needs to be in a fridge?”

Manager: “I’m not sure anymore. Want to know something funny? The [Street] location is closed because it doesn’t have power. I think we’re the only [Store] open around here.”

I am a writer for a magazine with a large, general audience. We publish a lot of profiles of college professors, and we always send them the final draft for “source review.” They can make sure their information is correct and that they are okay with any speech quotes that we’ve included. Many forget that the magazine’s writers are not their students and return the drafts without doing what we ask, but instead leaving comments, adding citations, and applying academic styles.

One took the cake, though.

I sent the profile for his review and he returned it with large sections completely cut, others rewritten to match his diction, footnotes added, and longer quotes from him that constituted half of the piece. It was essentially a list of block-quotes with a few citations and PhD-level vocabulary. To top it off, he sent me the document in an email that said, “Don’t be worried about using my writing; I don’t mind!”

We did not use his writing, his footnotes, or his giant block-quotes.