(I have IBS and it means that occasionally, my stomach inflates like a balloon when I eat. Normally, it’s just uncomfortable and I get to spend a lot of time in the bathroom while no one bothers me. Other times…)

Customer: *puts her hand on my big IBS stomach* “Are you having a boy or a girl?”

Me: *deadpan* “Actually, I’m having a burrito.”

(And then I farted on command.)

(Every single day, I have someone ask where the travel aisle is since it used to be in my department but was moved a while ago.)

Customer: “Excuse me, but where is your travel section? I was just here not that long ago and it’s gone.”

Me: “If you want to follow me, I can show you. It’s been over in this new location for about eight months or so.”

Customer: “No, it hasn’t.”

Me: “It actually might have been longer. Before I worked here, I stopped to pick up some stuff for a trip and it was over there, and that was in June.”

(It’s January.)

Customer: “Nope. It was over here just last week.”

(Whatever, lady. I swear old people need to argue once a day to keep themselves alive.)

(I am working drive-thru in a popular Canadian coffee shop. A lady pulls up to the speaker and orders a box of twenty timbits. She asks to have the box divided into three bags. I tell her we can do this, but then she goes on and on and about how each bag needs to be exactly the same. Normally, I would tell my coworker to just put seven into each bag, but she is being insufferable, so I ring in a box of twenty timbits plus one timbit extra.)

Customer: “What is this? What are you charging me the extra timbit for?! I asked for twenty timbits to be divided equally between three bags!”

Me: “Well, ma’am, as you already know, twenty can’t be divided equally by three, so we had to charge you for one extra one.”

(I thought she was going to implode. I had never seen someone turn that shade of red before.)

(It is the day of my grandmother’s funeral. The service has just ended and the whole family is going to get lunch at a buffet in town. My parents, my younger brother, and I happen to arrive at the restaurant first, still dressed all in black and still a little bit somber. We walk inside and there are two people standing at the host stand: a young man and an older woman. The young man looks at us, smiles, and says in a cheery tone:)

Young Man: “Why the long faces? Did someone die or something?”

(We all just stare blankly at him for a moment.)

Dad: “Yes. We just came from the funeral.”

(The poor guy turned white as a sheet, sputtered out a quick apology, and ran into the kitchen. The woman face-palmed, showed us to a table, and apologized for him. Meanwhile, I was trying not to laugh at the whole situation. Whoever he was, he made a very sad day just a little bit more bearable through schadenfreude.)

(My coworker was the assistant manager last year. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I was told by my managers that she and the general manager couldn’t handle it, and quit after about three weeks. They were hired again as cashiers. I don’t like my coworker because she treats everyone younger than her as an idiot — not good when 90% of employees are in their early 20s. She doesn’t like me, either, and always talks about me behind my back. I don’t pay attention because I am in between jobs and waiting to start my engineering job. The managers put us on different schedules to prevent conflict. This is about 30 minutes before I am supposed to clock in.)

Assistant Manager: “Hey, [My Name] is coming in about half an hour. Can you let me know when she does?

Coworker: “No.”

Assistant Manager: “Excuse me?”

Coworker: “No. I don’t like her.”

Assistant Manager: “Well, I don’t care about that; just tell me when she gets here.”

Coworker: “No! She’s a spoiled brat and acts like a know-it-all and doesn’t respect her elders. I try to help her and she just rudely cuts me off and says she’s so smart that she can figure it out herself. If she’s so smart, then why is she working as a cashier? I’m not helping that rude w****!”

(My managers and I have a great relationship. I always come when they’re short-handed, I show up on time, and I am a great worker. They also know my story and know I’ll be starting a new job soon.)

Assistant Manager: “Okay, fine. It’s okay if you don’t tell me when she gets here; I’ll just keep you on register. In fact, I’ll call her and tell her she can have the day off. I know she’ll appreciate having more time to move into her new place after her stepdad kicked her out, and I know she’ll love a break after working 28 hours these past three days because you called out ‘sick’ twice. And once this job is over, you can go back to your full-time cashier job at [Grocery Store] while [My Name] starts her new engineering job with [Well-Known Local Company] and you’ll never have to see her again.”

(I only wish I could’ve seen my coworker’s face when this happened. I did show up about half an hour later, and my coworker told my manager I was here and sulked out. The job and customers weren’t the best, but I was glad to have such amazing managers!)