(It is Halloween time. We have lots of decorations all over the cafe. One is a sign that says, “I’m a real witch with or without my coffee.” It’s all cartoonish with a witch on a broomstick and all that.)

Customer: “Can I ask you a question?”

Coworker: “Sure.”

Customer: *points to the sign* “Is that a real thing? Like, is it serious?”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”

Customer: “Is it about real witches?”

Coworker: “Uh… real witches?”

Customer: “Yeah. Like, Satan worship.”

Coworker: “Uh…”

(So I step in because my coworker was just stunned.)

Me: “Oh, it’s just for Halloween.”

Customer: “So it’s a joke.”

Coworker: “Yeah, it’s a joke.”

Customer: “Oh, okay. It’s funny. But, you know, there are real witches.”

Coworker: “Okay…”

Customer: “Like, people who say they’re witches and worship Satan. My brother dated one once. Not that I’m judging!”

Me: “It’s just supposed to be funny…”

Customer: “Okay. That’s good that it’s not about Satan.”

Me: “Yep… not about Satan.”

Customer: *smiles and waves* “Okay, bye. God Bless.”

Coworker: “Was she saying that Wiccans worship Satan?”

Me: “Uh…”

(So now I refer to our employee meetings as Meetings of the Coffee Coven and my coworker and I started saying, “Hail Satan!” before leaving at the ends of our shifts.)

This story is part of our Devilish Halloween roundup!

Read the next Devilish Halloween roundup story!

Read the Devilish Halloween roundup!

(My parents come up with a clever ploy to make their young children play outside.)

Dad: “Everyone come outside for Popsicles!”

(My siblings and I gladly romp around the yard with our treats. When I finish, I try to go back inside. My parents are sitting on the porch steps, blocking the way.)

Mom: “And where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

Me: *showing her my sticky fingers* “I want to wash my hands.”

Mom: “Just wipe them on the grass.”

(I don’t think this will work well but oblige anyway. When I stand up again, there is a bee on my index finger. I think that I am like a princess with a bird perched on her finger and watch the bee in awe as it bobs there…)

Me: *suddenly stung by the bee* “WAAAAAAAH!”

(My parents let me inside after that!)

This story is part of our Princess roundup!

Read the next Princess roundup story!

Read the Princess roundup!

(As one of the eight fast-food restaurants that is within walking distance of the three college campuses in our town, our joint gets its fair share of college kids. And idiots. We are extremely busy on Thanksgiving when this happens.)

Me: *answering the phone as I take a guest’s money* “Happy Thanksgiving! How can I help you?”

Caller: “I want to file a complaint.”

Me: “Oh. Well, sir, our manager is really busy right now making food; can I help you, instead?”

Caller: “I came into your restaurant earlier today, and I got a [Burger] sandwich. I took it home and tried to eat it, but my dog took it from me, and now he’s dead.”

Me: “Uh…”

Caller: “Well?! I want something done!”

(At this point, I hear sniggering in the background, and realize that this is another prank call. I fake a laugh and hang up the phone, getting back to work with our huge queue. Minutes later, the phone rings again.)

Me: “Happy Thanksgiving! How can I help you?”

Same Caller: “Yeah, I have to file a complaint. I came into your store earlier, and I ordered a [Burger] for my cat. When I got home and fed it to her, she died! How are you going to fix this?”

Me: “I’ll get a manager, sir.”

(I hang up the phone instead and tend to people who are actually PAYING for my attentions. When the phone rings again and I recognize the number, I ask my manager if I can take the call at the counter instead, just so I can stop running around.)

Caller: “I’m calling to report—”

Me: “Sir, are you calling to report that one of our [Burger]s killed a beloved family animal?”

Same Caller: “Yes. That is exactly why I am calling!”

Me: “Sir, I am so, SO sorry about that. We’ve gotten a lot of calls today about our deadly sandwich, and obviously, that can’t continue.”

Same Caller: “I know. It SUCKS!”

Me: “Sir, please accept our fullest apologies for the agony we have put you through in this mourning. We are prepared to make amends. Do you still have the receipt for the purchase?”

Same Caller: *obviously a little confused by the change in conversation* “Uh… no.”

Me: *cheerily* “Oh, well, that’s okay! You don’t need to have proof of purchase. Tell me, do you still have the bag from your sandwich?”

Same Caller: “Yeah…”

Me: “Good. Now, sir, is the body of the animal nearby?”

Same Caller: “Yes, it’s over there.”

