(The mall where I work has construction going on near our store, and the nearest mall door is closed off to customers. There are security guards posted to let construction and mall workers in and out. One of my employees has used the emergency exit in our backroom that opens up into the designated smoking area and the construction area. He returns from his smoke break and opens the door to the backroom to come back to work, followed by someone who shouldn’t be in my backroom. The stranger walks right past me and out of my store.)

Me: “What the…?”

Employee: “He’s a foreman or something for the construction, and the security guards aren’t there to let him in. I just did him a favour.”

Me: “How noble of you, but you know better than to let a random dude from outside into the backroom! If the managers or head office had come in, you’d be in a ton of trouble! No more randoms through the backroom door, understood?”

Employee: “Yeah, I get it. My bad.”

(Ten minutes later, the same random dude walks back into the store.)

Construction Guy: “Can you let me out through there?”

Me: “No, sir. I can’t have non-employees going into the backroom. [Employee] let you in to do you a favour, but I can’t let you exit through there.”

Construction Guy: “Seriously? I’ve already been back there; stop being a d*** and just let me leave. The exit doors won’t open.”

Me: “Yeah, and that was a one-time deal, and a mistake that [Employee] made. But I can’t let you back there again. The security personnel just walked past the store; if you catch up to them, they’ll be more than happy to let you out.”

Construction Guy: “What the f***?! My truck is sitting out there!”

Me: “If you keep being so ridiculously crass in a store full of kids, I’m going to have security remove you. [Employee], call the security office.”

Construction Guy: “F*** YOU, A**HOLE! IF SOMEBODY STEALS MY TRUCK I’LL F****** SUE YOU!”

Me: “You can try, and now I’m going to escort you to the door.” *starts to walk around the counter*

Construction Guy: “Whatever! Hope you have a great day, b****!”

Me: “Thank you; I will. You take care, now.”

(He started to walk out, head turned to continue screaming profanities at me, and promptly walked right into the massive glass window at the front of the store. All the customers started laughing at him as he picked himself up and stormed out, as I chuckled and waved goodbye.)

(As I am walking back to my department, a young couple approaches me with a pre-made shelf.)

Wife: “Excuse me, will this shelf fit everything in our closet?”

Me: “I don’t know; I’ve never been to your house.”

Wife: “Yes, but will it fit everything in our closet?”

Me: “I don’t know; I’ve never been to your house. How much stuff do you have in the closet?”

Husband: “Oh, the usual amount of stuff. Do you think it will fit on the shelf?”

(I give up.)

Me: “Yes.”

(I have just had my bat mitzvah and it is common to get money donations as gifts. My dad wants to open an investing account for me, and we need to call our bank’s 24-hour trading line to open it. The person on the other line is asking me questions that are difficult for a 12-year-old, and I constantly have to ask my dad for the answers.)

Bank: “I’m sorry; we need your answer. You can’t be speaking to anyone else.”

Me: “But I’m 12! I don’t know my SIN number off by heart. Can’t I let my dad speak for me?”

Bank: “No, it has to be you.”

Me: “But I can’t answer them without speaking to my dad.”

Bank: “Just answer the question!”

Me: “I don’t know my SIN off by heart. I’m looking for it!”

Bank: “Okay, forget it. How much do you have in the account currently?”

Me: “I don’t know! Let me log in.”

Bank: “I don’t think you’re really [My Name]. I’m freezing the account; you’ll have to come in to prove you’re really [My Name].”

(My dad wrote a letter to corporate, and now there’s a note in my file that says all my personal questions can be answered by me or my dad until I’m 18.)

(I work at a theme park in a portable cart. At my cart, there is no phone but company policy says we aren’t allowed to have cell phones on our person. The main store at the theme park is also in charge of my cart, so if there is a problem, I send people to the store. Unfortunately, the manager on duty doesn’t like me, for reasons unknown. Of course, she is in charge when my till freezes in the middle of a transaction.)

Me: *to the customer* “I am so sorry; my cash register isn’t working. Unfortunately, company policy says I can’t keep a cell on me, so if you don’t mind going into that store—” *points to store in front of me* “—and asking for [Manager], she can help.”

(The customer walks into the store. I wait a few minutes and my manager, who doesn’t look happy, comes out. She fixes my till and leaves, blaming me for the broken till, as I finish counting out the customers.)

Customer #1: “I am sorry you have to work with her.”

(I don’t get along with my manager, but it would look bad to bad-mouth her in front of people, so I just smile and nod.)

Customer #2: “When we came up and told her that your till was broken, she asked us why we were telling her. Obviously, you can’t leave this cart alone; someone might steal something.”

Me: “Yup.” *trying to keep my smile from showing*

Customer #1: “Keep up the good work.” *winks at me and walks away with purchases*

(Thank you, [Customer #1 and #2], I felt good all day.)

(A customer comes up to my till to buy a John Grisham book.)

Customer: “Oh, these books are so good!”

Me: “That’s great. I hope you enjoy this one.”

Customer: “Didn’t John Grisham publish books under another name?”

Me: “I don’t know. Not that I know of.”

Customer: “Why don’t you know?”

Me: “I just haven’t heard that. Plus, I don’t read John Grisham, so…”

Customer: “What? How can you even work at a bookstore if you don’t read John Grisham?”

Me: “Um, because I read other stuff.”

Customer: “Like what?”

Me: “Like fantasy.”

Customer: “Fan… ta… sy? Fantasy?”