(My mom is a dreamer and loves to travel. My father, on the other hand, is more of a homebody, and my mom lovingly refers to him as an old curmudgeon.)

Mom: “Man, I’d love to go to the beach. Or Paris. Or London.”

Dad: “Honey, when I’m gone, you can travel wherever you want to, whenever you want to.”

Mom: “Why do I have to wait?”

Dad: *pause* “Fair enough.”

(It is my job to schedule appointments. When a client makes an appointment, I always ask about the kind of tattoo and how big they want it to determine how much time the artist will need to complete the service. Since all our prices are an hourly rate, this is important to note. This is a conversation I have with one client; it’s indicative of so many others.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Tattoo Shop]. How may I help you?”

Client: “I want to get a tattoo of a rose.”

Me: “Okay, where on your body would you like to get this, and about how big?”

Client: “On my arm.”

Me: “Sure, and about how big of a rose?”

Client: “Medium. Small. Not big.”

Me: “Okay, can you give me an idea in inches?”

Client: “Medium.”

Me: “So, an eight-to-ten-inch rose stretching the length of your forearm? Or a three-to-four-inch one from your wrist? Or a two-to-three inch rosebud in the center?”

Client: “I don’t know. Normal size.”

Me: “I don’t need exact dimensions, just an idea so I know how much time we’ll need for this service.”

Client: “I don’t know inches.”

Me: *head-desk* “How about we just schedule a consultation first?”

(I am what they call a “floater” — basically a substitute — at a local day-care. This means I might work with different age groups each shift I am called in to work. Today, I am working in the one-year-old room. We have a schedule for when we change the children’s diapers, but they are also periodically checked throughout the day. A coworker and I have our group playing outside in the fenced-in area. A mom comes up to the fence to pick up her baby after signing her child out of the office. I hand the child over the fence to the mother, then go in to get her child’s things. She takes her child and the things to the car just a few feet away, so I think nothing more of it. A minute later the mother comes back to me, holding her child out in front of her as if she is disgusted by her.)

Mother: “She needs to be changed.”

(I wordlessly stare at the mother for a few seconds before it registers to me that, yes, this is actually happening. Not wanting to cause a scene or fuss with the mother, I take the child back in, change her, bring her back out to the mother, and hand her back over the fence.)

Coworker: “Did she really just bring her child back to us just so we could change her?”

Me: “Yep.”

(Both of us stared at the mother as she drove away, wondering how in the world some people ever became parents.)

(My dad and his friend often meet up for a week-long convention near our town. They are in their 50s and 60s — as are 90% of the club members — and have been attending this particular convention for almost 30 years. It’s worth noting that most of these people have watched me grow up. This year, I visit the hotel, and inevitably, I sit through the, “How old are you, now? I remember when you were knee-high to a grasshopper! We’re getting older, huh?” conversation, yet again. But honestly, this one is my favorite:)

Dad’s Friend: *digging through his cooler* “Well, Miss [My Name], I guess we’re just getting old now. Here you are, all grown up and having a baby of your own. Years ago, your dad and I would be sitting down with a rum and coke at about this time. Now I’m sitting down with cookies and milk!”

(It has always been company policy that without a receipt the store can only refund the customer with store credit. The management in our store is particularly unwavering about this, since we have had quite a few shoplifters try to return stolen high-price items for cash. Customers will occasionally get upset with this policy and cause a scene. I am passing by the register where a new hire is dealing with one such customer. It is only her second week, and she is clearly overwhelmed.)

Me: “What seems to be the problem?”

Coworker: “She’s trying to return this item without a receipt. I’ve told her that we can only give her store credit for it.”

Customer: *angrily* “So, what? You’re not going to give me my money back?”

Me: “Without a receipt, I’m afraid we can only give it back to you as store credit. It’s just corporate policy.”

Customer: “So, then, I can’t return this and get my money back? That’s ridiculous!”

Me: *seeing that this isn’t going anywhere* “Let me double-check with my manager.”

(I step into the [empty] office, wait five seconds, and then come back out.)

Me: “Unfortunately, they said the same thing: we can only accept the return for store credit or as part of an exchange.”

Customer: *calmly* “All right. I guess I’ll just take the store credit.”

(The rest of the transaction goes smoothly and the customer leaves.)

Me: *to my coworker* “They always assume the cashiers are lying to them.”