My new boyfriend has been married before, as have I. He has a beautiful tattoo on his shoulder of a scrollwork cross with his former wife’s first initial in flowing script. One day, we are just sitting and talking, and the tattoo comes up, since I want to get one eventually.

He looks down and speaks quietly.

Boyfriend: “I guess I should get that removed, right?”

Me: “Of course not! It’s a beautiful work of art and represents an important part of your life.”

Boyfriend: “But every time you see it, you’ll be reminded of her.”

Me: *Gently but grinning* “Honey… what’s my first initial?”

He thinks for a moment and then remembers it’s the same and laughs.

Boyfriend: “So, instead of [Ex-Wife] it can stand for [My Name]!”

We had a good laugh, but the weird part came later. I was talking with a friend who knows about [Boyfriend]’s tattoo. Even after I explained the coincidence, she actually argued with me that I should make him remove it to “prove his love” to me. I suddenly had somewhere very important to be and we’ve barely spoken since.

In the US, there is a serious retail labor shortage, and where I work is no different. I have had versions of this conversation multiple times.

Customer: “You really need to hire more people!”

Me: “I know, ma’am. Would you like to fill out an application?”

Customer: “Why the h*** would I do that?”

And yet people wonder why there is a labor shortage.

I am working at the front desk of a hospital during flu season, so kids are not allowed. A mother and two kids walk in. After I explain the policies, the mother is visibly angry and tries to explain that the kids want to visit the patient.

She begins screaming in the kids’ faces and turns to me. She tries to claim that I made her children cry despite them not caring about visiting and the fact that she literally screamed and tried to make them cry on purpose.

Mother: “Look at this! You made my children cry. They want to see their [family member]!”

Me: “I just saw you scream in their face; that doesn’t make any sense.”

She turns to the kids and speaks in a tone that implies I somehow ruined their evening.

Mother: “C’mon, kids, let’s go.”

I recently transferred to a store in a new state that’s much bigger than my previous store. As a result, this store has more of a “customer is always right” viewpoint than I’m used to. I’m helping a customer pick out some fish.

Me: “Hello! How can I help you?”

Customer: “Hello! I’m looking for an algae eater.”

Me: “All right! And what size tank do you have?”

Customer: “A ten-gallon.”

Me: “And are there any other fish living in there right now?”

Customer: “Yeah, a couple of oscars.”

I freeze. 

Me: “Oscar… cichlids?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Our cichlids at the BARE MINIMUM need a forty-gallon tank. His tank is just barely big enough to fit ONE.

Me: “Um… I’m not quite sure how to help you, sir. Your tank is very overcrowded at the moment. Maybe a snail could help you clean your tank.”

Customer: “No! I want an algae eater!”

He points to our plecostomus tank. I am not kidding when I say that these fish get two to three feet long. There is no way this fish is going to fit in his tank.

Me: “Sir, I really wouldn’t recommend you doing that. This fish is not going to fit in your tank, and—”

Customer: “I don’t care! Get me that algae eater or I’ll find someone who will!”

I already know that one way or another, the customer is walking out of here with that fish, and I’ll probably get reprimanded if I don’t grab it. I’m polite but cold as I catch the fish and bag it up for him. He leaves as I go work on other chores.

Later, I’m talking to my coworkers about what happened.

Coworker: “Oh, that was him? He complained to me about you. I wouldn’t worry about it; he’s a problem customer.”

My cousin, age ten, and I, age seven, went to the local grocery store to get some stuff for my mom. She had (jokingly) added “a six-pack of cold beer” to the shopping list.

My cousin and I arrived at the checkout lane, and the nice lady told us:

Cashier: “I’m afraid you can’t buy beer because you’re under eighteen years of age.”

I did a bit of quick math.

Me: “But, we are seventeen together. You can overlook one year, can’t you?”

The checkout lady smiled and shook her head. The other people near the counter chuckled. We were embarrassed and returned the beer to the shelf.

Arriving home, we told the tale to my mom and cousin’s mom. They had big grins and told us they were joking and just wanted to see what would happen.

I grumpily replied, something like:

Me: “Well, the beer wasn’t cold, anyway.”