I had just finished shopping at a large mall and decided to treat myself by stopping at the food court for some food that wasn’t good for me at all. It was the beginning of the holiday season so the food court was busy but not packed. I got my food, sat at one of the tables, and enjoyed some people watching while I ate.

I noticed a mom sitting at a table with four kids: what looked like twin one-year-olds in a stroller, a four-year-old that looked like he was going to bolt at the first chance he got, and an eight-year-old girl. The mother had gotten her children’s meals from a popular fast food restaurant and was trying to keep the four-year-old focused on his food and feed the twins baby food from a jar. All I could think was, “You brave woman.”

Now, the eight-year-old appeared upset. She apparently got a boy’s toy in her meal. I sympathized; I always hated that when I was small. The mother, who had her hands full, told the girl she could go exchange the toy since they were sitting right in front of the restaurant.

The eight-year-old went up to the counter but was ignored by the cashier. Then customers started pushing in front of her and talking over her. She looked to her mom for help and I could see the mom trying to wrangle the other children so she could go help.

I am a very shy adult and I was an even shyer child. But I couldn’t watch this without doing something. I marched up to the girl and asked her if she wanted a girl’s toy. She nodded yes, doing her best not to cry. Now, I may be shy, but I’m a large woman with a voice that carries when I choose to use it. I marched up to the counter with the little girl and let loose.

“EXCUSE ME! THIS CHILD WOULD LIKE THE GIRL’S TOY, PLEASE!

Everyone stopped, and a startled cashier quickly handed the toy in exchange. I then walked the girl back to her table. The mom thanked me and the little girl gave me a hug. But the best part was when the little boy looked at me and said, “You have a superhero voice!”

(I am cleaning off tables after the lunch rush when I hear a clatter. I look up to see an elderly man in a motorized cart plowing between two rows of single tables, knocking over one. The salt and peppers shakers fall to the floor, as well as a basket of napkins which scatter everywhere. The man is apparently unconcerned as he continues on and knocks over a second table. I run over to grab the table’s edge before it hits the floor. A woman standing behind him — presumably his wife — speaks up.)

Woman: “I’m so sorry. He doesn’t know when to slow down.”

Me: *annoyed, but trying to remain courteous* “It’s okay, ma’am.”

(Another customer graciously helps me gather the spilled napkins. When I relay the incident to my boss later, she just shakes her head.)

Boss: “Some people should not be driving.”

(I work in a food court inside an office building. Our customers are the building’s employees. Some of them are nice and friendly, but a lot are condescending and rude to us every day because they can get away with it. It doesn’t take me long to get fed up with their nastiness.)

Me: “Hello, ma’am! What can I get for you?”

Customer: “One slice of cheese pizza.”

Me: “Will that be for here or to go?”

Customer: *in a loud, angry, nasty voice* “ONE! SLICE! OF! CHEESE! PIZZA!”

Me: *in same voice as customer* “FOR! HERE! OR! TO! GO!”

Customer: “Oh! Sorry. To go.”

(Somehow I did not get reported and fired for that, and soon moved on to a job with less abuse.)

(I have a red meat intolerance, and because of this, I’ve been a vegetarian most of my life. I work at a store that also has a food court. All the food is cooked on site. While I normally work hard lines, which is anything that isn’t clothing, every once in a while they have me work the food court to cover a break. This isn’t usually an issue, as breaks are 15 minutes and I normally didn’t get any customers, but one day someone calls in sick and they decide to put me in the food court all day by myself. These are two of my interactions with customers that day.)

Customer #1: “Hi, can I have a ham sandwich?”

Me: *after looking in the fridge and finding two bags of unlabeled meat* “So… I have a pinkish-white meat and an off-white, grey meat. Which one do you think is the ham?”

(And the second interaction…)

Customer #2: “Can I get a hamburger?”

Me: “I will try my best.”

(I put the meat on the grill and watch it intently.)

Customer #2: “Is everything all right?”

Me: “Well, to be honest, this is the first hamburger I’ve ever cooked, and I’ve never had one before. So, this could be interesting. I’m aiming for better than [National Hamburger Chain] but not as good as [Local Hamburger Chain].”

(After I’m done, I hand it over and [Customer #2] makes a big show of inspecting it and then cuts it in half to look at the center. Finally, they take a bite and slowly chew, looking thoughtful.)

Customer #2: “Well, I would say this is equivalent to [slightly nicer National Hamburger Chain], so I think you hit your mark.”

(At the end of the day, as I’m clocking out and talking to a coworker:)

Coworker: “So, how did it go?”

Me: “I’m fairly sure I didn’t poison anyone. I was also able to figure out how to make a [Local Hamburger Chain] grilled cheese sandwich, animal style, so I will call it a win.”

(My manager also thought it was a win, because I ended up there as my regular position after that. On the plus side, I learned to tell turkey apart from ham.)

(I have the combination of a love of pizza and an unusual allergy to an ingredient used in pepperoni. As such, whenever I end up at the local mall’s food court and get pizza I ask them to use a clean spatula to get my slices to avoid contamination. I’ve literally just watched the employee pick up pepperoni pizza, and the slices of pepperoni that had started to slide off, when he asks for my order.)

Me: “Could I get two slices of cheese please? And I don’t want to sound difficult but I have a food allergy. Could you use a clean spatula?”

Employee: “Sure!” *uses the same spatula he had JUST used to pick up one of my slices*

Me: “Sir, I just saw you use that on the pepperoni. I can’t eat that now.”

Employee: “It didn’t touch it!”

Me: “I LITERALLY just WATCHED you!”

Employee: “What do you want me to do about it?”

Me: “Get a CLEAN spatula, and use THAT for my slices, PLEASE.”

(The employee makes a big huff about having to get a new spatula, while he’s gone another employee asks if I’ve been helped and I explain the situation, the customer next in the line backing up my story. The second apologizes and after I get to the register where a third employee is, this happens.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but do you know if they swapped both slices out or just the one?”

Employee #3: “What do you mean?”

Me: “I have an allergy to the pepperoni, the first guy tried to use the contaminated spatula to get my slices. I just wanted to know if he used a clean spatula so I can actually EAT this.”

Employee #2: *races over* “We used the green one.”

Me: “That’s not what I’m asking.”

Employee #2: “We have the normal one we use for all pizza, and then the green one for the vegetarian.”

Me: “Okay, but was my CONTAMINATED slice swapped out or do I need to worry about getting hives all over my d*** body?”

Employee #1: *racing over as well* “WE USED THE GREEN ONE.”

(At this point I gave up since I’ve already paid, so I just take my pizza and eat. Thankfully, they’d replaced the contaminated slice.)