It is early 1992 and I am eighteen years old. I’m 5’4” and have a baby face, so I look pretty harmless. I’m working the second shift at a fast food place. The only staff present are the assistant manager, [Coworker #1] (who is also a friend), and [Coworker #2] and [Coworker #3], both working in the grill area. I’m on the front counter, and the manager and [Coworker #1] are in the drive-thru.

It’s about 7:30 pm, and there are no customers in the restaurant, and even the drive-thru is quiet. I’ve just finished cleaning the dining room and have come back behind the counter to start stocking condiments, cups, etc.

This group of four teens come up to the counter; they seem to be roughly fourteen to seventeen years of age. I take the first two orders, give them their food, and they go to sit in the dining room. The last two place their order.

Me: “Would you like anything else?”

Customer #1: “Do you have any discounts?”

Me: “Sorry, the only discount we have is a senior discount on coffee.”

[Customer #1] then pulls up his shirt.

Customer #1: “How about now?”

[Customer #2] quickly pulls [Customer #1]’s shirt back down.

Customer #2: “Don’t be stupid.”

Me: “Sorry, just the senior discount.”

They finish their order, pay, and join their friends in the dining room, and I resume stocking. [Coworker #1] goes on his break and orders food, and he waits at the end of the counter for it to be ready. I’m knelt down under the counter stocking condiments when I hear the teens in the dining room say something, and my coworker responds.

Coworker #1: “Well, if you’re going to use it, then use it.”

I look up at him with a questioning look on my face, and he just shakes his head. I shrug and continue what I am doing, and he takes his food and goes into the back. During most of the time the teens are in the restaurant, I don’t see any of my coworkers, aside from [Coworker #1].

After the teens leave, my coworkers come running out of the back and start locking doors, and the manager is on the phone with the police. I’m baffled, staring at everyone like they’ve lost their minds.

Me: “What’s going on?”

[Coworker #1] looks at me with a confused look on his face.

Coworker #1: “One of those teens had a gun.”

I’m completely shocked and my mouth drops open.

Me: “Why didn’t anyone tell me!?”

Coworker #1: “He was three feet away from you when he ordered. He also held up the gun and said to me, What if I used this?’”

Me: *Still in shock* “So, let me get this straight. These guys come in, armed, and you just let me work up here without warning me?!”

All my coworkers had seen the gun tucked into his waistband when the kid asked for a “discount” and lifted up his shirt. Apparently, my brain decided to just delete the gun image right out of my head. I thought the kid was thinking he could get a discount by just showing his chest!

To this day, even though I remember this story pretty clearly, I still have no memory of seeing the gun. I do have to wonder what these guys thought about the petite girl who looked like a kid who didn’t seem bothered by the gun at all.

The cops found the kids. It turned out the gun was fake, and the kid was fourteen. We had to go to court, and he ended up with community service.

A popular local brewery has a deal with a nearby restaurant in which people who take the brewery tour can go to the restaurant after and receive a discount on their meal.

The tour includes beer samples, so by the time my group arrives at the restaurant, we are already buzzed, and we order another round of beers for the table. I am a bit tipsy when I order my burger.

Server: “What kind of roll would you like?”

Me: “I don’t need a roll.”

I am picturing a dinner roll on the side, like at Thanksgiving, and I figure the burger bun will be enough bread.

Server: “So, you really don’t want a roll?”

Me: *Insistent* “I don’t want one.”

Server: “Okaaaay…”

When my burger comes, it’s just the patty and fixings, and that is when I realize that when she said “roll” she was referring to the bun. I might have realized that if I had been sober.

I go to find my server, and before I say a word, she kindly asks:

Server: “Do you want a roll?”

Me: *Sheepish* “Yes, please.”

Given how many intoxicated patrons she surely served, I hope I was at least a funny one.

I read a lot of fantasy and sci-fi, but I’ve always avoided those epic series that take up an entire shelf in the store. You know the ones — six, eight, ten books, all doorstops nearly 1,000 pages long. It’s just a personal preference; I don’t like waiting decades to see how the story ends.

I’m working in a bookstore, and a coworker whose taste I trust finally talks me into giving one of the more famous of these series a try. I enjoy the first two books well enough, but the third is a struggle; it’s downright boring, and after a week I’m barely halfway through. The next time I see my coworker, we talk about it.

Coworker: “How are you liking [Series]?”

Me: “I thought the first two were great, but I just cannot get into the third one. Tell me it gets better?”

Coworker: “Oh, yeah, the middle books really drag, but things pick up again in the sixth!”

Me: “So, just 3,000 more pages until the good stuff.”

I did not finish the series.

I’m about nine years old and my mother has brought me to the library to read some books. I’m standing peacefully by a shelf when a girl about my age rounds the corner. She promptly moves into my space.

Girl: *Aggressively* “Are you a Christian?”

I was raised Presbyterian and don’t actually know the word “Christian” because I have never been told that we are part of a larger religion, and it has never come up at school or with my friends. Privilege at its finest, I suppose.

Me: “Um… I don’t know.”

Girl: *Still aggressive* “Do you have Jesus in your heart?”

Me: “Oh! Yes.”

Girl: “GOOD.”

She then walked away, leaving me confused and a little upset. When I told my mother about what had happened, she explained that, yes, our family was Christian. At least I got to learn something thanks to that weird kid.

I walk into class to see several classmates gathered around the teacher’s desk. There are several packages of animal crackers on the desk, and my classmates are trying to cajole the teacher into letting them have some. After a few moments of consideration, I decide to make an attempt, as well.

Me: “Could I please have some?”

The teacher promptly grabs a package and hands it to me. My classmates are shocked and begin whining, begging, and so on. I just eat my crackers happily while I listen in on their further attempts to get some for themselves. One classmate pauses for a moment.

Classmate: “Could I… please have some?”

The teacher handed him a package. Because of the way that classmate had emphasized the word “please,” the others quickly figured out that the way to get the crackers was to ask politely, and soon the teacher had handed them all out.