I’m working as a cashier in a small chain store. A regular customer comes up with a few items. As I ring him up, he starts complaining.

Customer: “My family was here this morning, and one of your staff yelled at my two-year-old for touching things on the shelves.”

Me: “Do you know who it was? What they looked like?”

My supervisor walks over, having heard the “I’m Not Happy” tone of voice. She’s friends with the customer.

Supervisor: “Who’s been yelling at my little boy?”

Customer: “I don’t know. I know it wasn’t you or [My Name]. But he’s my child, and I’ll tell him when not to do something. It’s not your job to tell my boy not to touch things.”

Further questioning reveals that he’s complaining about the assistant manager, who would never yell at a child. We try to placate the irritated customer, but he’s still not happy as he leaves.

Customer: “She had no right to do that! It’s not your job to tell my kid anything. It’s not your job!”

My supervisor called the assistant manager to find out what had actually happened. The customer’s toddler had been playing with the lock on our entry doors and was about to pinch his tiny fingers between sharp-edged steel. The assistant manager had asked him nicely to stop messing with the door because he could get hurt. Apparently, the parents considered that “yelling” and didn’t want anyone but themselves ever telling their child not to do something.

When I was a small child, I would spend part of the summer with my maternal grandmother. One day, we decided to stop by a fast food joint for lunch. This was a rare treat for me, and I was eagerly anticipating that delicious cheeseburger.

We went through the drive-thru and headed home to eat. Upon opening my kids’ meal, I was very distraught to discover that I had the toy and the fries but no burger. I was in tears as my grandmother called the restaurant. She knew the manager since she worked there part-time.

Less than half an hour later, that manager knocked on the door. He was holding a fresh kids’ meal, complete with another toy and fries. I was thrilled. It wasn’t until several decades later that I realized just how amazing that manager was for taking the time to personally deliver a kids’ meal to an upset child. His kind act has never been forgotten.

This story is part of our Feel Good roundup for April 2021!

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Read the Feel Good roundup for April 2021!

I have never had to do much cooking. I always lived with a parent, roommate, or boyfriend who enjoyed it. My fiancé’s mom, who lives with us, loves cooking and hasn’t been letting me help her with that or with cleaning up the kitchen after. She will walk at me until I am forced out of the kitchen. However, she is currently hospitalized and will need to cut back on doing things that require standing when she gets home.

As I am cooking a skillet low-carb lasagna this evening, I am making a gigantic mess. I have chopped onions and cheese everywhere, spilled spices, bowls, and cutlery — it looked like a tornado hit the kitchen! I also have not cleaned up the dishes from making eggs and bacon earlier, though all of them are at least in the sink.

While the lasagna is in the oven, I get every bit of mess except the skillet in use cleaned and put away. I may not cook much, but that means I always happily take cleaning duty — except while living here, of course.

My neighbor enjoys tending his lawn. Through the large kitchen windows, I can see him, and he can see me. He can also see me make two plates of lasagna and take them downstairs. I have a virtual church meeting to attend and barely finish making food in time to attend.

When I go back to the kitchen an hour and a half later to put away the leftovers and clean the skillet, I see that my neighbor is still in his yard. Since it is dark by now, I find this odd, but I don’t think much of it… until he walks across my driveway and knocks on my window! I open it.

Neighbor: “Hey! I’m sorry to bother you. I just wanted to tell you how impressive that was!”

Me: “Thanks! But what was impressive?”

Neighbor: “Your cooking! That mess! How fast and well you cleaned it up! I haven’t seen you cook before, and I was disheartened by the mess. Big messes really annoy me, and knowing I was going to have to see that mess until you finished your dinner was stressing me out. But you got it so clean, so fast! I’ve never seen you in the kitchen before, so I was expecting you to be an utter disaster. And wow, I can smell what you made! Smells good! What was it?”

Me: “Uh, low-carb lasagna. My fiancé is trying to lose weight. It was my first time making it, but it turned out well, I thought.”

Neighbor: “Oh, yeah, that fat guy? I thought he was your dad. He’s your fiancé? He done good, picking you! Yeah, he really does need to lose weight before he becomes a drag on society. Good for him for making that change.”

Me: “Well, uh, yeah, he’s been working on that for a while. I really need to finish tidying up, though.”

Neighbor: “Yeah, I asked the ol’ ball and chain to hold dinner for me so I could talk to you. I’d better get going myself. See you around, neighbor!”

After he walked away, I just stood still for a moment, flabbergasted. I get that he was trying to be complimentary, but dang, was he insulting about it! I also think we need to invest in some window curtains so that maybe this won’t happen again!

I’m at work, working the donor door at a thrift shop. I’m running around sorting and taking donations while an eighteen-year-old kid is moving at a snail’s pace.

Me: “Move faster; we need to clear out some space on the floor.”

Eighteen-Year-Old: “Why are you such a b****?”

I stop.

Me: “Why can’t you do your d*** job?”

Our manager, who has been on the other side sorting stuff, addresses my coworker.

Manager: “Clock out. And do not ever speak to her like that again.”

I loved him that day! Two days later, the kid left for lunch and never came back. I didn’t care. If you are eighteen and healthy and an asthmatic thirty-year-old and a diabetic fifty-eight-year-old can kick your butt after a month, reassess your life.

I work at a candy and soda shop that carries hundreds of different sodas and almost a thousand different candies. It’s usually a super fun job; I don’t get paid a ton, but the benefits are cool —  candy! — and the customers are just about always nice because of what we sell.

One day, a woman who has been waiting in line a while approaches my counter.

Customer: “Hey, do you have nail clippers?”

Me: “I’m… I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Do you sell nail clippers?”

Me: “Um, no, sorry. This is a candy store.”

Customer: “I know, but you have all this…”

She gestures vaguely to the novelty items on the front counter.

Me: “Sorry. There’s a convenience store right down the block?”

She makes a disappointed sound and walks away.

Me: “I can take the next in line, please!”

Next Customer: “Did she really ask for nail clippers in a candy store?”