(I am shopping late at night in a 24-hour grocery store. My cashier is a young woman, in her early 20s who looks to be about 8 months pregnant. She is also looking increasingly pale throughout the transaction.)

Me: “Are you okay? You aren’t looking very good.”

Cashier: “Hmm? I’m sorry. I’m not feeling very well tonight, and I’m getting very dizzy at random.”

(Though I’m not a doctor or medically trained, these types of symptoms don’t strike me as mild, especially in the case of a pregnant woman.)

Me: “Would you like me to go get your manager for you? You look like you should be sitting down.”

Cashier: *grips the counter to steady herself* “Yes… please…”

(I go to find the manager, a woman of about 60, who comes to the register with me.)

Manager: *to the cashier* “What the h*** is going on here?”

Cashier: “It’s happening again, what I told you about earlier. I can barely stand, I feel like I’m going to pass out, and I can’t breathe too well.”

Manager: “Oh, for crying out loud! You’re just faking it so I’ll let you go home early to your idiot husband.”

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am? She really looks sick, and since she is pregnant don’t you think you should err on the side of caution and send her home, or even to the hospital?”

Manager: “Bulls**t!  I’ve had 6 kids myself, and this DOESN’T happen to pregnant women. I never got dizzy and light-headed when I was pregnant, and I see no reason why she would!”

Me: “Again, ma’am, she doesn’t look good. Call her an ambulance, or at least call her husband so he can come get her!”

Manager: “No! She’s just being lazy. Besides, it’s none of your business!”

(At this time, I see a city police officer enter the store. He’s presumably off his shift since he is still in full uniform, but grabs a cart. I rush over to him.)

Me: “Officer, I’m sorry to bother you, but the cashier over here looks like she is going to pass out. She is pregnant, and looks to be due at any time now. I notified her manager, who refuses to do anything about it. Can you please help her?”

(The police officer heads over to the cashier in question, and helps her to a bench near the Customer Service desk. I wait around as the officer calls in an emergency on his radio, getting an ambulance sent for the cashier. The manager is trying the whole time to tell first me, then the cop, then the EMTs when they arrive that the cashier is just being lazy. The cashier is taken off to the hospital. Weeks later, I return to the store and ask a different manager about the cashier.)

Another Manager: “She’s doing alright. She ended up delivering a healthy baby boy about twelve hours later. Are you the customer that helped her?”

Me: “Yes, I am.”

Another Manager: “Well, as thanks, I’d like to give you a $500 gift card to the store. I also have a personal letter from the cashier…”

(I won’t go into details about the letter, but suffice to say it was addressed to “The Man Who Helped Me”!)

(I have just finished ringing up a good-sized amount of groceries—slightly over $100 worth—for a woman. A man has been waiting quietly in line behind her. When I tell her the total, the man speaks up.)

Man: “Ma’am, I’d like to pay for this for you.”

Woman: *surprised* “ALL of it?”

Man: “Yes.  I’d like to pay for your entire order, if you don’t mind.”

(Several seconds pass, as the woman blinks repeatedly.)

Woman: “Well, certainly, if you’re willing. But… can I ask why?”

Man: “Well, slightly over a year ago I was diagnosed with advanced neuroblastoma. They started me on aggressive chemotherapy almost that same day, and my doctor said I only had about a 30% chance of even making it to 2012. That was on August 28th of 2011. My final round of chemo was last Monday, and today they got back the results from my latest MRI: it said ‘no evidence of disease.’ So, I’m feeling very rich right now, and I’d like to spread it around.”

(And then he paid for her groceries!)

(We have a regular who comes in for special sandwiches that are made on Mondays and Fridays only. When she comes in, it’s on a Thursday and the guy who makes them at the deli isn’t there. Instead, it’s a new guy who’s still being trained.)

Customer: “Black and blue with horse sauce on the side.”

(FYI, she wants pumpernickel bread with roast beef, bleu cheese and horseradish sauce on the side.)

New Employee: “Uh, sorry? I don’t know what that is.”

Customer: *annoyed* “I want the black and blue with the horse sauce on the side.

New Employee: “Let me get someone else. I’m new, so I don’t know what that is.”

Customer: “God, are you stupid? I want the black and blue with horse sauce on the side! Is that so freaking hard to understand?

Other Employee: *overhears* “Yes, ma’am, I’ll get that made for you right now. He’s new, so he doesn’t know about our sandwich specialties.”

(Upon hearing this, the customer suddenly turns sweet and smiles.)

Customer: “OH! You’re new? How many days have you been working here?”

New Employee: “Only two days, ma’am.”

Customer: “Well, watch out for those crazies. You’re bound to get a few!”

(I am a twenty-three-year old college student, but I can’t drive for medical reasons. On this particular day, I’ve ridden to the store with a friend to keep her company. She’s paying for groceries while talking to me when the cashier starts up a conversation.)

Cashier: “College students?”

My Friend: “Oh, yeah. We go to [college name]! Did the ramen and energy drinks give it away?”

Cashier: “Heh. Yeah, kind of. Actually, I go to [other college] right now. Sucks to have to drive an hour to get there.”

Me: “Yeah, I kinda get that feeling. I used to have to walk an hour to class before I transferred to [college name].”

Cashier: *confused* “Why didn’t you just drive?”

Me: “I can’t drive, actually.”

Cashier: “You can’t drive?”

Me: “Nuh-uh.”

Cashier: “And you go to college?”

Me: “…Yes?”

Cashier: “You are destined to fail!”

(At this point, my friend and I are just staring at her, speechless.)

Cashier: “What’s wrong with you?! You should just quit school right now. People who can’t drive can’t be a part of society. You absolutely HAVE to have a car to do anything!”

Me: “Er… I’ve… actually never had any problems out of it.”

Cashier: “But you WILL! What if you get a job two hours away?”

Me: “… I move two hours away? I moved two hours away to finish college.”

Cashier: “Do you have a job?”

Me: “I’m a receptionist.”

Cashier: “How do you get to work?!”

Me: “I walk?”

Cashier: “Drop out or learn to drive!”

(As we’re walking out, my friend stops and turns to me.)

My Friend: “I have no idea what just happened, but I think everyone involved is dumber for the experience.”

(My coworker and I are doing a child safety promotion in front of a supermarket on Easter weekend. The neighborhood happens to be predominantly Jewish, and 95% of the customers coming in are wearing yarmulkes or headscarves. The vast majority of the men also have the traditional peyot—the curled sideburns.)

Me: *to a customer* “Hi, did you want us to fingerprint your kids? It’s free, and it’s just for you to take home.”

Customer: “No thanks.”

Me: “Okay, have a great day!”

Coworker: “…and have a happy Easter!”

Customer: *gives my coworker a weird look and walks out*

Me: *to my coworker* “I don’t think they celebrate Easter.”

Coworker: “Why not?”

Me: “They’re Jewish.”

Coworker: “How can you tell?”

Me: “Did you see those hats the men wore? Those are Yarmulke. It’s part of the Jewish religion.”

Coworker: “Okay…”

(The next customer comes out, the scenario repeats, and again, my coworker says “Happy Easter” to someone in a Yarmulke.)

Me: “You know, if you keep doing that, you might offend someone.”

Coworker: “But who doesn’t love Jesus?!”