(I work in a gas station in a small town. We have been pretty busy this particular day. A middle-aged man walks in. There are a few other customers in the store. The man wanders around for about thirty minutes without looking like he is going to buy anything, while other customers come in and out of the store. When he is the only customer in the store, he finally walks up to me.)

Customer: “Sorry for walking around so much; I didn’t want to startle any of the other people. See this?” *pulls out quarter from his pocket* “This is my lucky quarter that I use for lottery tickets.”

Me: “Oh! You want to get some scratch-offs? Which ones would you like?”

Customer: “That’s for my quarter to decide.”

(The man then steps a few feet back, and before I can ask what he’s doing, he throws the quarter at the scratch-off display case, making me jump.)

Customer: “Perfect! I’ll take three number-12s.”

(Stunned at his choosing method, I pull out three lottery tickets of his choosing.)

Me: “Is there anything else I can get you and your, erm, quarter?”

Customer: “Nope! Thanks.”

(He pays and leaves, leaving me baffled. Now I understand why he waited until there was no one else in the store!)

(I am rushing through a busy day at a popular fast food place. I answer the drive through, take their order, and meet them at the window for payment.)

Me: “That’ll be $11.62, please.”

Customer: *looks at me, peers around, sees the enormous crowd inside, and then turns to her grade-school son* “See her?”

Son: “Yeah.”

(My stomach twists.)

Customer: “See how hard she’s working? And see how nice she’s being to us?”

Son: “Uh-huh.”

Customer: “It doesn’t matter what kind of job you get, or what you want to do when you grow up; as long as you’re like this nice lady, you can be whatever you want, okay?”

Son: “Okay!”

Me: *flabbergasted*

Customer: “I bet you get a lot of people belittling you because you work here, huh?”

Me: “You have no idea, actually.”

Customer: “Trust me, I do. I used to work for [rival Fast Food Place] while paying off tuition. The only consolation to that was watching their faces go red when I told them this. I’m guessing this isn’t your permanent job?”

Me: “No, actually. I’m an intern on weekends at the radio station.”

Customer: “And there you go. You’re not in the best place yet, but you will be.”

(She handed me the money, and I had a hard time ringing her up through the tears in my eyes. After she pulled to the other window, I snuck a few packs of cookies into their bag. Wherever you are, nice lady, thank you a hundred times over!)

I am about to leave on a long-distance trip, during which I will be living in my SUV. My dad has offered to help set it up for the trip by removing the back seats, adding stowable tables, etc., to which I happily agree. I leave my SUV with him for a month before my trip, as I live hours away.

When I am ready to head out, I have a friend drop me at my parents’ house. No one is home, so I start loading up my belongings, when I notice something odd. My dad has taken out the passenger seat and replaced it with a chemical toilet! I am appalled!

Years later, I realized this was probably his “subtle” way of making sure I didn’t pick up hitchhikers (which I would never do).

(A woman accompanied by her husband or boyfriend is picking out ranch dressing and settles on some three-cheese ranch. I thought she mentioned wanting bacon ranch, so I show it to her.)

Customer: “Oh, no, we have some at home; I was just saying it’s good, but I like the three-cheese kind better.”

Me: “Oh, well, if you still want the bacon flavor in your salad with the three-cheese ranch, you could put some bacon bits on it, too.”

(The woman lights up as if the idea is genius.)

Customer: “Oh, that’s a great idea! Where would the bacon bits be?”

Me: “Just past the salad dressings, on the top, over there.” *I point*

(The woman tells me about how she is not a good cook because she’s never been married. She says that she knows you don’t have to be a cook to figure it out, but that she isn’t good at thinking of flavors to mix. I nod and smile and she goes over to deliberate on which bacon bits to get. I return to stocking and share a bemused look with a coworker who is stocking in the same aisle, just a few yards away. About five minutes later, the customer gets my attention.)

Customer: “Now, which ones of these taste better?”

Me: “Well, a lot of people buy [Brand] because they’re known for good meat. I’ve only ever had the [Store Brand] ones, because they were cheaper, but I can imagine that I wouldn’t be able to taste the difference, anyway, since they’re both just plain bacon. I’ve had [Brand Imitation Bacon Bits] before, too. My mom used to buy them, but they taste nasty. I would recommend that if you’re going to put bacon on something, just put real bacon.”

Customer: “Oh, okay. Now, is this real bacon?” *she shows me both the [Store Brand] and [Brand] bacon bits she is holding, both of which clearly read, “Real Bacon Bits” on the pouches*

Me: “Yes. And they’re pretty good.”

Customer: “Okay. So if it say, ‘real,’ on the package, does that mean it’s real bacon?”

Me: *pauses a moment to register the question* “Yes. That is real bacon.”

Customer: “Okay. So if it says, ‘real,’ it’s real bacon?”

(I assure her that it is real bacon again, and that if they say it’s real bacon, brands aren’t really allowed to put anything but real bacon into the package. I assure her again and again as she rephrases the exact same question about three more times, as if she isn’t grasping the concept.)

Customer: “Okay, so… So, could you show me an example of something that would not be real bacon?”

(I am stunned for a moment, but I pick up a bottle off the shelf and point to the label as I read it off to her.)

Me: “Here. ‘Artificially-flavored bacon chips.’”

(By now my coworker was silently trying to keep his cool and not laugh in front of the customer. We had to wait 10 or 15 minutes until she was out of the aisle, at which point we cracked up to each other.)

(After handing an order — a sandwich with cheese — out the drive-through window, I walk away. The customer starts banging on the window and yelling for me to come back. When I return, the customer holds the now-unwrapped sandwich out to me.)

Customer: “There’s no cheese on this sandwich!”

(There is definitely cheese on the sandwich. It is melted, and stringy, and sticking to the wrapper at the sides of the sandwich. I don’t really know how to respond, so…)

Me: “Oh, uh… I’m sorry… about that… let me fix it for you…”

(I take the sandwich back. I walk back to the girl who is making sandwiches. I explain the situation to her, and we both have a bit of a chuckle. Then, I re-wrap the same sandwich and take it back to him. He unwraps it, checking it for cheese.)

Customer: “Ah, you made it right this time. I guess sometimes we all make mistakes, right? Thank you!”

(And with that, he drove off. Yes, sir, sometimes we ALL make mistakes.)