I am at the deli counter in the grocery store. It’s the middle of the day, and it’s not very busy, but I am in a bit of a hurry since I am trying to buy sandwich stuff for the week on my lunch break on Monday. My boss doesn’t usually notice when I leave, so the risk of being gone too long is minimal but still on my mind

The guy ahead of me is being served by someone who is currently cutting part of his order. Another deli person comes out from their little side room and looks at me.

Deli Guy: “Are you being helped?”

Me: “Hi, not yet. Can—”

The customer ahead of me speaks up.

Customer: “No! I was here first; he’s going to serve me!“

Me: “Uh, that lady is currently helping you, and you don’t need both workers for one order. I really just need one thing, so can I please just order?”

Customer: “I need both people! It’ll be faster!”

At this point, the woman serving him is done with his first item and has very obviously heard him. She comes up with his meat and asks what else he wants.

The deli guy and I move a bit further down the case, and I give him my very short order of one pound of turkey. He goes to slice it, and the other customer sees and stares at me the entire time it’s being sliced.

At this point, a woman comes up and joins him, putting some dry goods in their cart.

Customer: “We would be done by now, but some young people don’t know how to wait their turn.”

He glares at me. I let out a short laugh and almost did the whole “Okay, boomer” meme, but instead, I stop, not wanting to lean into what he thinks I am, and just say:

Me: “Okay, buh… Whatever.”

I left to check out. For a second, I was wondering if I had done something wrong, but no, that’s not how delis work, at least not in Brooklyn: you get one worker, and the other worker is for another customer.

Related:
Running Out Of Ways To Put This Deli-cately

I worked in the dairy department at a grocery store. I was filling the yogurt section and had a large Boston cart on the floor to do it. The store often had a lot of floor displays in the middle of the aisle — an annoying corporate policy — and they took up a lot of space, so I had to park my cart as close to me as possible.

As I was working, two customers came into the aisle on either side of my cart, making it impossible for me to move. A third customer came down the aisle and began to make those scoffing noises that always precede a righteous tirade.

Customer: “CAN YOU MOVE YOUR CART, PLEASE?!”

Obviously, I was unable to do so. I was polite, shrugged, gestured to the people and giant displays surrounding me, apologized, and told her to have a nice day. The other two customers were otherwise occupied. The third customer grumbled something about how this was unacceptable and angrily went up front.

About five minutes later, the store manager calmly walked up with the customer, who was all but foaming at the mouth, waiting for him to rip me a new one.

Manager: “What happened?”

I explained.

Manager: *Calmly* “Next time, move the cart as best you can.”

The woman absolutely DEFLATED when he didn’t fire me on the spot. As she headed back to the front of the store, defeated and crestfallen, the manager turned back to me.

Manager: “You’re fine. I don’t fault you at all, man. She was a total b**** to everyone.”

I am stocking shelves when an adorable little toddler waddles up to me, points, and calls me “Daddy.” Their apologetic mother is a few steps behind, successfully scooping up her little escape artist.

Mother: “Sorry about that. She’s learning to speak.”

I am tall but obviously present as female.

Me: “Do… I look like her father?”

Mother: “Oh, no! Actually, we thought she’s been calling all adult women ‘Mama’ and all adult men ‘Daddy’, but there must be something else to it if she called you ‘Daddy’. Anyway, sorry about that!”

She carried off the burbling little person, and I smiled it off and continued my duties.

A few years later, I figure that little lady was on to something, as I started my transition to finally present as the man I have always felt like inside! Validation from kids is the best kind of validation!

My dad is gone now, but he was an easy-going, jovial kind of guy with the gift of gab. In the 1960s, he owned a fast food restaurant that specialized in hot dogs called “Queenie’s Weenies”. At the restaurant, nobody called my dad by his real name; everybody just called him Queenie

At the time, I was fifteen years old. I would work with my dad at the restaurant on weekends. One Saturday, we were driving to work and stopped off at a supermarket to pick up some supplies.

We grabbed our purchases and got into the checkout line. I noticed something while we waited in line: our cashier was in a very, very, bad mood! She offered no smiles, no greetings, no small talk, no “have a nice day”. Her “anger aura” was palpable and kind of scary to me.

When it was our turn, I was thinking that we should just get our stuff and leave quickly before the cashier went “Death Star” on us. My dad had a different idea. When it was our turn, he started chatting her up, looking at her name tag.

Dad: “Hi, [Cashier], how are you today? Isn’t this weather great? This is my son; we work together. Do you like hot dogs? I have a restaurant. It’s called ‘Queenies Weenies’. We specialize in chili dogs. Do you like chili dogs, [Cashier]? Drop by my restaurant sometime and I will treat you to a chili dog made special, just for you, by me, Queenie.”

By the time we were done checking out, [Cashier] was smiling.

Cashier: “Thanks, umm… Queenie. I hope you and your son have a very nice day.”

Back in the car, he “dad-splained” it to me.  

Dad: “[Cashier] was obviously having a bad day. Who knows why, but it happens to everyone. A warm smile and a few kind words were all it took to brighten her day. I made her a little happier and it didn’t cost me a dime. Try it sometime.”

I’m checking out customers.

Customer #1: “That honey should be cheaper!”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, I don’t set the prices.”

Customer #1: “Are you working with the bees?”

Me: “The… pardon?”

Customer #1: “The bees! They made you up the prices, didn’t they?”

The customer leaves the honey behind and storms off after paying, muttering about the greedy bees. I start checking out the next customer.

Customer #2: “Your bagger, there.”

Me: *Looking over at my bagger* “Yes, sir?”

Customer #2: “Are they real?”

Me: “…as opposed to?”

Customer #2: “Being not real.”

Not knowing what to do, I turn to my bagger.

Me: “[Bagger], are you real?”

Bagger: “I… think so?”

Me: *To the customer* “He thinks so.”

Customer #2: *Narrowing eyes* “I suppose that will do.”

The interaction continues without any more accusations of unreality. We move on to the next customer.

Customer #3: *Referring to a cleaning product* “Does this handle carpet stains?”

Me: “I haven’t personally used it yet, but the packaging claims to remove most stains. What is it you’re trying to remove?”

Customer #3: “Blood, sweat, and tears.”

I laugh at the joke.

Customer #3: “That’s not a joke. I’m literally cleaning up blood, sweat, and tears. There was some… misbehavior earlier.”

They check out and, I really don’t want to make any small talk.

There is finally a brief lull in customers, and I see my bagger intently looking out the window.

Me: “What are you doing?”

Bagger: “Oh, just checking to see if there’s a full moon.”