Way back before DVDs were a thing, I was an assistant manager at a video store. We had three regular customers who were always late with their returns. Two we didn’t mind too much since they paid their fees without a fuss and were genuinely great people to deal with. Everyone knew them, to the point that we’d put aside copies of high-demand new releases for them. The manager would sometimes waive the fees or give them free rental coupons, just because they were friendly and polite.

Then, there was our would-be owner. Everyone knew her, too. I call her “our would-be owner” because every time she had a fee (and she always had a fee), she would insist that her husband was rich, and if we wouldn’t waive the fee, then she’d have him buy our store and fire us all. Seriously, I thought that was just a Hollywood joke until I met her. Strangely enough, the fee was never waived, and our store was never bought out. 

The kicker was the time one of her kids came in alone to rent a movie. That was unusual but not unheard of; parents would sometimes send their kids in while they were in one of the other shops. Of course, there was a late fee outstanding. I informed the kiddo that the fee had to be paid before we could rent anything else to him. Fortunately, the $20 he had covered it, and he happily left with his movie.

Two minutes later, our would-be owner came storming in, demanding that we return her money and appalled that we would “rob a child” by making him pay the late fee! It turned out she’d given him the cash and sent him in alone on purpose, believing that we would waive the fees because he was young.

I work in a high-end sunglass store in a stylish mall in Los Angeles, California. A lot of our customers are those stereotypical “valley girl” types — usually harmless, but mostly clueless.

Customer: “My sunglasses completely fell apart! You all should be ashamed that you sell such shoddy crap!”

She pours what used to be a pair of sunglasses out of her bag and onto my counter. Immediately, I can see there’s going to be an issue.

Me: “Ma’am, this isn’t one of our sunglasses.”

Customer: “What do you mean?! It has Ray-Ban written on them, clear as day!”

When a customer presents us with a counterfeit version of one of our official products, we’re not allowed to call them out on buying a fake. All we can say is a variation of the line, “That isn’t one of our products.”

Me: “Ma’am, I am afraid I can’t help you. This isn’t one of our products.”

Customer: “It is! It’s a Ray-Ban!”

Me: “Which branch did you buy it from, ma’am? And do you have the receipt?”

Customer: “I didn’t buy it here! I got it from a market in Morocco last month!”

Me: “…I see. And the receipt?”

Customer: “I didn’t get one, but I paid fifty local dollars for it!”

Me: *Doing a quick Google search* “So, fifty Moroccan dirhams?”

Customer: “Yeah!”

Me: “That’s about five dollars.”

Customer: “They must have been having a sale.”

Me: “Ma’am, you purchased a five-dollar pair of sunglasses from a market in Morocco, and you’re complaining that they fell apart after a month. I feel I must repeat what I said earlier: this is not one of our official products.”

Customer: *Realization dawning* “Wait, are you saying this is some kind of cheap knock-off?!”

Me: “I am saying this is an unofficial five-dollar pair of sunglasses from a market in Morocco.”

Customer: “Well, you should still replace it! It’s got your name on it!”

My manager has overheard the last few sentences and has had enough.

Manager: “Ma’am, what’s your name?”

Customer: “Jane.”

My manager takes a post-it, writes “Jane” on it, and sticks it on the sunglasses.

Manager: “There. By your own logic, it’s now got your name on it. Go complain to yourself.”

The customer tries to complain to a manager, but upon realizing that she is talking to one, she makes a frustrated huff and starts to storm out.

Customer: “I’m never buying anything from you guys again!”

Manager: “Technically, you never did!” 

It was only afterward that we both noticed the brand on the glasses was “Bay-Ran”, so in the end, it didn’t even have our name on it anyway!

I drive my car as a taxi for a rideshare app on the weekends for extra cash. There’s enough demand that I don’t care about getting five-star ratings if it means I don’t have to suffer fools.

I’m picking up a bunch of drunk young people who need to go from one party to another, but it’s on the other side of the city.

Drunk Passenger: “Ugh… this is taking forever.”

Me: “Yeah, we need to take the freeway.”

Drunk Passenger: “Just hurry! The party will be over by the time we get there!”

Me: “Sounds like a pretty lame party, then.”

Drunk Passenger: “Excuse me?”

Me: “We’ll get there as soon as we get there.”

They sit back and moan with their friends for a moment. Then, they lean forward after just a few more seconds.

Drunk Passenger: “Ugh… are we there yet?”

Me: “Have we stopped?”

Drunk Passenger: “…”

They left me alone for the rest of the ride. 

Related:
Taxing Taxiing, Part 9
Taxing Taxiing, Part 8
Taxing Taxiing, Part 7
Taxing Taxiing, Part 6
Taxing Taxiing, Part 5

This was probably over twenty years ago, but I find myself thinking of this story from time to time even these days because it was so touching to me.

I have always loved Halloween and entertaining and scaring trick-or-treaters at my house. One Halloween when I was in my late twenties, I was eager to get into the business of scaring people. We realized at the last minute that we didn’t have candles for our pumpkins. I reluctantly volunteered to go to the store but didn’t want to miss any time doing my thing at our scary “haunted house” in the front yard.

I drove down to the local [Grocery Chain] and looked up and down the aisles. A girl in a witch costume walked by.

Girl: “Do you know where the pumpkin candles are?”

Me: “I’m in a rush looking for the same thing!”

She looked very kindly at me and gave me a big smile.

Girl: “Let’s work together; you go that way and I’ll check this way.”

We covered the whole store and reported back to one another that we were unable to locate the candles.

Girl: “You check next door at [Store #1], and I’ll check at [Store #2].”

It was becoming a game, and we were both clearly in a hurry to get the candles and get to where we wanted to be. But I also noticed that it was becoming kind of fun.

I checked high and low in [Store #1] and, once again, had no luck. As I walked into [Store #2], I immediately saw my new friend, the witch, in the checkout line buying candles!

Me: “Awesome! Where are they?!”

Girl: “Right here!”

And she handed me a package of candles. I barely had time to thank her, and she left me with another beaming smile.

It’s important to remember how impactful even the smallest act of kindness can be. Wherever you are out there, my cute witch, I still remember our Halloween team effort and your kindness!

The hallway my college dorm room was in had a large whiteboard posted along one wall. Unsurprisingly, it became a locus for a variety of graffiti. As it filled up, a few hallway residents denoted themselves as the “Keepers of the Board.” They had a notebook where they’d write down anything they deemed interesting or amusing enough and erase the board to make room for further doodling.

One day, my roommate and I came across the Keepers busily at work recording the most recent whiteboard notations. They were discussing a particular graffito and trying to decide whether they felt it was witty enough to merit entry into the annals.

My roommate leaned in and read the item.

Roommate: “There are two secrets to success. Number one: Never tell anyone everything you know.”

After a pause to digest this morsel of wisdom, he asked:

Roommate: “Wait, what’s the other one?”

The Keepers traded an amused look.

Keeper #1: “Quick! Write that down!”

Another one did so, attributing it to my roommate. Then, they dutifully recorded the entire exchange in the notebook before erasing the message from the board.