(It’s three minutes before close and my manager is next to me closing another register. An eight-year-old girl comes up to my till with her grandparents to buy a scooter. Note that in Canada, we have $1 and $2 coins.)

Grandmother: “I’m sorry about this.”

Me: *thinking it’s about how late it is* “Oh, it’s no problem—”

Grandmother: “No, you’ll see.”

(My and my manager’s eyes bulged. The woman took out her granddaughter’s allowance that the girl had saved up to spend — all of it in coins in six plastic baggies. My manager and I desperately began counting it, taking ten minutes between us to do it. The girl had saved up $165.65 in coins to spend that day. What’s worse was that there are two banks across the parking lot from our store they could have gone to change the coins.)

(This takes place over the phone:)

Customer: “Hi, can you tell me which side of the street your store is on?”

Me: “Absolutely, we’re on the west side.”

Customer: “Is that on the left or the right?”

Me: “That depends on which direction you’re coming from. Are you coming from the North end or the South end?”

Customer: “I don’t know!”

Me: “Well, will you come through [major Southern intersection] or [major Northern intersection]?”

Customer: “How the h*** am I supposed to know? Look, is it on the left or the right? What is so hard about this?”

Me: “If it helps, we’re in the same plaza as [Chain Restaurant], and across the street from [Chain Store].”

Customer: “No, that does NOT help! I’m new to the area!”

Me: “Do you have a GPS? I could give you the address to plug in.”

Customer: “I don’t need a GPS! I have a great sense of direction!”

(I am the prospective customer. The employee in question is either working too hard, or not hard enough.)

Me: *answering phone at home* “Hello.”

Telemarketer: *heavy accent* “Hello, my name is Michael Jordan and I’m offering duct cleaning services.”

Me: “Michael, the spokesperson deals not paying enough after your b-ball career?”

(My first job as a teenager was front line and baker of a famous Canadian coffee house that was branded with a major tourist company that does highway convenience, airports, hotels, etc. Since I was only 15-18 when I was working there, I had to rely on my mother to drive me in and pick me up since I didn’t get my G2 driver’s license until college. I was only available weekends since I had dance classes during the week, but my managers and supervisors would look over this fact and would proceed to call me during class times almost every week. This happens during a math test where my teacher has had enough. Side note: I had my ringer on due to a family emergency and my teacher knew of this.)

Classroom: *silent*

(Cue Irish Rock to begin blaring from my hoodie pocket.)

Teacher: “Go ahead, [My Name]. You can finish your test at a later date.”

Me: *checks phone to see if it is [Family Member] and my caller display is saying [Work]* “Uh, it’s work.”

Teacher: “Are you serious? Give it to me.” *hands over phone, with my teacher now speaking to my manager* “Yes, hello! You’ve reached [My Name]’s cell phone. No, you may not. She’s taking a test. Well, I’m not letting you talk to her. Why? Again, she’s taking a test and you disrupted the rest of the classroom. Yes, you’d better apologize. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to speak to [My Name] about how you’re constantly calling her to come into work at short notice. She doesn’t drive, and is currently in second period. She has classes until 2:30 and club activities right after. If she receives another call during the day like this again, I will be reporting you to your superiors for your incompetence in understanding your employee’s schedule. It not a threat; this is a promise. All of her teachers are quite annoyed with this habit you’ve created. Now break it and leave the girl alone during the weekday. Goodbye.” *hangs up and passes my phone back* “Put your pencils down everyone. We’re going outside to let off some steam; AKA, I need to run this off!”

(When I went into work that Saturday, they apologized and asked me to give my teachers some gift cards for disrupting them.)

Back when I was 18 or 19, I went to visit my Opa (it’s German for grandfather).

Whenever I used the word “stuff,” he’d admonish me, and say that I should use “things” instead.

One evening as we finished dinner, I leaned back, patted my stomach, and said,

“That was good, but man, am I thinged.”

I absolutely deserved the smack upside the head I got.