A customer has just bought a pizza slice.

Customer: “Yo, how much for an extra garlic dip?”

Me: “It’s an extra $0.75.”

She hands me a dollar.

Customer: “Keep the change.”

She eats her pizza and dip, and then comes back up to the counter.

Customer: “I don’t have enough fare for the subway. Can I have $1?”

Me: “No. I can’t give out cash.”

Customer: “How am I supposed to get home?”

Me: “I don’t know.”

Customer: “I’d like to speak to your manager.”

I didn’t get my manager, as he’s a quick-to-anger and overworked Sicilian immigrant churning out pizzas at the back, who would have actually flipped out on the customer if I went and got him for that. I just told the customer to trust me that she wouldn’t want to talk to my manager, and then she walked out without saying anything.

Customer: “Where are your puppies?”

Me: “We don’t sell puppies, ma’am. We sell supplies that a puppy would need and dog food.”

Customer: “But you’re a pet store!”

Me: “Yes, and we sell things for pets. We don’t sell the pets.”

Customer: “Since when?”

Me: “Since the New York Puppy Mill Pipeline Law, which prohibits the sale of dogs, cats, and rabbits in New York pet stores, went into effect on December 15, 2024. This store stopped doing that a couple of years earlier, though.”

Customer: “So how do I get my son a puppy for Christmas?”

Me: “Well, we have adoption drives here every weekend, and we can also refer you to—”

Customer: “—adoption? No. I want to buy one. From a store. That way I can return it after Christmas, after my son gets bored with it.”

Me: “Ma’am, I am so happy to tell you that people like you are the reason this law exists. Now get the f*** out of my store before I start being impolite.”

Manager: “Where’s [Coworker]?”

Me: “He went out to lunch.”

Manager: “I was just in the break room, and I didn’t see him.”

Me: “No, not the break room. Out, as in outside.”

Manager: *Confused.* “Out…side? As in outside the building?”

Me: “Yeah. He said it was a lovely day, so he was going to walk in the park.”

Manager: “But… why would he leave the office in the middle of the day?”

Me: “He’s European.”

Manager: *Blank look.*

Me: “Hmm, how do I put this. He does not eat at his desk and sacrifice his legally required lunch break, which has been normalized by the slave-driving American capitalist mindset.”

Manager: *Still looking a bit blankly.* “Well… uh… tell him to see me when he gets back.”

Me: “Will do!”

I see the manager walk to the corner of the office and talk to a few other senior staff. I can’t hear their conversation, but I do pick out loud snippets of “Outside? But why?!” and “We’re allowed to do that?”

My wife was taking the kids on a road trip to Niagara Falls. She had explained to them that they were going into a completely different country (the Canadian side).

On the way, they stop at another historic site, but they are still in New York State. Our confused four-year-old proceeded to politely but LOUDLY inform all of the employees, tour guides, shopkeepers, and other patrons of the site that:

Son: “WE ARE NOT FROM YOUR LAND! WE’RE FROM ANOTHER LAND, CALLED AMERICA!”

I just finished mopping and buffing the floor in my small convenience store when a construction guy working on the street outside came in with mud all over his feet, looking for a bottle of liquor.

Me: “Can I get that bottle for you? You got pretty muddy feet, and I just cleaned the floor.”

Guy: “That’s what mops are for.”

He stomps his feet and leaves.

A half hour later, I’m closing the store, and I see this construction worker smoothing out a small section of concrete using a bull float (those large and flat tools with a long handle that look like mops). 

Realizing that my cheap shoes are falling apart and due for the scrap heap anyway, I start walking to my subway station in a straight line, walking directly over the wet concrete. It’s about an inch deep, so I’ve left pretty noticeable footprints.

Guy: “What the f***! You just ruined the concrete!”

Me: *Pointing to his bull float, that does look like a mop.* “That’s what mops are for.”

I didn’t stomp as he did, but I didn’t need to. The damage had been done, and I was merrily on my way.