I help run an indoor market stall as an extension of a family friend’s gift and jewelry shop. I’m only fourteen years old — paid under the table — and my only coworker is my boss’s twelve-year-old daughter.

I’m serving an elderly lady, helping her pick out an ornamental plaque with funny sayings on it, as she wants a gift for her friend.

Me: “This one makes me laugh!”

The elderly lady reads it and laughs, too, picking it up as her first “maybe” choice.

Elderly Lady’s Husband: *Sneering at me* “That’s not the only thing making you laugh, is it?”

Me: “Uh… Pardon?”

Elderly Lady’s Husband: “It’s all those drugs you’ve been taking!”

Me: “What?”

Elderly Lady’s Husband: “Don’t try and deny it. I know you’ve been smoking something!”

Me: “Sir, I’ve never smoked so much as a cigarette in my life.”

The elderly lady’s husband calls me a liar and rants about the youth of today being useless drug addicts.

Elderly Lady: *To him “Bugger off if you’re going to be an a**.” *To me* “I’m so sorry, dear. He turned into a curmudgeon about twenty years ago, and he wears that badge like it’s an honor.”

It was one of the most bewildering things that happened to me at that job. Thanks to NAR, I now see that it’s not just me getting random cranky customers!

My grandmother, having been through two wars, was unbelievably thrifty and would not throw away anything until it was so worn that it couldn’t be mended any further. And, of course, nothing new could be put into use as long as the old stuff had some mileage still in it.

I always suffered from cold feet. I have some woollen “bedshoes” that belonged to my mother, crocheted in a honeycomb style that leaves most of my skin exposed and does nothing for the cold.

An elderly aunt, staying with us for a while, knits me a magnificent pair of bedshoes: fully enclosed, ankle-high, thick, and warm. I profusely thank my aunt and start wearing her bedshoes.

A few days later, after my aunt is back with her family, I’m asleep in bed. I wake up with a start, in pitch darkness. My covers are lifted and there’s someone in the room, hovering above me. Bogeyman? Wild bear? Kidnapper? No, it’s my grandmother, replacing my bedshoes with the old ones at two in the morning and scaring me to death in the process!

She tells me to shut up (which I do — she’s already positioned to slap the bejeezus out of me if I don’t comply), takes away the warm bedshoes, and goes back to sleep.

The following weeks are an endless game of hide and seek with the bedshoes between the two of us until, at last, summer comes. Being a small child, I eventually forget about the bedshoes until years later, after my grandmother is long dead and we find them in their last hiding place, too small for my feet by now, and completely disintegrated. It’s a small relief to know that at least the moths enjoyed the bedshoes undisturbed.

I work the front counter at a very popular fast food chain. An old man comes up to the counter, looking a little upset.

Me: “Hello, sir, welcome to [Chain]! How can I help you?”

Customer: “I just came here a few minutes ago and got coffee from that lady over there, and she never gave me a stir stick or a napkin.”

Me: “I’m sorry about that, sir, but we don’t hand out stir sticks or napkins for coffee orders. You can pick one up at our counter over there—” *points* “—or just ask next time.”

Customer: “Well, I’d prefer it if you’d just give them to me when I get my coffee!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll make sure to give you one next time you come in.”

Customer: “There probably won’t be a next time. I’m over ninety, and I could die next week!”

This is shortly after our store has started using chip readers for cards. I am cashiering and have an older lady come through. She tries sliding her card, which doesn’t work. 

Me: “Try inserting the card into the slot.”

Old Lady: *Shouting* “It’s a virgin! Please be gentle!”

It took everything in me to not fall over laughing at her. She definitely made my day so much better.

My grandma was something else. Feared by all, she took no s*** in life and was, in a word, iconic.

When I was a teenager, I was at my grandma’s house so I could go swimming at her pool. When I finished, my dad told me to go down to the house and say thank you to my grandma. I went down and saw she was on her back porch smoking a cigarette. I was still in my bikini. She took a long drag of her cigarette and then looked at me.

Grandma: “Ya got nice boobs. Much nicer than your older sister’s, anyway. I remember when she was a little girl, she used to go around telling people she wanted big boobs like your mom.”

She took another drag off the cigarette.

Grandma: “Meanwhile, she didn’t even have little fried eggs yet. “

I was absolutely mortified, and I quickly said thank you and ran up to the pool area where my dad was waiting in his truck to drive me home.

Dad: “Did you say thanks to Grandma?”

Me: “Yes, and we need to leave, like, now.”

This conversation has become seared into my brain because of how out of the blue it was and the choice of words that she used.