(I work in a bakery. Our registers often require a manager’s card to do some functions, such as deleting things or putting through refunds. Company policy states that managers must not let their cards out of their sight at all during their shift. However, because of the hindrance it causes to go searching for a manager for every minor issue, managers at my store leave their cards at the registers and instruct us to hide them, just in case the owner comes in. We have a manager who was recently demoted and transferred to our store, so she is eager to prove herself. We always have two managers on, unless it is early morning or late at night. It is the middle of lunch rush and we have a drastic computer failure. Transactions are going through, but then the orders are not showing up on the screens, and are not being filled. About twenty minutes after this is fixed, a customer comes up to me with a receipt.)

Customer: “Hello, I placed my order about half an hour ago and I haven’t gotten it yet.”

Me: “Can I have the name on the order?”

Customer: “Yes, it’s [Customer].”

(I run over and check if there are any orders under that name, but it appears to be missing.)

Me: *to customer* “So, it appears that your order never showed up on the screen, and was never completed. You have two options. Either I can bring them your receipt and they will fill your order as fast as they can, or I can refund you and give you a free bakery items for your troubles.”

Customer: “I’d like the refund. I can’t afford to wait any longer.”

Me: “All right, just come on over to my register and I’ll get that for you.”

(I pick up the manager card and swipe it, opening up the refund menu. However, the new manager notices me and drops what she is doing to run over. She snatches the card out of my hand.)

Manager: “[My Name], what in the world are you doing with [Other Manager]’s card?”

Me: “I was just processing a refund, and she left it here for us to use.”

Manager: “No! I will do it for you.”

(I cringe, because I know that her old cafe used a different system, and she has not been fully trained on the one we use. She exits out of the refund menu, and then stares blankly at the screen for a minute before asking me what to do next. I reach to press the button to bring up the manager menu, but she swats my hand away.)

Manager: “No. I will do it. Just tell me.”

(I direct her towards the right button. It continues like this the entire time, her pausing for a minute at each step and asking me for help, but not letting me do it myself. Thankfully, the customer is relatively easy-going about it, and keeps meeting my eyes and smirking.)

Manager: “And do you want that in cash or back on the card?”

Customer: “Cash, please.”

Me: “Please, can I count out the cash? I really don’t like it when other people do it on my drawer—”

Manager: “No! And here is your $17.”

(I watch, appalled, as she hands over $28, having grabbed a 20 and an extra 1.)

Customer: “You gave me extra change. I need $17, not $28.”

(She makes a point of handing the money to me instead of to my manager. I count out the correct amount and give it to her.)

Manager: “There! All refunded! Now I will go give [Other Manager] her card back.”

(She walks into the back, looking extremely pleased with herself. Once she has turned the corner, the customer starts laughing.)

Customer: “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry you have to deal with her. She seems terrible!”

Me: “She’s always like that, but I’ve learned to live with it. Now, about those free bakery items I promised you… Which one do you want?”

Customer: “Can I have one of those warm chocolate chip cookies?”

(I made sure to give her two as an apology.)

(It’s the beginning of my shift, and I’m taking care of a few maintenance things before I need to man the front desk. I’m standing on a counter changing a lightbulb when the first customer of the day walks in and over to me.)

Customer: Do you work here?

Me: Uh, yeah.

(I’m a bit thrown that that wasn’t immediately obvious but try to recover.)

Me: Can I help you with something?

Customer: Can I order a drink?

Me: Sure! Our bar is right over there.

(The woman goes over to the bar, where my coworker is sweeping up.)

Customer: Do you work here?

(My coworker looks at the broom in her hands then back to the woman. Apparently she was unclear about people who were actually working.)

My parents and I are stopping by a favorite restaurant for lunch after a therapy appointment, which was difficult but productive. After we get out of the car, we can hear what sounds like a man calling for his pet and, having a pet ourselves, instinctively look over to see what is going on.

It’s not a pretty sight. The shouting man is in a wheelchair, and he is wheeling after a little Chihuahua as fast as his arms and the bumpy pavement allow. Said Chihuahua, dragging along a retractable leash, is gunning for a squirrel which is headed to a side street. This being Massachusetts, the road is ridiculous; it’s incredibly narrow, yet still allows bumper-to-bumper parking on both sides, lets people drive on both sides, has a speed limit of 35 mph — roughly 56 kmh, for the non-American audience — and plenty of people who go faster than that limit. An able-bodied person, a tiny little Chihuahua, and a squirrel could bypass the parked cars, but somebody in a wheelchair has no chance of getting by them without taking a detour to the nearest crosswalk first.

