At one of my old hotels, I was sometimes literally the only person working on the PM shift. One night in the summer, a guest came in.

Guest: “Someone took their baby into the pool with them and the baby had an accident.”

I ran out and asked all the other people to get out of the pool. The pool was outside and next to a BBQ area, so the guests eating inquired what was going on, and when I told them, they immediately helped me get their kids out of the pool. Good guests — not bothering me, and giving me space to clean. They even asked if they could stay in the BBQ area.

I got the pool skimmer and pulled the poop out, and then I called my maintenance man to see what chemicals to put in the pool to clean it. I put up signs saying the pool was closed and even put yellow caution signs in front of both ladders entering the pool itself. All the while, I was hoping that the phone wouldn’t ring or a guest wouldn’t come to check in since, again, I was the only person working there.

I finally got it all done and went back inside, but then I heard a splash. I ran out and a kid had cannonballed into the pool, with his dad standing there watching.

I probably wasn’t calm but screamed and pointed when I came out to tell the dad to get his kid out of the pool. Ignoring signs and letting his kid swim with poop? Sigh.

The post office I work at is the only one in the immediate area that processes passport applications. We’re used to people calling with questions about the process, but this call was special.

Me: “[City] Post Office, how can I help you?”

Caller: “Hello, my husband and I need to get passports. Could you tell me what we need to do?

Me: “Sure. You’ll need certified copies of your birth certificates, a DS-11 application, which is—”

Caller: “Sorry, could you let me grab a pen to write this down?”

Me: “Of course.”

Judging by the sounds, the woman spends the next four or five minutes roaming her house, walking up and down stairs twice. Finally, she comes back on.

Caller: “Okay, what do we need again?”

Me: “A certified copy of your birth certificate.”

Caller: “Cer. Ti. Fied… Birth Cer. Tif. I. Cate. What else?”

I can hear scribbling while she sounds out the words, so I assume she’s writing them down.

Me: “A passport application form called a DS-11. We have them here, or you can go online to—”

Caller: “What sort of birth certificate do we need?”

Me: “Certified. It has to have a clerk’s seal, so the type issued by hospitals generally doesn’t work.”

The scribbling noise starts again.

Caller: “Cer. Ti. Fied. What were you saying about an application form?”

Me: “It’s called a DS-11. You can get a copy from our office or print one off from the Department of State’s website.”

Caller: “We’ll probably come in. Is that all we need?”

Me: “No, you’ll need to photocopy the front and back of your driver’s license or—”

Caller: “What was that first thing you mentioned?”

Me: “A birth certificate?”

Caller: “What kind was it, again?”

Me: *Slowly* “Certified.”

Again, I hear scribbling while she talks. My coworker has been listening to my side of the conversation and looks pretty amused.

Caller: “Cer. Ti. Fied. Birth. Cer. Tif. I. Cate. What else were you saying?”

Me: “Birth certificates, application forms, a photocopy of your driver’s license or state ID, and a current photograph. We can take the photos or you can—”

Caller: “Is there any sort of application form we need?”

Me: “Yes, that would be the DS-11. You can pick one up here at the office.”

At this point, I’m not going to walk her through getting the online form.

Caller: “D. S. Eleven. Got it! So, we just need application forms?”

Me: “No? You’ll also need your certified birth certificate, photo ID, and current photos.”

My coworker has stopped smiling and is now staring at me in a mix of confusion and concern.

Caller: *Cheerfully* “Thank you. I’ll call to set up an appointment once we have everything.”

The instant I hang up, my coworker speaks up.

Coworker: “What just happened?!”

Me: “I… I don’t feel right helping that woman go to a foreign country.”

In 2008, a certain incredibly popular MMORPG is releasing its VERY anticipated second expansion. I’m working third-shift stock, and I am planning to grab a copy of said expansion as soon as it can be legally sold after midnight. During the pre-work huddle, our night manager lets us know the electronics person has called out for the night, so there won’t be anyone to cover that area.

Me: “Um, we’re going to want someone to cover that area tonight. You know [Expansion] is being released tonight, right?”

Manager: “It’s not that big of a deal; we’re probably only going to get a couple of people getting it tonight. I can cover it if they need it.”

