(The store I work for hires non-violent ex-cons. One of my coworkers was a thief who stole electronics. Recently, some electronics have gone missing. When reports started two weeks ago, he had been here for a few months already. Many have a feeling it’s him but don’t want to falsely accuse just based on past behavior. Our managers have said to keep an eye out and that valuables can be kept in a locked office; an internal investigation is under way and they’ll get the police involved when required. One coworker, however, goes straight up to the ex-thief.)

Coworker: “Hey! I know it’s you. There’s no way it can be anyone else. Hand that mp3 player over. You have no right to get into my bag!” *pushes*

Ex-Thief: “I swear, it’s really not me! Let them investigate.”

Coworker: “No one needs to. You’re a d*** thief and we all know that!”

Manager: “Hey! Calm down. We said we’d investigate. If he’s the thief then he’s going back to jail, but if not, a false accusation is hurtful.”

Coworker: “This is ridiculous. It. Is. Him. I’m calling the police right now.”

Ex-Thief: “You know what? Why not just call the police and get this over with?”

Me: “I think we all know he’s the likely suspect, but he’s innocent until proven guilty.”

Ex-Thief: “[Manager], how about I take a few days off work, perhaps?”

Manager: “I think that would be fine.”

Coworker: “No! He’s going to just leave and we’ll never see him or our missing stuff again!”

(In the end, the managers did an immediate search of the employee room. They found a missing cell phone wrapped in an eyeglass cloth… with the company name which someone remembered that the angry coworker had glasses from. Yes, HE turned out to be the actual thief, and it was proven by security camera later. His “missing” mp3 player turned out to be in his own bag. Police agreed.)

(I’m a receptionist at a nursing home. On this day, all of the administrative staff has gone home on time, so the only staff are maintenance, dining staff, the nurses, and me. I am alone at the front desk when I see the hanger tag on my shirt hanging out for the thousandth time. Seeing as no one else is around, I grab a pair of scissors and cut one side off. I look around again and start cutting the other side, except this side will not cut. As I’m struggling with a pair of scissors by my face, the maintenance man rounds the corner.)

Maintenance: “What are you doing?!”

Me: “Trying to cut the stupid hanger tag off my shirt, but our scissors suck.”

Maintenance: “Do you want some help?”

Me: “Sure!”

Maintenance: “Here, I’ll try it with my knife.”

(Just as he finishes sawing the tag off with his knife, one of the waitresses comes around the corner, and her eyes bulge.)

Me: “It’s not what it looks like! He was cutting the stupid hanger thing off my shirt for me.”

Waitress: “Oooh! God, I hate those stupid things, too.”

(I am shopping with my mom at the mall. It is spring, so my allergies are killer. I desperately need new clothes, so I decide to try on a few shirts. While I am in a dressing room, my allergies decide to make me sneeze.)

Me: *sneezes*

Random Girl: “Bless you.”

Me: “…”

Random Girl: “I know you hear me.”

Me: *thinking* “Oh, God!”

Random Girl: “[Her Friend], I said bless you!”

Her Friend: “That wasn’t me.”

Random Girl: “Oh… S***.”

Me: “…”

Random Girl: *to me* “Well, you could still say thank you, b****!”

(Overheard between a pediatrician and a seven-year-old patient:)

Pediatrician: “Look, [Child], you learned more about [disease] on your own; that’s a good thing! It’s very smart to learn all about your health. And, you found out online that we always tell the CDC when someone has [disease]. I think it’s very good when people learn about how we keep track of disease. But from now on, calling the CDC is my job, not yours.”

(I work at a small pizza parlor. We have six customers standing in line.)

Me: *working register* “Next customer, please!”

(The next customer walks over to my register from the line, but [Customer #2] proceeds to cut the entire line and approach my register.)

Me: *to [Customer #2]* “Sir, there’s a line. This gentleman was next.”

Customer #2: *looks at me in shock* “You’re really going to serve this [racial slur] before me?!”

([Customer #1] and I exchange glances of astonishment.)

Me: “Sir, there’s no need to use that language here. You’re going to have to go to the back of the line.”

([Customer #2] continues with racist remarks and something about being a traitor to my kind.)

Me: “Sir, if you have an issue with me treating this man with the same respect that I would have given you had you merely stepped to the back of the line, then you can leave.”

(The customer makes more comments on how I’ve been brainwashed by the [racial slurs].)

Me: “Have a nice day, sir.” *turns to [Customer #1]* “It’s on the house.”

([Customer #2] threw his arms in the air and continued screaming until the owner forced him out the door.)