I go to the grocery store to pick up a few items, including two loaves of bread. I take the two loaves to get them sliced and the girl who comes to help me has to ask someone to tell her how to run the machine. Fine, maybe she’s new; maybe she’s never done it before.

She comes back and finally gets it started and it gets stuck a bit. I look past the counter to see what’s going on… and she has the bread in the long way; she’s trying to slice it vertically. I probably could stop her there, but my brain has broken a bit and I cannot form words.

Then, she takes the loaf out when it’s done… and actually turns to me, holding it, and asks if it’s all right. I look at the vertically-sliced loaf and I must be making one h*** of a “WTF” face because she looks at it and looks back at me with a worried, puzzled look on her face.

I manage to restart my brain and tell her, “No, I’d… like it sliced like… normal. Like normal bread.” She still looks confused so I tell her to turn it around and I have to mime the way the loaf should be turned because she is still confused.

She finally gets the two loaves sliced correctly, after having to get me a new loaf to replace the one she… hot-dog sliced, I guess. She doesn’t have an accent, doesn’t seem like she is from anywhere but here, and doesn’t look like she has any reason to not know what a sandwich is… or toast. Has she never seen a sliced loaf of bread before?!

(I’m working night stock in a Midwestern grocery/department store, currently pulling out pallets of stock. While in the back room, I see two girls walking by in street clothes. I smile and give them a funny look, as I don’t recognize them and wonder if they’re vendors or cashiers coming to look at their schedule. I thought it odd when the older one laughed and pointed to my pallet jack, telling the other about how she used to use those, but I just shrugged and moved on. When I looked back, I saw them go into the break room, then back out onto the floor.

Fast forward 10 minutes and I’m on the hilo, pulling heavier pallets across the store, when I hear chatting coming from the doors by our media department. I see them hanging out for a moment in the doorway before walking toward the corporate offices and peeking into the window.)

Me: “Ok, now I have to ask. Who are you?”

Woman: (nonchalantly) “Oh I used to work here”

Me: “Used to? Then you know you can’t be back here, right?” *points to the swinging doors*

Woman: “Oh I know. I was just looking around.”

(They leave, I called the media person to have her keep them out, then my boss comes around the corner.)

Me: So, I just kicked two girls out of the back room.

Boss: Seriously? Show me who they are.

(I do, and she confronts them. Apparently the woman worked here 20 years ago (she looked much younger) and just wanted to check things out. She looked at my boss as if confused/offended about why she was being confronted before being kicked out.)

(I work in a retail pharmacy in a popular US drug store chain. I’m the pharmacist, so I’m used to answering drug information questions specific to certain meds or recommendations for what products to buy. It’s a busy day, with phones ringing nonstop and a huge backup of prescriptions to process. I hear the phone ring and pick it up.)

Me: “Hi, thanks for calling [Store] pharmacy. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Do you have gloves? For kids? That will fit kids?”

Me: *in pharmacy/medical mode* “Hmm, how big is the child? Most latex or plastic gloves are for adults. Did you need latex gloves?”

Caller: “No, I need kid gloves!” *yells at a child in the background* “For a kid!”

Me: “I’m sorry, we have lots of gloves and I need to know what kind you need in order for me to tell you where to get them.”

Caller: “They’re for kids!”

Me: “I don’t think we have medical gloves for children. What do you need them for?”

Caller: *yelling* “KID GLOVES! Jesus! I always have these problems every place I call! NEVER MIND!”

(It dawned on me after the call that she was probably asking about fabric gloves for cold weather. If she had said that, I would have transferred her to someone who handles our floor stock. Don’t call the pharmacy looking for clothing unless you want to really confuse the pharmacist! It was my mistake, but please help me out with more adjectives than just “kid-sized!”)

(We have a coworker who, I think, worries a lot about how she measures up to the rest of the team, or at least is always acting like she knows exactly what’s going on in any situation. Even when she wouldn’t be expected to or have any reason to, she still says she knows what she’s doing, until she invariably fails.)

Customer: “I’d like to exchange these shorts for a new pair; they have a hole.”

Coworker: “Okay, sure.” *to me* “Hey, [My Name], can I just ring this up as an exchange?”

Me: “Yes. It’s an exchange. Do you know how to damage the product out and remove it from the inventory?”

Coworker: “Yes.” *scoffs* “I know how to do it.”

(I watch her start to ring up a basic return, which is different than starting an exchange.)

Me: “Oh, no, you’ll have to scan the new pair in first before returning the old pair.” 

Coworker: “Okay, I got it. I can do it.”

(I watch her do the same thing again, still wrong.)

Me: “You’re still hitting the wrong button.” 

(I reach across and cancel the transaction.)

Coworker: “I got it; I know what I’m doing.”

(I watch her start up a transaction again and go to hit the same wrong button, again. I stop her.)

Me: “No, here, scan the new item in first, and then hit this button here, instead.” *does it for her*

Coworker: “I can do it myself, thank you.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I go back to what I was doing, keeping an eye on her. She figures out the rest until the computer asks her for the reason for the exchange.)

Coworker: “Hey, [My Name], which one do I pick to say it’s damaged and remove it from the inventory?”

Me: *sigh* “That one.”

(My family has sailed on Lake Superior since I was a baby, and every year my dad and some friends make a long trip to Isle Royale, one of the most remote National Parks in the country. But they’ve had a rough crossing.)

Friend: “Let’s have some of that wine I brought!”

(My dad agrees and digs through the storage in the RV-sized boat, looking increasingly sad.)

Dad: “Sorry, [Friend], no corkscrew.”

(They all groan, but they go watch the sun set. Dad sees a campground with two lone people sitting by their fire on shore. Dad’s face lights up with a sudden idea; he tears off toward the camp and comes crashing through the woods to a very startled couple.)

Dad: “DO YOU GUYS HAVE A CORKSCREW?”

Man: “The f***, man? You scared us! Anyway, why would we carry an expensive bottle of wine on a backpacking trip? We don’t have a d*** corkscrew!”

Dad: “Sorry! I just had an idea. You must have a Swiss Army knife, right?”

Woman: *skeptical, pulls hers out* “Yeah, but… Oh.” *finds the corkscrew attachment* “I guess we do have one. But it’s you that’s got the screw loose, dude. Crashing through the woods like a yeti…”

Dad: *sheepish* “Well, I came by boat with some friends and we can’t open our wine. Sorry. Can I borrow that?”

Man: *laughing now* “You really had us there! Yes, fine. And don’t apologize! Just invite us, too; we haven’t seen other humans for almost two weeks!”

(My dad’s group and their new friends stayed up so late swapping stories that a ranger came down to the dock and threatened to fine them if they didn’t quiet down!)