(I work at a local hotel. The most frequently left-behind item is a phone charger, so as a result, our storage room has a large collection of chargers that will likely never see their original owners again. I get a call today.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Hotel]. How may I help you?”

Guest: “I left my cell phone charger in my room two days ago. I need you to send it back.”

(I know I have a pile in the back room, as housekeeping has already picked it up.)

Me: “What kind of phone do you have — iPhone or Android?”

Guest: “It’s a cell phone.”

Me: “Okay, I need a little more detail than that so I send out the right one.”

Guest: “It’s a Verizon cell phone.”

Me: “Do you have more detail than that, ma’am?”

Guest: “It’s a Samsung Verizon cell phone! It is in my room against the wall.”

Me: *giving up hope* “All right, ma’am, I will go grab it. We charge for shipping; is that all right?”

Guest: “Fine, Verizon cell phone.” *click*

(I went into the back find a charger with the word Samsung printed on it and brought it to shipping with a new story to tell.)

(We’re the family from The Cats Demand You Spill The Beans. This time, my husband is in the kitchen grinding pork butt and mixing it with spices to make sausages. I overhear the following exchange between him and one of our cats.)

Cat: *whiny meow*

Husband: “This is pork butt. You don’t want this.” 

Cat: *whiny meow*

Husband: “This is raw pork. Does the word ‘trichinosis’ mean anything to you?”

Cat: *whiny meow*

Husband: “Even your wildest ancestors could not have taken down a pig. Why would you even want raw pork? It doesn’t taste like ham. This is ham before it’s ham. It doesn’t even smell like ham.”

Cat: *whiny meow*

Husband: “We already discussed this, remember? You told me you wanted it, and I told you no, because it would make you very sick? Now stop it.” 

(The cat whined once more and apparently accepted defeat because she wandered off to sit in the hallway, staring wistfully into the kitchen. Life is hard when you’re a cat whose humans love you.)

(I’m working in the produce department at our local supermarket when a customer spills several containers of blueberries in the aisle. I’m guarding the aisle while my coworker goes to grab a broom and dustpan. The produce section basically has two aisles with produce displays in between, so there is an easy way to go around the blueberry mess. [Customer #1] approaches me, pushing a shopping cart.)

Me: “We have a bit of a mess right here. If you could just go around–“

Customer #1: “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be careful!” 

(The customer then proceeds to shove past me and picks up the back of the cart so only the first two wheels are on the ground, and then tip-toes THROUGH the mess of blueberries on the floor, squishing and smearing the mess further as she goes.)

Me: “Or you could do that…”

(I overhear a great conversation between two kids while at work.)

Kid #1: “I don’t know what language that was in.”

Kid #2: “I was speaking the cheese language! You know, fromage?”

Kid #1: “That’s French.”

(It’s 1997. I’m 20 years old and have recently moved back to my home city after a horrible breakup. I take a job selling electronics at a local mall retailer. During my first week, I keep hearing about this one guy who’s going to handle the bulk of my training. It’s silly, but it’s like I’m hearing bells whenever someone says his name — I just have a feeling about him. I find myself hoping he’s around my age and that he has blue eyes. We’re finally scheduled together on Saturday. I eagerly wait by the register for him to come in. Eventually, an unkempt man who looks like he’s in his 40s walks in. He’s balding and badly dressed, and he is sporting a very wimpy mustache that does nothing for him. My heart sinks when I see his nametag and realize it is the guy I’ve been so looking forward to meeting. So much for romance; he is way too old for me! But hey, I’ve still got to work with this guy, and by all accounts, he is really nice.)

Me: *brightly* “Good morning!”

Guy: *wordless grunt*

(He walks past where I’m standing without even a glance in my direction and turns the TV in our department on to Saturday morning cartoons, ignoring me.)

Me: “…”

(A commercial break eventually comes on and he walks over to me. I’m thinking we’ll finally exchange pleasantries.)

Guy: *in a harsh voice, and without preamble* “Did you count out that register?!” 

Me: “I… didn’t know I was supposed to.”

Guy: “Well, it’s a good thing I closed last night, so I know exactly how much is in there.”  

Me: *stunned at his rude tone* “Um… okay. Do you want me to count it out now?” 

Guy: “No. I’m going for a cup of coffee.” 

(He about-faced and stalked off. A teeny part of me hoped that maybe he’d bring me back a cup, as a sort of apology for his jerky attitude. He did not, and stood around the department drinking it in front of me, glowering. Later that day, he made me laugh so hard that soda shot out of my nose. I realized then that even if my instincts were wrong and this wasn’t the man of my dreams, he was still a good candidate for a work friend. I eventually learned that he was only 26 years old, and the main reason for his haggard and disheveled appearance was that his father, a single parent, had died the year before, and every penny he made went to paying the mortgage on the family house while he also went to college full-time. He was smart, very funny, and kind, and we had a lot of interests in common. And his eyes were, in fact, an amazing shade of hazel that changed from blue to green to brown depending on the light and his mood. He grew back the goatee that he’d recently been told to shave off, which he preferred and which suited him much better than the wimpy mustache by itself, de-aging his appearance quite a bit. We became really good friends and then fell in love. We married five years later and are still blissfully happy. According to him, he’d had a feeling about me, as well, and was really looking forward to our meeting, but finally seeing me caused something to disconnect between his brain and his mouth, so all that fell out was rudeness. All these years later, he still makes a point of going out to buy me a cup of coffee on the anniversary of that day and serving it to me with a grunt.)