Me: *grinning* “Then, sir, I have excellent news! We will be able to help you today! If you can just take the carcass of your deceased pet, pick it up, and place it in the bag, we will be able to accept it as currency at this time.”

(My manager is giving me the death glare, but several of my guests on the counter are laughing, so I continue.)

Same Caller: “WHAT?”

Me: “Well, sir, you don’t have a receipt, and we can’t in all good conscience allow you to be miserable over this. So, just this once, if you will bring in the body of your deceased, we will accept it in the form of a receipt and give you a free [Burger] with our condolences. We hope to see you soon!”

(The guest hung up. My manager, though laughing, told me never to do it again. Needless to say, the jerk didn’t show up.)

This story is part of our Thanksgiving roundup!

Read the next Thanksgiving roundup story!

Read the Thanksgiving roundup!

(I work at an indoor children’s play place. Leaving with kids who aren’t yours could be a problem, so we stamp a different number on every family’s hand. You can’t leave with a child who has a different number. I am working at the front counter where I have to stamp a number on the family’s hands, work the register, answer the phone, and check family’s hands to let them out the door. Sometimes it’s overwhelming working by myself.)

Me: *answering the phone* “Thank you for calling [Indoor Play Area]. How may I help you?”

Caller: “I’d like to get a birthday party room for my son.”

Me: “Okay, give me the date and I’ll start looking up times for you.”

(As I am looking up times for the caller, an enraged father comes up to me.)

Father: “HEY! WHERE’S MY SON!?”

Me: *caught completely off guard * “What?!”

Father: “WHERE IS MY SON?! YOU LET MY SON WALK OUT THE FRONT DOOR! WHERE THE H*** IS MY SON?”

Me: “Sir, the door that you go out of is locked and I have been keeping an eye on this door. I’m sure your son is still in here and is in the [play area] somewhere.”

Father: “YOU LET MY SON OUT THIS DOOR! IS HE IN THE PARKING LOT? IF HE GETS HIT, I’M KICKING YOUR A**! HE GETS HIT, I’M SUING YOU!”

(Some back and forth goes on like this for a minute. I am almost ready to go into the parking lot to find his son when some other father in the play area, actually playing with his child and keeping an eye on him, speaks up.)

Other Father: “Hey, [Father], isn’t this your son?”

(The father looks up and sees his son directly above us in the play area watching this whole little episode. He looks back at me, doesn’t say a word, and walks away. I sit there for a few seconds, collecting myself.)

Caller: “Is someone yelling at you?”

Me: “Oh, shoot. Sorry, ma’am. I completely forgot you were still on the phone.”

Caller: “Haha, that’s quite all right. That guy is kind of a d**k.”

(I set up the birthday party and then go on working. I’m closing tonight, too, so I have the distinct pleasure of having to check this father’s hand to make sure it’s his son. They finally decide to leave after a while. As they walk up to the door:)

Me: “Excuse me, sir, but I have to check your hands to make sure this is your son.”

(They show me their numbers and he is, in fact, this boy’s father.)

Me: “Have a nice day, sir.”

(The father never said another word to me or made eye contact. What a great example of how to be a man he is setting for his son.)

This story is part of our Birthday Party Roundup!

Read the next Birthday Party Roundup story!

Read the Birthday Party Roundup!

(My mom and I are in line at the checkout. The manager walks over and tells the cashier it is time for her to go home after she is done helping us. We chose this register because my mom really likes this particular cashier.)

Me: “So, you get to go home early tonight? That must be nice.”

Cashier: *quietly, so the manager, now standing by door, does not hear* “It would be if it only happened once in a while. He’s cut me at least fifteen minutes early every shift for over two weeks.”

Mom: “We can be really difficult so you’ll have to stay and help us.” *louder, so manager can hear* “[My Name], is that the price you remember seeing for [item]? I was sure it was less than that.”

Me: *catching on* “It must have been. I think we need a price check.”

Mom: *after price check confirms item is right price* “Oh, and could you please slow down on the bagging? I don’t want anything smashed or broken.”

(My mom continues to delay, insisting the cashier stop several times to read the total to her or double check something. Then, she pretends she cannot find her debit card and takes her time entering her PIN.)

Mom: “Has it been long enough yet?”

Cashier: “I think so. Thank you.”

Me: “Okay, mama. I think we should go now.”

(We walk toward the door, and my mom turns back toward the cashier.)

Mom: “Thank you, ma’am! You were so helpful!”

Me: *smiling at manager* “Good night!”