Our entire family (Mum, Dad, thirteen-year-old sister, me (eleven), and our youngest brother (five)) is out at the supermarket, shopping before a big holiday. A lot of sweet treats are on sale.

Youngest Brother: “Mum, can we get biscuits?”

Mum: “No.”

Youngest Brother: “But muuuum, I want biscuits.”

Mum: “No, they’re not on the list.”

Youngest Brother: “But I want the chocolate ones.”

Mum: “We can’t afford them.”

There was a pause before he loudly asked, within earshot of multiple customers and employees:

Youngest Brother: “Can we steal them?”

My sister and I couldn’t help but laugh.

Me: “Solution-oriented. I like it!”

Sister: “Kid’s going places! Probably prison, but still…”

We did not buy the chocolate biscuits… or steal them.

I overhear a mother talking to her teenage daughter as I’m stocking an aisle.

Mum: “Get some of the Greek yoghurt, dear.”

The daughter obliges and comes back with a big, expensive tub.

Mum: “No, not that one.”

Daughter: “This one looks nicer.”

Mum: “I don’t trust any yoghurt that uses the word ‘luxury’. It’s yoghurt, not a yacht. Put it back and get the [Store Brand].”

I found myself silently nodding in agreement with a customer; a rare occurrence!

My dad was one of those people who, sadly, always gave s*** to wait staff. It always started off with tired-a** jokes:

Dad: “Hi, my name is [Dad’s Name], and I’ll be your customer.”

Dad: “This is the best seat in the house, right?”

Just all the overdone, kinda s***ty lines to lay on wait staff.

But when COVID happened, and everyone moved to online menus and QR codes, it went to a whole other level.

Dad: “I’m not scanning a d*** code. Give me a paper menu! I don’t have a smartphone, how am I supposed to look at a menu?”

He eventually stopped when I made it my mission to stand in front of the server:

Me: “Dad, everyone can see the iPhone in your shirt pocket. Stop deliberately being a pain in the a**. It’s not our server’s fault everything has gone to QR codes, and you’re not a good enough tipper for them to have to deal with your bull-s***.”

I loved the man to death, but I had to stop going out to eat with him.

I used to work at Five Guys. During our afternoon slump, a lady walks in. There’s nobody else in line, so she comes straight up to me at the register. I greet her, she begins ordering, and then she pauses.

Customer: “I’m here to get a treat for my son, who is on a low red meat diet. Which would have less meat, a regular-sized cheeseburger, or two little cheeseburgers?”

Besides the illogicality of getting a massive burger for someone who isn’t supposed to have a lot of red meat, this is an innocent question. Five Guys’ sizing is a little weird. A little burger has one patty, a regular size one has two. Therefore, two little burgers have the same total amount of meat as one regular-sized burger. I explain this to her, and she nods slowly.

Customer: “Okay, but which one has less meat?”

I re-explain what I had just said, she’s still confused. This back and forth goes on for several minutes. I even go as far as to grab two raw patties from the grill for a visual demonstration. Eventually, defeated, the woman says this:

Customer: “It’s okay, I’ll just let you pick what you think is best.”

I gave her a regular-size burger.

I authorised a request to pump petrol after verifying that the person operating the pump looked over the age of sixteen and wasn’t distracted by their phone or whatever.

Within a moment of the customer operating the pump, she hands it over to her child, who looks no older than six or seven, so that she can use her phone. The child’s face is almost level with where the pump rests. I cut off the supply, which causes the customer to storm into the petrol station.

Customer: “Hey! Why was my pump shut off?!”

Me: “The person operating the pump must be sixteen years or over. It’s dangerous to let a child operate the pump because if it splashes back, it’s likely to hit them in the face and eye. It’s a nasty way to go blind.”

Customer: “You don’t get to tell me how to parent my child!”

Me: “No, but I do get to tell you the rules for this particular petrol station.”

Customer: “Where’s your manager?”

I call the manager down. Now this manager is usually a bit of a b**** to me, so I prepared for some potential pushback, but to my pleasant surprise:

Manager: “[My Name] is right. You need to be the one to pump the petrol. Also, you’re not allowed to use your phone while pumping.”

The customer argues a little more but gives up quickly. My manager handles the transaction and stands on the forecourt to make sure the customer pumps and leaves without any issues.

Suddenly, the manager shouts into the petrol station:

Manager: “And she’s on her f****** phone while driving!” *In a sing-song voice.* “Looks like someone’s calling the poliiiiiiice!”