I work at the front desk at a small hotel in a popular hotel chain. A couple comes in to check in and gives me their last name.

Me: “Perfect. All I need to get from you is an ID and a credit card for incidentals.”

Husband: “Here’s the ID. Can’t you just use the card on file for incidentals?”

Me: “Normally, yes, but since you booked with a third party and prepaid, they have sent us your payment using a one-time virtual credit card, not the card you paid with.”

Husband: “Hmm, okay. Oh, and can you add my honors onto that?”

We have a tiered honors system where guests earn points for every dollar spent at our hotel, but it will only give them points if they book directly with the hotel or on their honors app.

Me: “I can put your number on there, but since you used a third party, it is unlikely that you will receive points because you paid [Third Party] directly and not the hotel.”

Wife: “My husband travels very frequently; he knows what he’s talking about. Just put the number on there and give us the keys.”

Me: “I will certainly put the number on for you. What is the phone number associated with the account?”

Husband: “1-800…”

I laugh slightly and the wife interrupts him.

Wife: “He thinks he’s funny. I have his honors number written down right here.”

She gives me the number and I attach the account. He is one of our top-tier members, meaning he travels very frequently with our chain, which makes it very odd that he booked with a third party.

Me: “Okay, here are your keys. You will be on the third floor today and the elevators are through those doors to the left. Let me know if you need anything!”

They start walking towards the doors and stop where the hallway begins.

Wife: “Which way are the elevators?”

Me: “To your left.”

Wife: “This way?”

She begins walking left.

Wife: “I use north, south, east, and west, not left and right.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

I didn’t even know how to respond to that statement. Next time, I’ll let her know to take a north to get to the elevator!

My bookstore has a waist-high wooden counter to hold the registers up, and in the front of it, little cubby holes for various impulse buys. There are panes of glass over that so, should a customer look straight down, they can see those little $5-or-less baubles and maybe make a last-second addition.

I loathe those panes of glass. They are impossible to keep clean. In an hour, the things will have accrued coffee rings, greasy fingerprints, and various other little germy smudges. We have to put in a lot of effort to keep these clean lest the next customer gets coffee on their nice, clean, brand-new books.

Enter a mom and her kid.

The kid is initially standing patiently and quietly by Mommy’s side. But he is JUST tall enough that his lips can wrap around the beveled edges of the glass and suck on it like a pacifier. Maybe the texture or shape is appealing to his mouth… or maybe Mommy should have weaned him a bit earlier than the tender age of ten.

Me: “Oh, sweetie, please don’t put your mouth on that. We clean it with Windex and Clorox. You don’t want to swallow that stuff. It’ll make you sick to your tummy.”

The child stares me straight in the eyes and continues to suck on that tasty, tasty glass pacifier provided especially for him. Mommy is chattering obliviously on her phone, still trying to pile more books in front of me, but she seems to be unaware that I am not ringing AND that I am talking to her son.

Me: “Kiddo, please don’t suck on that!”

I shoo him backward, but the kid is clearly determined. He backs up two steps, and as soon as I ring the first book, he comes right back and latches onto that thing like a nursing baby. 

I stop the transaction in its tracks, move the books, and wipe off the glass with the dripping Clorox wipe that’s wafting enough chemical fumes to make my eyes burn. The smell makes him beat a hasty three-foot retreat from the counter.

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but this glass isn’t sanitary. I can’t, in good conscience, let your child put his mouth on this any longer.”

The woman stops her conversation as her eyes start to burn from the cloud of Clorox fumes. 

Mom: “Do you have to do that now?!”

Me: *Bluntly* “Yes. For the third time, this glass is covered in chemicals, and your child was putting his mouth on it. I now have to clean the glass again because he slobbered on it.”

She wags a finger in a limp-handed way.

Mom: “[Child]! Don’t put your mouth on things!”

I made the glass surface gleam wetly with a thick layer of corrosive liquid. Then, I paper toweled it dry, of course; after all, there was a line, and we could not wait for the glass to dry on its own. Now, we had a cloud of Clorox fumes at the registers.