Me: “You’re not serious? We have two full displays of it in the back, and I’d wager we’ll sell out of at least one of them before day shift comes in.”

Manager: “No, we won’t. It’ll be fine.”

Me: “There are literally already people in the store waiting for midnight.”

Manager: “I said it’ll be fine!”

Me: “Oooookay, then.”

Fast forward an hour or so. The manager stops by the area I’m stocking.

Manager: “I don’t appreciate you questioning me in front of everyone.”

Me: “I was just pointing out that we’re going to need someone in electronics in about an hour because we’re going to be slammed.”

Manager: *Rolling his eyes* “Fine. I’ll make you a bet. If it’s really as busy as you say, I’ll do your end-of-night cleanup. If it’s not, you’re on cardboard baler duty the rest of the week.”

Me: “Deal.”

Fast forward another hour, and the clock hits midnight. I can hear the crowd from my area, which is nearly halfway across the store. Cue frantic paging from associates who happen to be walking past. I take my lunch break and join the insanity, getting my copy before we sell out. I actually underestimated the crowd; we are halfway through our second display unit of said expansion. I walk up to the checkout, and our frazzled manager, who is usually VERY put together, glares at me.

Me: “What? I’m on lunch.”

Manager: “I hate you. So much.”

Me: “I did warn you. Would you like me to at least put all of my cardboard in carts so you can do my clean-up, or is that included in the deal?”

Manager: “I am not doing your clean-up.”

Me: “I thought we had a deal?”

Manager: “Absolutely not. Clean-up is part of your job.”

Me: “Wow. Sore loser, much?”

I left with my copy of the expansion, put it in my locker, and enjoyed the rest of my lunch break. When the end of my shift approached, my manager walked past, looked at my carts full of cardboard, and immediately went to find something else to do. No, he never made good on his end of the bet. But he did at least listen in the future when I pointed out situations where we were going to be selling highly-anticipated releases. So, I guess I can chalk it half up in the “win” column?

A customer walks in for a pickup.

Me: “What’s the name, sir?”

He tells me his name and I walk to the heat rack and confirm his order before grabbing it.

Me: “You got the large thin-crust pepperoni?”

Customer: “Yup, that’s it.”

I see that it’s paid for, so I hand it to him and tell him to have a great day.

The customer calls the store about twenty or so minutes later saying he got the wrong pizza. He had ordered a medium hand-toss sausage and bacon — a completely different pizza than the one he confirmed!

My store has several air conditioners for sale. The smallest ones, [AC #1], are in two stacks with signs suspended above them saying they are $74. [AC #2] has three stacks and a sign for $98. [AC #3] has two stacks as well, priced at $119. So, the signs read $74, $74, $98, $98, $98, $119, $119.

The third stack of [AC #2] is currently sold out. There’s an empty pallet where the air conditioners were, the $98 sign still hanging. A woman motions to me to come over to a register.

Customer: “I’m calling the Better Business Bureau. Your store is committing a bait and switch and I will have you shut down!”

Me: “Could you show me what you mean, ma’am?”

She walks over to the stacks of air conditioners.

Customer: “Look! [AC #3] should be $98 according to the sign!”

She points at the sign above the empty pallet.

Me: “No, it’s actually $119.”

I point to the price above the first stack of [AC #3] and draw an invisible line down to the stack

Customer: “No, look.”

She points to the first stack of [AC #1] and then up to the sign.

Customer: “These are $74.”

She points to the second stack of [AC #1].

Customer: “These are $74.”

She points to both stacks of [AC #2].

Customer: “And these are $98.”

She points to the first stack of [AC #3].

Customer: “And these should be $98, too, because that’s what the next sign says.”

Me: “I’m sorry for the confusion, ma’am. [AC #3] is actually under the sign for $119.”

I point up toward the sign.

Customer: “No, look!”

She points to each stack and the corresponding sign again. When she comes to [AC #3], she points to the first stack and draws a diagonal line to the last sign from [AC #2].

Customer: “See?”

Me: “The first sign for $119 is over [AC #3], and it is correct.”

Customer: “You lying b****! [Store] is shady!”

She turned on her heel and marched out of the store. I worked there for the rest of the summer but never heard a word from the Better Business Bureau about our shady bait and switch.