(My boyfriend and I recently brought home a new kitten we named Buckets. I often tease him that Buckets is definitely his son, as they can both be somewhat gassy. We are sitting in my car at the drive-in movie theater. My boyfriend looks over at me to see me making a scrunched-up focused face for reasons as of yet unknown to him.)

Boyfriend: “You’re a pretty lady.”

Me: *proudly* “I farted!”

Boyfriend: “…you’re a less pretty lady.”

Me: “Aww, Buckets farts all the time!”

Boyfriend: “Yeah, but Buckets is ADORABLE!”

(I am a manager working the concession stand at a theater attached to a hotel/casino.)

Cashier: *over radio* “Manager to register two.”

(I head over. The cashier has a customer at her station who looks angry.)

Me: “What can I do for you?”

Customer: “Yeah, this b**** stole my money! I paid with a hundred and she only gave me change for a fifty! I want my f****** money back!”

Me: “All right. Did you see what she did with the bill?”

Customer: “Yeah! She put it below the counter!”

(We are only allowed to keep bills $10 and smaller in the till itself. All larger bills go into a lockbox right below the cash register. I walk behind the desk and point to the lockbox.)

Me: “She put it in here?”

Customer: “Yeah! Now give me the rest of my money!”

(I unlock the lockbox and remove it from its position, placing it on the counter in front of the customer. I then open it to reveal three $20 bills, and one $50 bill, which is the last bill deposited.)

Me: “Well, sir, it looks like the last bill deposited was a fifty. Is it possible you simply forgot which bill you paid with?”

(At this point, I know he’s lying. The cashier is one of my best employees, and the evidence is stacked against him.)

Customer: “NO! I PAID WITH A F****** HUNDRED! I WANT MY F****** MONEY!”

Me: “All right, sir. If you’re that adamant, I’ll call the casino’s security.”

Customer: “Good!”

Me: “I just don’t like calling them. They’re so harsh about fraud. I mean, they drag people into the back room just for TRYING…”

(The color drains out of the customer’s face.)

Customer: “That… That’s a myth…”

Me: “I wish it were, sir. I wish it were. Let’s call them.”

(I pull my radio up, but he stops me.)

Customer: “You know what; it’s not worth the hassle.” *to the cashier* “Enjoy the tip, b****.”

(The customer stormed off as fast as he could towards his theater.)

(I am a member of a card scheme which gets me unlimited free entry to movies. A few weeks ago, I lost my card and had to order a replacement for £10. I then lost the new card. Since I wanted to go to the cinema that night, I have to contact customer services.)

Customer Service: “Hello. [Cinema] customer service. How may I help?”

Me: “I lost my card. I’m going to the cinema this evening so I need a temporary pass.”

Customer Service: “Not to worry. I need your postal code and date of birth.”

Me: *gives them*

Customer Service: “Is your name [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer Service: “Good gracious! Is this the card we sent you a couple of weeks ago?”

Me: *embarrassed* “Yes. It is.”

Customer Service: “All right. I’ll just send a temporary pass to your mobile.”

Me: “Thanks. I’ll pay for the replacement on my next bill.”

Customer Service: “Oh, no. Don’t worry about that. I’ve waived the fee.”

Me: “What?!”

Customer Service: “You don’t have to pay a thing.”

Me: “Oh, my god! Thank you so much!”

Customer Service: “No problem. Happy Christmas!”

(The credits are rolling after “Thor: The Dark World.” One post-credits scene has already played, but there has been word that there is another. Half of the theater seems to be unaware and begins filing out. The patron in front of me begins to shout.)

Patron: “There’s one more!”

(People continue filing out.)

Patron’s Friend: “That was my ear!”

Patron: “Well, get your ear out of the way! Really, there’s one more!”

(Those who have decided to leave continue to do so.)

Patron: “Seriously, I’m not Loki! There’s ONE MORE!”

(People are still leaving.)

Patron: “ENJOY IT ON YOUTUBE!”

(Sure enough, there is one more cut scene after the credits. Sir, thank you for your valiant efforts to warn the masses!)

(My colleague is having trouble with a group of ladies.)

Colleague: “I’m trying to explain [ice cream] to them and it’s going nowhere.”

(I hover for a moment, and recognize some words as Spanish.)

Me: *in Spanish* “My apologies ladies. Are you Spanish?”

Customer: “Mexican.”

Me: “All right. I studied Catalan, so please forgive any differences and my years without practice. We have three sizes of ice cream: small, which is one scoop, medium, which is two, and large, which is three. All our prices are on the board behind me. We also have dark, milk, and white chocolate, nuts, and warm chocolate, or caramel as extras.”

(The women, while thrilled with my explanation, do not buy ice cream.)

Colleague: “How the f*** did you do that?”

Me: “I speak four languages, including Spanish.”

Colleague: *walking to the others* “Did you see that? Did you see that!? [My Name] spoke another language like it’s nothing!”

(I found this rather cringe-worthy, since the other colleague he was talking to is of Indian descent.)