I’m working at a gas station on the overnight shift. Our company policy is that we ID everyone. Forty-year-old police officer? ID. Eighty-year-old grandmother? ID. I get in the habit real fast to ask for everyone’s ID when they’re purchasing alcohol and tobacco.

A guy comes into my shop. I’m being trained by a coworker until her shift ends. This guy sets a case of beer on the counter. I greet him.

Me: “May I see your ID, please?”

He seems irritated but pulls his wallet out and hands me a driver’s license. It looks pretty beat up. There’s a crack all the way down in the center but it’s still intact. I check to make sure it’s his, and I know he’s old enough, so I just check the expiration date. His license expired over two years ago!

Me: “Sorry, sir, I won’t be able to sell you this case of beer since your license has expired.”

He’s obviously irritated and berates me for not making the sale.

Customer: “Why don’t you just grow up?!”

I informed him of the state’s law. He then opened his wallet again and handed me a brand-spanking-new license. I complied because I just wanted this guy to go. As I handed him his change, he looked at the coins I had just given him and dropped them on the counter, making a mess. Instantly, in my mind, I was like, “What the f***, dude?!”

The girl training me picked up his coins and handed them back to him and apologized. As he walked out the door, he glanced at me and told me again to grow up.

I am sitting in a conference room waiting for the next session to begin. My coworker approaches me.

Coworker: “Give me your watch.”

Me: “Why?”

Coworker: “I’m speaking in the next session in another room and I need to time myself.”

Me: “You’re wearing a watch.”

Coworker: “It doesn’t work.”

Me: “Then why are you wearing it?”

Coworker: “It’s gold.”

Yes, I lent her the watch. I wasn’t given an option not to.

The movie theater I work at has just reopened after being closed for health reasons. As per state and company guidelines, we’re only selling our shows to 25% capacity to encourage social distancing, we’re only open for limited hours, and our movies have an hour-or-more gap in between show-times so we can thoroughly clean the theaters and sanitize every seat.

Prior to closing, we’d always get those guests who would show up early and throw a fit that they couldn’t get into the theater while it was being cleaned, but this hasn’t been an issue so far since we reopened due to the extra time between shows.

I’m in a theater spraying seats with sanitizer out of a backpack spray-unit and the next show isn’t for about fifty-five minutes. Suddenly, a large family bursts in through the doors.

Me: “Um… can I help you?”

Father: “We’re here for the next show!”

Me: “I apologize, but that showtime isn’t for nearly an hour, and I need to be able to clean every seat and let them dry before we can let people in. The theater probably won’t be ready for another twenty or so minutes.”

Father: “Oh, come on!”

Me: “I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside, and I’ll check the theater in a while and give you the go-ahead to enter once it’s ready.”

Father: “This is ridiculous! You should know people will want to come in early!”

Me: “Sir, I apologize, but we have to clean the theater before we can let anyone in.”

The family ignores me and descends the stairs to their seats behind me.

Father: “This is idiotic! The seats are all wet! How are we supposed to sit on wet seats?”

Me: “Sir, again, I’m in the middle of cleaning and the seats need time to dry. I need you to wait outside.”

Father: “I just can’t believe this! You should schedule more time between movies if you can’t get the theater cleaned on time.”

Me: “Sir… we did schedule more time between shows so we could get the theaters clean. There’s almost a full hour until your showtime.”

Father: “So you really expect us to wait outside?!”

Me: “Yes, sir… I’ll need you to wait outside.”

Father: “Un-f******-believable!”

The family stomped out and waited by the door, pestering me and shouting at me every time I walked by for the next twenty or so minutes until they were finally able to go in. I’ll never understand people who think they need to be in the theater an hour before their showtime, especially at theaters like mine that have assigned seating.

I work in a sandwich shop. My store recently adopted the trend of having a set of shelves for online orders where people can come in and find their bagged orders themselves. When we started it, I thought the biggest problem we’d have would be people stealing other people’s orders. Nope! It turns out the biggest problem is people for whom being asked to match the number on their receipt with a number on a bag is apparently the hardest task they could possibly be given.

This particular lady stands out with just how obstinate she is about not actually looking. I am in the middle of putting together an in-store order when she approaches the counter.

Customer: “Do you have my order?”

Me: “Possibly. What was the order number?”

She gives a little shrug but doesn’t actually tell me the number.

Me: “Was it an in-store order or an online order?”

I’m pretty sure it was online, as I don’t recognize her, but I figure it is possible that a coworker took her order while I was doing something else.

Customer: “Online, obviously.”

Me: “Then it will be on that shelf over there.”

I nod toward the shelf while finishing up the order I am working on.

Customer: “Is that my order?”

Me: “No, this is someone else’s. Order [number]!”

The lady who has [number] comes over and picks it up. It is a little awkward, given the first lady is blocking the counter. The first lady turns to watch the order being taken before turning back to me.

Customer: “So, where is my order?”

Me: “It should be on that shelf.”

This time, I lean over the counter and point past her at the shelf, which is about five feet behind her. This time, she actually turns and looks at the shelf and then walks that way. Assuming that she is now finally taken care of, I head over to the register to take the order of a couple that has just walked in. However, once I finish with them, I look over to see the lady standing in front of the shelf and looking around blankly. Given that I am apparently a glutton for punishment, I walk out from behind the counter and over to her.

Me: “Is your order not here? It might still be being made.”

Customer: “What is my number?”

Me: “Um, it should be on your digital receipt.”

She then whips out her phone and starts tapping it, so I once again head back behind the counter, thinking that now she will be fine.

I take the order of a family, tray up and hand out the order from the couple before, and then look back over to see the woman standing with her phone held out. On the phone screen, I’m able to make out her digital receipt, with her order number big and bolded. I’m also able to see that same number printed on the receipt on the side of the bag that is sitting directly in front of her. After another couple of moments, where she continues to stand there like a cell-phone-wielding statue, I step out once again and walk over, pulling her bag off the shelf.

Me: “Well, here you go, ma’am. It looks like this one is your order.”

Customer: “Does it have everything?”

I hold the bag out to her, and she finally reaches out and takes it.

Me: “You are welcome to check inside and verify that everything is there.”

She stared at me for a bit longer and then finally turned and walked out of the store. It seriously took her about ten minutes all told to pick up her order, when it should have taken only around fifteen seconds.

In the late 1980s, a local bank is running a promotion: open an IRA (retirement) savings account, and they will open a new checking account, as well. The promotion is that they will gift you $10 into the checking account.

I want to open an IRA savings account because their interest rate is excellent, but I already have a checking account at another bank.  

Me: “Look, I really don’t want the checking account. If you open it, I’ll just close it as soon as allowed. The bank will have to pay for all the work in opening and then closing the account, having the checks printed, mailing statements, etc. So let’s all save some time and money and just give me the $10 and forget about the checking account.”

Bank Representative: “No, you have to open the checking account.”

Me: “Okay, if you want the bank to waste all that time, money, and effort, go ahead.”

The representative thinks and then leaves the room. A few minutes later, she returns, hands me a $10 bill, and mutters under her breath.

Bank Representative: “Some people!”