(It is the holidays and I am working layaway. The mad rush has just died down. Our layaway department is adjacent to the clothing section. A woman approaches the layaway counter.)

Customer: “Excuse me? Can you help me with something?”

Me: “Sure. What is it?”

Customer: “Can you tell me what size these gloves are?”

(She places the gloves on the counter. I pick them up and inspect the tag, noticing it says “OSFM.”)

Me: “It says ‘One size fits most.'”

Customer: “So would they fit someone who is a medium?”

Me: *staring blankly* “Uh, well, it is one size fits most.”

Customer: “So would they fit a medium?”

(At this point I am internally yelling at this woman. How the h*** do you not realize that one size fits most would most likely fit someone who wears a medium size?)

Me: “One size fits most.”

Customer: “Right. So would they fit a medium?”

(This continues for a few minutes, and she is clearly not understanding.)

Me: “Yes, one size fits most would fit a medium.”

Customer: “Okay.”

(As she walked away, I banged my head against the register a few times.)

(For as long as I can remember, I have loved a specific Christmas song. One day I’m telling my husband about it.)

Me: “I know it’s weird, but it’s like the holiday season doesn’t really begin until I hear ‘Snoopy’s Christmas.’ I don’t know why. It just isn’t Christmas until someone plays it.”

(The conversation meanders and I don’t think much more about it. About a week later, he gets a package, which he opens to reveal a set of CDs. It’s all the songs by a group called the Royal Guardsmen.)

Me: “What’s this? Who are these guys?”

Husband: “They’re the ones who sing that song.”

(He shows me one of the CDs. Sure enough, there’s “Snoopy’s Christmas” on the list. I’d never known who actually sang the song and, for whatever reason, never investigated the matter. I look to my husband for an explanation.)

Husband: “Now, it can be Christmas whenever you want!”

(We have a wide variety of unused Christmas decorations inherited from my husband’s mother. One Christmas, my husband decides to set up our nativity scene, but realizes that several pieces were damaged during a recent garage roof collapse and decides to improvise. There’s a dinosaur attending in the place of a camel, and the three wise men were replaced with Darth Vader wrapped in Christmas lights, an inflatable Santa Claus that’s twice the size of the rest of the display, and a light-up Jesus.)

Me: “Why is Jesus attending his own birth?”

Husband: “I like how you look at this display and that is the only thing you’re questioning.”

(Whenever my boyfriend and I decide to get intimate, we usually make sure that our dog is out of the room. My boyfriend wakes me up and we start getting a little intimate, when I realize the dog is laying in bed staring at us.)

Me: “Do you think you could put him outside? He’s being weird.”

Boyfriend: “He’s fine. It’s not like he cares about what we’re doing.”

(Right on cue, the dog decides to move and lay right beside our heads and make eye contact with my boyfriend. Needless to say, the dog was put outside.)

(A customer custom-orders a large amount — over $1000 worth — of solid brass hardware for kitchen cupboards from one of our vendor’s catalogues. A week later, she returns it and custom-orders another large amount of kitchen hardware. This, too, she returns a week later. She tries to place a third custom order.)

Me: “I should let you know in advance, ma’am, that we are no longer allowed to return special orders placed from here on out.” *I point to the policy which is on the counter*

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “Our vendors will not accept returns on opened items.” *I gesture to a box with her two previous returns in it* “We are stuck with merchandise that’s difficult to move, and it’s a major financial burden on a store our size. Why don’t we order one pull for you to see and decide if you like it?”

Customer: “I won’t know if I like the look until I’ve had them all installed in my kitchen for a few days! This is unbelievable! This is why small businesses are going out of business. No customer service!”

(At this point, she hurls one of the cabinet knobs at me, knocking down a display.)

Me: “Actually, ma’am, we are only going out of business because we deal with unreasonable expectations from customers. You have five seconds to get out of the shop before I call police.”