Worth it, in my opinion, as this was finally enough. I wonder if those “no chew” sprays for puppies would work on a kid.

Related:
Of Chemically Unsound Mind

I’m about eighteen. An old friend is moving away and is having a going-away party. A lot of friends I haven’t seen in a long time show up, so we’re all having a great time catching up. A few of us decide to go to dinner afterward. I don’t have a car, so a male friend, [Friend #3] offers to drive me and his sister, [Friend #2], as we all live near each other. He gets pulled aside, and I continue talking with my group.

Another guy approaches and just stares at me for several minutes. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him.

Friend #1: “Hey, [My Name], you need a ride to dinner? You can drive with me.”

Me: “Nope, I have a ride. Thanks, though!”

Friend #1: “Anytime!”

The unknown guy mentioned above has now slid into the seat next to me and is in my personal space.

Me: *To the guy* “Oh, excuse me.”

I move over to give myself more room.

Guy: “[My Name]?”

Me: “Yes?”

Guy: *At full volume* “[My Full Name]?”

Everyone stops talking and stares at him.

Me: “Have we met?”

Guy: “Seriously? We went to church together back in the day! [Church]?”

Me: “I did go there when I was a kid, but I can’t place you.”

Guy: “You really don’t remember me?”

Me: “No, sorry!”

Guy: “C’mon, I’m [Guy]!”

I recognize the name. I was friends with his sister when we were all kids. I didn’t really talk to him back then, as he was older than me and kind of annoying.

Me: “Are you [Old Friend]’s brother?”

Guy: “That’s me!”

Me: “Is she here?”

Guy: “Couldn’t make it.”

Me: “Oh, that’s a shame. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”

Guy: “Sure has. You’re all grown up now.”

He scoots closer. I move over as far as I can. [Friend #2] approaches on the other side.

Friend #2: “[My Name], we’re ready when you are.”

I shoot her a relieved look.

Me: “Well, [Guy], I gotta run.”

Guy: “I heard you need a ride. I can drive you home if you want.”

Me: “No, thank you. I have a ride.”

I head for the door, but he follows me.

Guy: “Really, it’s no problem. I’d love to talk more! Where do you live? You’re in college now, right?”

Me: “I have a ride, and he’s waiting for me. [Friend #3]! Are we still going to dinner?”

Friend #3: “Obviously! Didn’t we discuss this a few minutes ago?”

Guy: “Of course, a boyfriend!”

Friend #3: “Wait, what?”

Guy: “Ugh, never mind.”

He gives me a death glare, grumbles something about me being a tease, and walks away.

Friend #3: “I was only gone for ten minutes! What did I miss?!”

Friend #2: “Bro, you just saved [My Name] from a creeper.”

Friend #3: “Ah. Next time, text me a warning. I can play it up way more.”

Several years ago, I was on the bus, playing on my original Nintendo DS and listening to music. 

Apparently, this older man started asking me what I was playing on and I couldn’t hear him because, you know, I was listening to music. 

Since I, a stranger, wasn’t paying attention to him, he decided to hit me in the shins with his cane!

He was amazed that I wasn’t receptive to answering his questions after this.

I’m a manager at a convenience store and I have been a cashier for years. Some mornings, I work alone while I wait for my cashier to come in after taking her kids to school. Of course, doing managerial work plus being a cashier takes me all over the store, and most times I have to eat on the clock. Then, I have to go to the bathroom.

What makes me mad is the fact that I put a sign up saying I will be back in five minutes, lock the door, and don’t let anyone in, and people still won’t read the sign, will yank the door so hard I can hear it all the way in the back, and sometimes will bang on it like they’re dying.

One time, a customer just needs the receipt from one of the pumps and starts hitting the door insistently. Mind you, when I’m alone, I don’t take my phone to the bathroom with me so I can get the store opened as soon as possible, but this time, I think what I ate was bad, so I am there a little longer than anticipated.

This guy bangs the door like he is being robbed. When I finally open the door, he’s furious.

Customer: “I want my receipt! Why are you not open? What’s going on?!”

Me: “Well, sir, I had to take a s***. What do you want?!”

I guess people expect us service providers to be robots.