I am bringing a tray of clean dishes to the front to put away while my coworker is in the back washing more. A little girl, about three years old, wanders near the entrance to the kitchen. Her dad is right behind her.

Dad: “Oh, no, you can’t go in there. If you go in there, they’ll put you to work.”

Me: “Yep. Would you like to wash dishes?”

Little Girl: “Um… yes.”

Me: “Well, in that case, you can stay!”

Dad: “All right. Mom and I will see you later. We’re going home.”

We both expect the little girl to turn around to him, but instead, she begins tip-toeing closer to the kitchen and peeks around the corner of the entrance.

Dad: “Okay, no. You can’t actually stay here and do dishes.” *To me* “Thanks, and have a good night!”

Me: “You, too!”

This story takes place in a time before instant messaging services on mobile phones. The customer has an account that covers her daughter’s mobile phone, as well.

Me: “Welcome to [Company]. My name is [My Name]; how can I help you today?”

Customer: “This might be an awkward question, but what will I have to do to disconnect the service on a mobile phone?”

Me: “May I ask why you want to disconnect? Did you happen to lose your phone or did it get stolen? Was there any misuse?”

Customer: “No, it’s none of that. I threatened my daughter to disconnect her mobile service if she doesn’t do her chores. And today I decided to make that threat a reality.”

Me: “Well, it’s technically two clicks in our system.”

Customer: “And how fast will it take effect?”

“Me: “This is a measure to prevent you from financial damage in case of misuse or losing the phone, so any connections will be cut immediately and the device won’t be able to log in until you tell us to do so.”

Customer: “Okay. You might want to turn down the volume on your headset. Please click on the count of three. One… two… three…”

I disconnect the service. At this moment, the daughter seems to have been in a call with her friend. I learn many new Swiss curse words.

Customer: “I think a week without phone should teach her.”

Me: “May I suggest that we set a password for the reconnection of that phone, preferably one that your daughter can’t guess?”

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I work in the wellness department of a natural foods store. We often work with customers to sift through our products and help them pick the right ones.

Customer: “Hi. I’m looking for a calcium supplement for my kids. I don’t need anything fancy —  no flavors or anything because they can swallow pills.”

Me: “Wow, aren’t you lucky!”

Most parents have a horrendous time trying to find something their kid will willingly take because most kids can’t swallow pills.

Customer: “Oh, they’re seven and twelve; of course they’re fine.”

Me: “Huh. I couldn’t swallow pills when I was seven.”

Customer: “Well, we’re all a little spoiled. If your parents had made you, you would’ve gotten them down.”

Maybe so, but my parents didn’t abuse me.

My parents are visiting and my mother has offered to go with me to the grocery store. My husband has written out the list and one of the items is “baking sheet”. I go to the kitchenware aisle and pick up, well, a baking sheet: a flat metal pan with raised edges.

Mom: “That’s not on the list.”

Me: “Yes, it is. See? ‘Baking sheet.’”

Mom: “Well, clearly, that’s not what [Husband] meant.”

Me: “But it is.”

Mom: “Why would he tell you to buy a cookie sheet?”

Me: “Because we need one?”

Mom: “He must have meant something else.”

Me: “What else could he have meant?”

Mom: “I’m sure he means parchment paper.”

Me: “Then why didn’t he write parchment paper on the list?”

Mom: “You know how men are; they forget what things are called all the time and then they get grumpy when you bring home the wrong thing. Your father does it constantly.”

Me: “Dad might, but [Husband] doesn’t. And I’m buying a baking sheet because I had an unfortunate encounter with the barbecue last week and wrecked our only one, which is why [Husband] put it on the list.”

Mom: “You should still buy some parchment paper just in case.”

I did not buy parchment paper, and my husband was pleased to have a replacement for the charred remains of our last baking sheet.

My father has the rare talent of being intelligent while also occasionally being as dense as a concrete pole, which has lent itself to a number of frustrating yet amusing situations.

I’m fifteen or sixteen and need him to sign a driving log for me to work towards my driver’s license, which requires an initial by a parent. I’ve filled out the rest of the necessary information, so I hand him the pen and form. He takes the pen and goes to initial the form but no ink comes out. He stares at it for a moment, unsure of why it’s not working.

Me: “You have to take the cap off, Dad.”

The driving log form was initialed. Eventually.