I’m lounging around my register when a family of four — a father and three sons — approaches to purchase a few plants. One of the sons, who looks to be eight to ten years old, is softly going “ow” and studying his finger intently. Once the father has set all the plants on the counter and I begin ringing them up, he turns to his injured son.

Father: “You touched a cactus?”

Son: “Yeah.”

Father: “That’s the second time you’ve done that.”

Son: “Third.”

Father: “Well, I hope you learned your lesson this time.”

Son: *Thoughtfully* “No…”

In the 1970s, my cousin and I were watching TV, and there was an ad for a movie. It ended with, “Coming soon to a theater near you!” 

My cousin gasped.

Cousin: “[My Name], how do they know where we live?”

My mother was in her last year of high school in 1986, the very same year that New Orleans changed its legal drinking age from eighteen to twenty-one. With this change clearly on the horizon, my mother and her friends naturally decided to make the best of the night of their senior prom by taking a trip down Bourbon Street. 

Being that it was prom night and my mother attended a (Catholic) all-girl school, this meant they were also joined by all of their dates. Most of the guys were fairly close to the group of girls, but there was one date, [Guy], who was basically a stranger to the whole group except for the girl who brought him. 

At some point during the night, they all came across a freshly waxed car. In their half-drunken state, they all decided it would be a wonderful idea to start drawing things in the wax. Naturally, they were quickly caught by a cop. It’s important to note that this cop was Black and my mom’s entire group is white.

Initially, the cop was planning to just give them a stern warning since, while that is apparently considered vandalism, it’s not really permanent vandalism… until he walked around the back, where the N-word was very prominently written.

Cop: “Okay, never mind, you’re all coming with me.”

Friend: “Wait, what?! Which one of you did this?”

Guy: “Uh… It was me.”

Before any of the rest of them reacted, my mother spun around to face him and slapped him across the face!

Mother: “WHY THE H*** WOULD YOU DO THAT!?”

The cop immediately separated them before they could escalate and pulled my mother aside. 

Cop: “You know, I really should arrest you for assault for that, but I think that was pretty deserved. Don’t do it again, though.”

They were still all brought in for vandalism and spent the next several months trying to hide the trial from their very religious school so they could graduate! My mother always told me this story when I was younger to make sure I didn’t do any of the stupid things she did when she was a teen.

I’m in the garden/outdoors section of my store, cashiering. A woman comes up to my register and stands aside to let me finish up with the customer I’m helping. Once I finish the transaction, I turn to her.

Me: “Yes, ma’am, how can I help you?”

Customer: “I locked my purse in my car. I can’t call [National Roadside Assistance Provider] because my phone is in my purse. Do you have a phone I could use?”

She does seem a little frantic, so I choose to believe her and hand her my cell phone. She walks a short distance from the register, and I can hear snippets of her conversation with [National Provider]. They won’t help her unless she pays them, which she can’t do with her credit card in her purse, her account with them has apparently been disabled, and there’s a two- to three-hour wait. She comes back in, clearly in more distress than before.

Customer: “Is it okay if I call my son? He lives further away but it won’t be such a long wait as [National Provider].”

Me: “I actually use [Local Service]. It only takes them like thirty to forty-five minutes, and they don’t ask you to pay until they’re done. They’re very reliable.”

Customer: “Do you have their number?”

Me: “Yeah, here, they’re in my contacts.”

I pull up the number for [Local Service] and give the phone back to her. She goes to stand by her car as she talks to them and then comes back inside.

Customer: “Is this your personal phone?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Customer: “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. Thank you.”

Me: “Glad to help.”

She gives the phone back, and I put it aside so that I don’t have to fumble for it if [Local Service] tries to get in contact. They do — once with an estimate of twenty minutes and then with an estimate of ten minutes — and I let her know both times.

Things get a little busy at the register, so I’m focused on my customers when the woman comes back, with her purse, and drops a bill on the counter as she says thank you and leaves. While uncommon, outside employees do occasionally get tipped for their help, so I’m not too surprised…

Until I pick it up and realize it’s a twenty. Shocked, I try to follow after her.

Me: “Wait! Ma’am, this… No… Ma’am! No! This is too much!”

Customer: “Too late!”

I’m only allowed so far from my register, and she was already well past that point. I gave up and pocketed the bill. I went grocery shopping the next day, and it paid nearly a third of the cost.

Thank you so much, ma’am!

I’m at the garden center registers, and so far, it’s been a good day. Naturally, we are low on stock of our most popular small flowers — just under $2 each. A woman grabs a cart and proceeds to put SIX TWELVE-PACKS on it, and then she meanders over to me.

Customer: *Quite serious* “Where have all your flowers gone?! Have people been taking them?!”

Me: *Resisting the urge to point out her complicity* “They’re very popular, so people do buy them up quickly, yeah.”

She seemed a little miffed at that but thankfully didn’t take it out on me. When she came back to actually cash out, she had a second cart with three more twelve-packs.