(This weirdness happens after the customer before this woman has purchased a large number of flip-flops.)

Customer: *leans conspiratorially toward me and whispers* “What do you think she was buying all those shoes for?”

Me: “Well, when I was in Japan for college, I know it was a practice to offer ‘house-shoes’ to guests so they could remove their ‘outside-shoes’ and keep from tracking dirt on the carpets. Maybe she wants to do something like that. I do it, too, as a matter of fact.”

Customer: “Oh! I see! That’s a good idea!”

(I’m happy I might have introduced her to a bit of new cultural knowledge, until…)

Customer: “Yes, that’s a very Oriental thing to do. It sounds like something they’d do in California. You know, I heard it’s illegal for the Orientals to wear shoes inside out there, to protect the hardwood floors!”

(I answered that I wasn’t aware of any such laws either in California or in Japan, and rushed her out of my till. I’m still trying to decide if she had dementia or was just trying to sound smarter than she obviously was. Seriously… “Orientals?”)

(I am finishing my last shift at work before taking a leave of absence, as I need to have a minor surgery on my ankle the following Monday. I’ve been working at this frozen yogurt shop for six months. It’s locally owned and very popular, so I’ve seen people I know on just about every shift I work. Everyone I know is aware I work there, as it’s a fun environment and I post about it on social media occasionally. My friend is the one who recommended I apply to work here, so she’s been working at this store for about a year longer than I have. We have just under an hour left until close, so it is slowing down a bit. An acquaintance walks in as I am sweeping up some sprinkles a kid spilled.)

Me: “Hi, [Acquaintance]! Welcome to [Store]!”

Acquaintance: “Hello, I was just at [Burger Shop in the strip mall] and was stopping by in hopes of catching [Friend].”

Me: “Oh, sorry. She isn’t in right now. It’s pretty hard to catch her since she decided to only take a couple shifts a week right now.”

Acquaintance: “That’s too bad. Hey, so, what are you doing here? Just hanging with friends?”

(I look down at my broom, obnoxiously bright tie-dye t-shirt, and hair pulled back with a headband. The broom, shirt, and headband all have the store’s logo. I’m not sure if it is a sincere question.)

Me: “I… work here?”

Acquaintance: “Oh, yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

Me: “…?”

(I work at a well-known bookstore. This occurs while I am covering someone’s break at customer service.)

Customer: “Hello, I was wondering where your ghost-writer section is.”

Me: “I’m sorry. We don’t have a section of books that were written with ghost-writers, but I can help you find one. What genre are you looking for?”

Customer: “I’m not looking for a book. I’m looking for a ghost-writer.”

(I begin to process that she is asking me for a person.)

Customer: “I’m writing a book and it is too hard, so I thought I’d come here and find someone to write it for me.”

(I have to take a few minutes and explain to her that we don’t write the books, only sell them. I’m not quite sure she gets it. After she leaves, I go back to my coworker and tell him what happened.)

Coworker: “You should have sent her to me. I would’ve charged her $10,000 a chapter!”

(There’s a woman who always comes in at seven in the morning with scratch-lotto tickets. She’s not very friendly.)

Customer: *gives me a ten dollar scratch off and a $20 bill* “I want another one of these and a [twenty dollar ticket].”

(I look at the ticket and notice only the barcode is scratched off on the front. I hand it back to her.)

Me: “Ma’am, this isn’t scratched off.”

Customer: “I don’t scratch them.”

(I know she does because the last time I opened and she got a few tickets from us, I watched her scratch them in her car.)

Customer: “I want another one of these and [$20 ticket].”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t know how much you’ve won if you haven’t scratched it off.”

Customer: *referring to the lotto machine we have across from the register* “Use the machine.”

(I work mornings alone and I’d only been working there for about three weeks, so I didn’t want to fight her about this, and I couldn’t have my manager do anything about it. I scanned the ticket and entered the security code, and I was just hoping it wasn’t a winner. But by some stroke of luck on her part, it was a $10 winner. I went about ringing her up on it, then for the next ten minutes I was dumbfounded, wondering what witchcraft she used to know that ticket was a winner.)

(I am making omelets to order at the breakfast buffet.)

Customer: “I’ll have an omelet, please.”

Me: “Great! What would you like in your omelet?”

Customer: *angry and confused* “Oh, I have to tell you what I want in it?!”

(I wish I could say this was only one customer, and not that this happened several times a week!)