In a panic, my parents and I rush over to the other side of the road to intercept the dog before it puts itself in big danger. The dog is laser-focused on the squirrel and doesn’t even acknowledge us at first. Fortunately, the squirrel is spooked by our charge and takes a sharp left behind a fence and into a tree, out of the dog’s sight. With the squirrel confirmed lost, the dog starts bouncing towards my parents and me and starts demanding that we snuggle — though Mom restrains me, not knowing if the dog is friendly.

It turns out the dog is the remarkably friendly pet of the man in a wheelchair. Apparently, the dog has the body of a Chihuahua, but his personality and mind are more like the Xolo breed, meaning that he’s social, quiet, loyal, somewhat active, and a lover of snuggles, but unable to resist the allure of a good chase. We have lovely, comforting snuggles, with the dog making the rounds to each and every family member. We make small talk with the man as he wheels over to reunite with his beloved pet.

The man and his dog are absolutely adorable. I will never forget the way that man’s face lights up when he sees that his dog is safe, and that we cared about his dog enough to try to prevent it from rushing into the road. He brightens even more when my mom hands him the leash, and the dog sees it as his cue to hop into his owner’s lap and snuggle. The two of them are like father and son. The whole experience causes us cheer up, too, after the difficult therapy session, though the man never knew what exactly had been going on in our lives.

Dog on lap, the man wheels away with a big grin on his face. We never saw him again, nor even remembered his or his dog’s names. The adorable bond between him and his Chihuahua, as well as both of their warmth and kindness, however, we could never forget. If you’re reading this, sir, thank you for being a kind, caring, and loving person. You and your dog were simply yourselves, but that was all you needed to be and more to make our day so much brighter when we needed it.

Me: (Answering the phone) “Good afternoon, thank you for calling *Name of Craft Store*. How can I help you?”
Customer: (Difficult to understand due to lots of noise in the background) “Do you sell donuts?”
Me: *Thinking I misheard* “I’m sorry. Do we sell what?”
Customer: “Do you sell donuts there?”
Me: “No, ma’am. We’re a craft store.”
Customer: “My friend told me you’re a bakery type place and that you sell donuts with glaze.”
Me: “No, ma’am. We don’t sell donuts.”
Customer: “Well, my friend said you sell donuts and insists on getting a glazed donut from your store!”
Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we have NEVER sold donuts. Your friend is mistaken.”
Customer: *Yelling at someone in the background* “Hey! Shut the f*** up! I can’t hear anythi-” *suddenly hangs up*

(I’m traveling with my parents and a friend for vacation. My mother and I arrive a day before my father and my friend fly in, so Mom and I share a room the first night and have two rooms booked the second night. Because of this, the two rooms are on separate reservations. We are assured by the desk worker that he has changed rooms around so that one of the rooms will be the same one we stayed in the night before. However, in the middle of the night, after my friend and I have gone to sleep and closed the security bar…)

Random Family: *banging on the door at midnight*

Me: *just woken up* “Um, this room is occupied!”

Random Family: *continues to try and open the door* “But we were told this was our room.”

Me: “I don’t know what to tell you. We are in here!”

(The next morning, our keys don’t work to get in after breakfast. My mother, who is a rewards member and booked the room, goes with me.)

Desk Agent: “How can I help you?”

Me: *explains the situation, hands over key*

Desk Agent: *accusing* “You are not supposed to be in that room. How did you get in?”

Me: *confused* “With the key?”

Mom: *now angry* “We were in that room the night before last, and the agent yesterday let us keep it. Now my daughter tells me another family tried to get in in the middle of the night. What is going on here?!”

Desk Agent: “You weren’t supposed to be in that room! Tell me how you got in!”

Me: “With they key! I certainly didn’t fly in through the balcony.”

Mom: “Manager, now!”

(It turned out a glitch in the computer system had reset the rooms overnight. An understandable issue, but implying that the customer broke into a room when you can see they have a reservation is a bit much. The manager fixed the issue, thankfully.)