(The song “Die Young” by Ke$ha has just come on.)

Sister: “Well, she is gonna die young if she brushes her teeth with a bottle of Jack.”

(I am working with a coworker who has been with us for almost two months. Two customers wearing hijabs—headscarves for Muslim women—enter the shop.)

Me: “Hi! What can I get you ladies today?”

Coworker: *whispering to me* “We can’t serve them!”

Me: “What? Why?”

Coworker: “They’re with those terrorist people!”

Me: “You’re kidding me right? Please tell me you’re kidding.”

(Before I can do anything, my coworker starts yelling at the women.)

Coworker: “You need to leave! We don’t serve sand-n****** here! Go on! Leave!”

(The customers and I are in shock.)

Me: “What are you doing?! Shut up!”

(Our shift manager, after hearing the yelling, comes out to the front counter.)

Shift Manager: “What’s going on?!”

Coworker: *points to the women* “Them! They won’t leave!”

Shift Manager: “What?”

Coworker: “They won’t leave! We have the right to refuse service!”

Shift Manager: “Calm down [coworker]. Now, why are we refusing them service?”

Coworker: “They’re terrorists!”

(Everyone is too shocked to reply.)

Coworker: “THEY! ARE! TERRORISTS! What’s so difficult to understand? We have the right to refuse them service! We don’t need sand-n****** here! They—”

Shift Manager: “STOP RIGHT THERE! Don’t you DARE say another word! In my office, NOW!”

(My coworker hurries to the back. The manager turns to the customers.)

Shift Manager: “I am so sorry ladies. You do not have to leave. Please stay and order whatever you want. It’s on the house.”

(I proceed to take the customers’ order, and apologize for my coworker’s behavior. I reassure them that not everyone thinks like him. They are very nice and forgiving, and even thank me when they leave. As for the coworker, he is fired the next day for discrimination. The sad part is he still doesn’t understand what he did wrong.)

Me: “Excuse me, can I get another spoon please? I accidentally dropped mine.”

Waitress: “Sure thing!”

(She comes back with a fork.)

Waitress: “Here you go!”

Me: “Umm… a spoon. I need a spoon.”

Waitress: “I don’t understand. I gave you that.”

Me: “Yes, but this is a fork. I can’t eat ice cream with fork. I’m gonna need a spoon.”

Waitress: *looks dumbfounded*

Me: “You know… a spoon… to scoop the ice cream with?”

Waitress: “Oh!”

(She comes back excitedly with an ice cream scoop with her.)

Waitress: “Sfoon!”

(Our store sells pints of ice cream.)

Customer: “I’ll take three pints of vanilla.”

Me: “Well, we currently have a special running, so you can have four pints for the price of three. What would you like for your fourth pint?”

Customer: “So if I get one more pint it won’t cost me any more money?”

Me: “Yep!”

Customer: “Well, I don’t do deals. It’s obvious that if you buy something on sale it’s because the original price is already inflated. So I only buy things at regular price.”

Me: “Umm, well it would be the same price, so it would be a better value to have four.”

Customer: “Well, I know there’s some catch somewhere! Only give me three.”

Me: “Umm, okay, as you wish.”

Customer: “Good! I won’t have you ripping me off!”

(I’ve taken my five-year-old niece to the shops to get some ice cream which gives my little sister some free time. The family has been teaching her how to ask for things politely, with moderate success. My niece orders her ice cream, remembering at the last moment to say please. As the lady serving us, there is silence.)

Me: “And what do you say to the nice lady now that she’s given you your ice cream?”

My Niece: *at the top of her lungs* “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!”

(I crack up laughing, and the poor serving lady is shocked. I have no idea how my niece learnt about Khorne from Warhammer, but I’m very glad she has!)