I work for an office supply store. I’m packing our truck when something sounds a bit off. I see a customer, in his forties, opening boxes of plastic file folders, five of four different colors per box. He has a bunch of red file folders out of a box and is trying to close up the boxes.

Me: “Hi. Would you like help with anything?”

Customer: “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

After a brief pause:

Me: “Just out of curiosity, why do you have some folders out of the box, and why are you closing up the boxes?”

Customer: “Oh, I just want all red folders, so I’m swapping them out with the other boxes.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but you can’t do that.”

Customer: “I can’t?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but no. That’s technically stealing since other customers will want the different colors on the box, so I would have to damage them out. We do sell the plastic folders individually, though, in aisle nine. I’ll help you once I get this all sorted out.”

The customer wandered off as I fixed the three boxes he’d opened, making sure the count was right. By the time I got to the aisle to help out he was nowhere to be seen. Must have found the right items all on his own.

“All babies are beautiful to their mothers,” so the saying goes.

I have a work friend who always tells the truth, no matter how harsh it is. She has a good heart and is a sweet, if gruff, person. She will tell you up front, “Don’t ask my opinion because I don’t waste time being polite. I will be honest.”

One day a coworker was showing off pictures of her truly gorgeous grandbaby. This baby was 1,000% adorable, beautiful, a delight! Everyone was ooh-ing and ahh-ing, including my outspoken friend! She said, “Yes, that baby is gorgeous.”

Then, another coworker wanted to show a picture of her own grandbaby. Most people were, umm, far less enthusiastic, but still polite. The outspoken coworker gave fair warning, as usual: “Don’t ask my opinion because I will be honest.” People backed up because they knew what was coming. The photo was shown. A moment passed. My outspoken coworker said, “That is one ugly baby. You’d better hope they were born with a lot of brains because they will get nowhere on their looks alone.”

Did she say what many people were thinking? Yes.

Did the grandmother of the “ugly” baby get offended? Yes.

Was she warned? YES. 

Ha!

There has been a Japanese Hibachi restaurant in our area for decades before it was a trend. It is unique for the time — dinner and a spectacle of service. The food is top-notch and — according to the adults — the drinks are phenomenal. It is my go-to birthday dinner growing up.

I don’t go there for some time due to financial problems limiting “special eating out” to “value meals, once in a long while.” Once things get better, I finally convince my now-husband to come with me and give it a shot.

And things turn bad quickly.

Hostess: “Hello, table for two? Hibachi or no?”

Me: “Actually, this is his first time here, and it’s my first time back in a long time. We were wondering if we could see some menus before we sit down so we know what we’re looking for?”

Hostess: *Instantly turning icy* “You can’t take the menus home, sir.”

Me: “That’s not what I’m asking. We’re just not certain if we do want hibachi-style or not yet. May we please look first, and then sit?”

This goes back and forth a minute before she finally deigns to — GASP — let us look at a menu before sitting and placing a drink order! And I’m glad we did; all their signature dishes are gone, replaced with generic fare you could find at any of the dozen other places that have opened up within a twenty-minute drive, at $10 to $15 more per meal. I know it has been a while, but that is double the price inflation anywhere else. It is the equivalent of seeing a quality steakhouse turn into a Burger King with fancy placemats but charging even more.

Husband: “Ooooh… That’s a little…”

Me: “Yeah, I’m sorry, but this is kind of way out of our price range at the mo—”

The hostess snatches the menu out of my hand.

Hostess: “You should know what you want before you go out!”

Me: “Yeah, we knew what we wanted, but we just wanted to make sure you offered it; you don’t.”

We left, with the hostess still shouting at our back. The place closed down a year later, and it’s now a funeral home of all things!

I am a closing cashier on one side of the store. It’s been a rather slow night, which I generally enjoy. It means either cleaning and organizing around the register or writing out silly little stories on spare paper I have up there. This customer comes out, and I quickly stand at attention, smiling. She doesn’t return it, but that’s something I’m used to.

Customer: “I’d like to pay on my store card.”

Me: “No problem! Let me get that up for you.”

You only pay on your charge card by cash or check while in the store. Credit and debit cards are accepted online. This isn’t usually a problem since many regulars know that by now. I pull up the menu for her to pay on her card. I scan her charge card and then get to the payment screen. She pulls out a credit card and goes to swipe. Before she can, I speak out.

Me: “Ma’am, we can’t accept any credit or debit cards to pay on your charge card with. In store, we can only accept cash or check.”

Customer: *Glares and huffs* “Why not? I don’t have either of those on me! All I have is my credit card!”

Mentally, I count to three before responding.

Me: “The store cannot process a credit paying on a credit. Online, you are free to do so; however, to pay in store, we can only accept cash or check.”

Customer: “Well, is there an ATM in the store?”

Me: “We do not have an ATM. [Large Chain Store] is across the street and would have one.”

Customer: “They’d charge me for it!”

She grumbles to herself about how late it is and her bank is closed, etc. I merely wish her a good night as she storms off. I hope that is the end of it. Half an hour later, here she comes again, coming to me instead of the other cashier. She still looks as huffy as before.

Realizing who she is, I pull up the menu for her to pay on her charge card. She tells me how she had to drive all the way to her bank to use their ATM to get cash to pay on her charge card, making it seem like it was the end of the world. But, lo and behold, what does she pull out? Her credit card, again.

Me: “Ma’am, we still cannot accept credit cards to pay on your charge card.”

Customer: “Haven’t you been listening to me? I said I got cash at the ATM!”

Eventually, from another section of her wallet, not anywhere close to the credit card she had just pulled out, she pulled out cash. I just quickly went through the payment and bid her a good night as she left.

It is a pleasant day and my mothers group and I have taken our kids to the park. We’re on our way back to the house for lunch when we come across a stray dog which is determined to rumble with my dog.

With no owner in sight, we manage to separate the dogs, get back to my house, calm the dog down, and put him in the garage with some water.

I start messaging the number on the dog’s collar.

Me: “Hi! My name’s [My Name]. I found your dog on [Road] in [Town]. He’s okay. We just have him in the garage having a drink of water.”

Reply: “Which one?”

I express to my friends that that was not quite the kind of response I was expecting, having found their family pet, but I continue.

Me: “His collar says his name is Jesse. He’s black and white.”

Reply: “Okay.”

I talk again with my friends about the weird reply and they all egg me on to just call the pound and tell the owner to go there. I think about it but I’m kind of intrigued now, and I want the best for the dog, so I keep going.

Me: “When do you think you can come and collect him?”

Reply: “I’m not sure.”

Again, my friends think this was a ridiculous response and start looking up the numbers for animal control when my phone rings from an unknown number.

Me: “Hello?”

Woman: “Hi! I am so, so sorry. I’m the owner of the dog you found. I left my phone at home today and my twelve-year-old was answering the messages. She just called me and read the conversation out. I’m so sorry; you must think us very rude. I’m just leaving work at [Location] now to come and collect the dog. Is that okay? Thank you so much for looking after him!”

She arrived soon after and collected her dog and gave me a box of chocolates. She had a sulky looking pre-teen in the car with her who looked like she had just gotten a bollocking. Poor kid.