(I work in a small grocery store that has a delivery system where customers order with email, via phone or through the online store. You can use either cash or credit card as a payment method. In credit card cases, the driver has a mobile payment terminal with him, and the payment is made at the customer’s front door. No numbers are required in the online shop. In cash cases, we pay the delivery with written checks which we’ve given the nickname, “Monopoly money,” and once the actual money is received from the customer, the Monopoly money in the counter is traded into the actual money. A cashier who is working on the school holiday gets one of these cash deliveries.)

Me: *hands the Monopoly money* “We are using these as a payment in deliveries. Treat this note as a normal [amount] bill.”

(Then I start packing. A minute later the cashier asks:)

Cashier: “What is the purpose of this note?”

Me: “We are using these as notifications that this account has received a delivery of this sum.”

Cashier: “Okay, then I will toss it in the trash.” *throws the monopoly money to the bin*

Me: *all the veins in my head explode* “NO! YOU’RE DEFINITELY NOT TOSSING IT TO THE TRASH!”

(My manager overheard this and repeated what I said to the cashier. Ever since then, she handled them like normal money. If you just listened to me for even ONE second…)

(I work at an outdoor park that has a lot of rides for kids, including bouncy castles, carousels, and things like that. It’s term time, so we’re quiet, and it’s been raining heavily for the last day. My manager puts me on the bouncy castles, but gives me a bag of kid’s toys to make up while I’m down there. This is quite normal practice at times when it isn’t busy. The bouncy castles have signs on each end warning customers that they’re wet when it rains. I’m keeping an eye on them, but mainly concentrating on making up the toys since we restock heavily during quiet times. A man comes up to me with his daughter, quite well-spoken and dismissive. He’s wearing a membership wristband for the park.)

Man: “You could have told me the bouncy castles were wet! I sat on one, and I’m soaked now!”

Me: “Oh, I’m very sorry, sir. It has been raining for the last day or so, and unfortunately, they don’t dry out that fast. We warn you on the signs there—“ *points* “—and there—“ *points*

Man: “Well, I didn’t see them! I need to go home and change now!”

(He leaves. Maybe if I hadn’t been making up the toys I’d have noticed him and warned him, but he was fairly warned, and he’d only really got the leg of his jeans damp. Half an hour later I’m radioed up to the office by my manager.)

Manager: “[My Name], do you have your phone with you?”

(We get fired on the spot if we have our phones on us on duty, and so lockers are provided for staff.)

Me: “No. I can show you in my locker.”

Manager: “Yes, please. I’m sure you wouldn’t, but we have to check.”

(I open the locker for my manager, and sure enough, the phone is there.)

Manager: “Oh, thank goodness. I wouldn’t have wanted to let you go. It’s just we had this gentleman come up and say you hadn’t warned him about the bouncy castles being wet because you were hunched over on your phone, not paying attention.”

Me: “No, no, I was making up those toys as you asked.”

Manager: “Don’t worry; I believe you. He demanded we give him a free change of clothes from the gift shop. We do have signs down there warning it’s wet!”

Me: “That’s what I told him!”

(I went back to work, and I am still employed at the park to this day. But the man was a member, which means he likely visits a lot and knows the staff policy on phones. So, out of embarrassment over getting a bit wet, or some kind of wounded pride over being corrected by a younger man, he tried to get me sacked. The daughter he was with didn’t seem the slight bit discomfited, but if she was a bit older she might have been embarrassed for her dad.)

(It’s a busy night at the 112 call centre, with calls coming in nonstop. I answer the next call.)

Me: “Good evening, police—“

(A small voice interrupts me.)

Child: “Where’s Mommy?”

(She sounds no older than three or four years old. Mostly when small children call, they are playing with the house phone. The child starts crying.)

Child: “I don’t know where Mommy is!”

(In the background I can hear a baby crying.)

Me: “What’s your name?”

Child: “[Child].”

Me: “Hello, [Child]; who do I hear crying?”

Child: “That’s my brother; he’s still very tiny.”

Me: “Sweetie, are you sure Mommy isn’t home? Is Daddy home?”

Child: *sobbing* “I can’t find them anywhere!”

Me: “[Child], just stay on the telephone. I’ll help you, and together we’re going to find Mommy. Where do you live?”

Child: *whispers the name of a Dutch city*

Me: “Do you know what street you live on?”

Child: “No.”

(The baby has stopped crying. While I keep chatting with [Child] about her teddy bear, I ask a colleague to trace the call. The phone number is registered to an address in the city [Child] mentioned. I dispatch the nearest surveillance car to check on [Child].)

Me: “[Child], could you please go upstairs and look out the window? Do you see a police car?”

Child: “No.”

(The surveillance car checks in to tell me the former inhabitants of the address we found have recently moved and the neighbours don’t know their new address. While I am on the phone with [Child], a colleague gets a call from a man who sees a small child in the window of a house with no lights on. Concerned, he’d rung the doorbell, but no one answered. My colleague immediately sends the surveillance car to the address.)

Me: “[Child], do you know how to read?”

Child: “No. Wait, I see a police car!”

Me: “Can you open the door for the police and give them the telephone?”

Child: “Yes.”

Officer: “We’ve got them. The parents aren’t home. We’ll take them with us.”

(Later that night the parents came to pick up the two children. They had been to the movies. They couldn’t get a babysitter but thought the kids would be okay alone because they usually sleep through the night. The parents got a very stern talking-to and child protection services were notified.)

(Where I work, we are supposed to greet every customer: ask them how they are doing, if they need help finding anything, etc. I am walking past a customer that is having a conversation on her cell phone. Not wanting to be rude and interrupt her I call, I smile at her and nod, and keep going.)

Customer: *to person on phone* “I hate this store. No one ever helps you. They just walk past you.”

(And I kept on walking.)

(My husband and I recently had our first child. My parents are in town to help. It’s worth noting that both hubby and I have dimples when we smile.)

Mother: *looking at my son* “He is so adorable. Look at these dimples. He got them from his dad. Such a beautiful boy.”

Me: “Are you sure that he got them from his dad and not mom?”

(The mother continues cooing over the baby. Two days later, my mother is looking at our photos above the fireplace.)

Mother: “Oh, you have dimples, too. Is it something new?”

Me: “Mother, I’ve had dimples my entire life. How did you manage to not notice them?”

Mother: “So, [Child] could have gotten the dimples from you? I thought that it was all his dad’s side… Are you sure that you’ve always had dimples?”