(I was going to get some milk out of a refrigerator while my coworker was taking an order at the drive-thru. Here is the conversation that took place.)

Coworker: “Okay, please pull up to the window.”

Customer: “IF YOU EVER TALK TO ME LIKE THAT AGAIN I WILL HIT YOU UP SIDE THE HEAD WITH A PAY PHONE!”

Me: *leaning out of the refrigerator* “Did she say…”

Coworker: “…a pay phone?”

(As far as we can guess, her child had said something to her and we just overheard her!)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Orthopedic office]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “PUT MY DAUGHTER ON THE PHONE!”

Me: “I’m sorry? This is [Ortho]–”

Caller: “No it isn’t! Now put my daughter on the phone right now! She knows she isn’t supposed to have boys over!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I think you have the wrong number.”

Caller: “NO I DON’T.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m afraid–”

Caller: “You better be! I’m on my way home RIGHT NOW and god help you if you’re still there!”

(By this point we have several calls waiting to be answered. My supervisor signals me to transfer the call to them so I can get back to my job.)

Me: “Ma’am, I assure you this is a medical office. Would you like to speak to my supervisor?”

Caller: *dripping with sarcasm* “Oh suuuure! Put me through to your supervisor!”

Supervisor: “Thank you for calling [Orthopedics], how can I help you?”

Caller: “WHAT?! WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE?!”

(It took several minutes for my supervisor to get the woman off the phone, after which she called three more times…)

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(For three years, my job was to deal with angry parents. I was very good at it. Most of the time.)

Parent: *angrily* “I need to speak to someone about my daughter’s roommates!”

Me: “Okay, ma’am, what seems to be the problem?”

Parent: “Her roommates are awful to her! ”

Me: “Okay. Can you detail the problems for me? The more specific you can be, the better we can help your daughter and her roommates settle their problems.”

Parent: “They curse, and they play loud music, and they’re, well, they’re just not like us.”

Me: “In what way are they not like you, ma’am?”

Parent: “Well, they’re… farm people.”

(Twenty seconds of absolute silence as I am, for once, thrown off my game. I’ve heard racial B.S. and religious B.S., but never farm B.S.)

Parent: “Not that there’s anything wrong with farm people. It’s just that we’re not farm people.”

(I’m still in shock. She keeps going.)

Parent: I mean, farms are useful, but we’re from the city. My daughter grew up going to the theater and to museums.”

Me: “Ma’am, I can assure you, as a kid from a farm myself, I’ve been to the theater and to museums. What we probably have here is a personality clash.”

(There’s about a ten-second pause that just drips with uncomfortable.)

Parent: “Perhaps I should speak to someone else.”

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(Two women walk up with their little babies, still young enough to be carried around wrapped in blankets.)

Lady 1: “How much is face painting for the kids?”

Me: “Three dollars, ma’am.”

Lady #1: “Could you charge us less ’cause our kids are small?”

Me: *looking for her kids, thinking she can’t possibly be referring to the babies* “How small are they?”

Lady #1: “They’re babies!”

Me: *eyes popping out* “Excuse me?”

Lady #2: “We’re HOLDIN’ ‘EM! They’re babies!”

Me: “Um, ma’am, I don’t think I can paint on your infants.”

Lady# 2: “Well, why NOT?”

Me: “Because this is heavy professional paint. It says right on the label, ‘Not for use for children under three years.’ It’ll irritate their skin.”

Lady #1: “So you won’t paint our babies?”

Me: “No, ma’am. I can’t do that. It’s not safe.”

Lady #1: “There ain’t no sign that says you won’t!”

Me: “I should think that kinda goes without saying…”

Lady #1: “So, this means we waited in that line for NOTHING?”

Lady #2: “Y’all should put up a sign or something that says you won’t face paint on babies, ’cause I thought that was y’all’s job.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ve been doing this for years and nobody’s ever tried to have an infant painted before, so I never thought I’d have to mention it. It’s dangerous.”

Lady #1: “Well, that just ain’t fair! D***, if I knew you wouldn’t do it, I wouldn’t’ve waited in that line!”

Lady #2: “Y’all need to put up a sign or something! I thought this was for the KIDS! Aren’t babies kids?”

Me: “I’ve already explained: it’s dangerous. I won’t do it, and neither will any of my coworkers.”

Lady #2: *as they’re both walking away* “That just ain’t fair. They should have a sign.”

Me: “Have a nice afternoon, ladies!”

(I found out later that, after I left, the women came back twice to different painters trying to get someone to face-paint on their infants. Both times, they were told the same thing.)

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(Santa was visiting our store, and every kid got a small bag of candy. Then this happened…)

Santa: “Here you go, little boy!”

Kid: “Thank you, Santa!”

Mom: “Aren’t you forgetting anything?”

Kid: “What, mommy?”

Mom: “Ask Santa for another bag for your brother like I told you.” *looks at Santa* “He’s sick at home and couldn’t come.”

Santa: “No problem!” *reaches for another bag*

Kid: “But mommy, I don’t have a brother!”

Mom: “…”

Santa: *puts bag back*

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