I work at a retailer where the registers are right by the entrance/exit. The cashier closest to the door is supposed to greet customers as they enter the store. One evening, I am just about to total a woman’s order when a man comes through the door.

Me: “Hello, sir, welcome to [Store].”

He walks toward me, staring at my face.

Man: “You. It’s you.”

Me: *Nervous* “Um. If you need help, there are—”

Man: “You have such nice skin.”

Me: “Okay, then. Have a nice day.”

He stands just a foot from my side and continues staring at my cheek for what feels like forever before walking away. The woman at the register stares at me, wide-eyed.

Me: “Um. Sorry about that. We’re supposed to greet people as they come in. I wasn’t expecting… that.”

Woman: “Nobody expects to meet Buffalo Bill, honey. Don’t walk to your car by yourself tonight, okay?”

The woman talked to my manager, who agreed to walk with me that night. It was several hours before I left and I had to fight the urge to look over my shoulder every few minutes, expecting him to be there.

In college, a friend asks me to be a part of his film project. In the project, we follow a woman (me) and her husband as he goes down the path of addiction and back through recovery. We set up in an alley and start filming my husband drinking from a bottle in a paper bag. 

Me: “I thought I’d find you here.”

Husband: “F*** off.”

Me: “Why don’t you go get help?”

A woman walking by sees us and comes over.

Woman: “Hey! Leave him alone!”

Me: “What? Oh, no, no—”

Woman: “I said leave him alone! I’ll smack the stupid right outta you!”

Husband: “Ma’am, it’s fine. We—”

Woman: “You do not have to put up with these… fake-do-good b****es.”

Our friend, who has been standing nearby filming, finally steps in.

Friend: “Ma’am, please listen, he’s not—”

Woman: “He’s clearly a man in distress and you’re filming him!”

Friend: “No, he’s fine. He—”

Woman: “He ain’t fine!” *To my homeless “husband”* “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you something to eat.”

Husband: “Um… this is a class project.”

The woman stands there, silent, looking at all of us. 

Woman: “A class project for what?”

Friend: “For [College]. I’m a film major.”

The woman seems at a loss, but then she rallies.

Woman: “Well… You can’t just go up to homeless people and put them in your—”

Husband: “I’m acting!”

Woman: “Oh. Well… you… are doing a fine job. Just don’t be out here long. Other folks won’t be so nice about you bothering the homeless.”

Friend: “Right. Thanks.”

We finished within an hour, and while other people did stop and ask what we were doing, nobody else was quite like that woman.

My dad had to throw away his favorite pair of sneakers after they were ruined and asked me to order him a new pair as it was during the health crisis and stores were closed. The problem was that he didn’t know the brand name; he would always just get the same pair and would look for them in the store. However, my dad had the stereotypical “dad shoes,” so on a hunch, I Googled “dad shoes” to see if it was the correct pair.

Me: “Dad, is this the pair that you want?”

Dad: “That’s it exactly! How did you find them so quickly?!”

I scrolled up so he could see my search bar.

Dad: “Well, at least it’s nice to know I’m part of the official club.”

My first job in high school is as a scorekeeper at a trapshooting range. Five guys with shotguns line up sixteen yards away from the trap house and shoot at bright orange clay pigeons. A shooter calls “pull” or some variation thereof to indicate they are ready for a target. Before the days of voice-activated pulls, it’s the scorekeeper’s job to push a button immediately upon hearing “pull.” If a shooter feels the pull came late, they won’t shoot at it. Most are pretty nice as this is an unusual occurrence. Each bank has four traps where the shooters take aim at twenty-five targets each. Their final score is out of 100.

I’m at the fourth trap of the bank. We are a few shots into the round when the only teenage shooter of this group calls “pull.” I push the button and he lowers his gun and calls, “Late.” I don’t think it was, but I give him the benefit of the doubt. I send another target when he calls again and we move on.

A few shots later, the same thing happens. He asks for a target, I push the button, he calls, “Late,” and doesn’t shoot. I know I wasn’t late and suspect he simply didn’t like the placement of the target when it left the trap house. Now I’m paying special attention to him.

A few shots later, he calls, I push the button, and he simply lowers his gun without saying anything.

Me: “Failure to fire.”

This is usually called when a gun misfires but is also appropriate when a shooter chooses not to fire at a good target. If a shooter has more than one failure to fire per round, he will be charged with a missed shot. The teenager turns to me, mouth wide open.

Teenager: “Excuse me?!”

Me: *Pointedly* “Failure to fire. That was a good pull.”

He looks around at the other shooters in his group for support, all of whom are studiously ignoring him and not making eye contact. The round continues as normal. He fires at every target after that.

At the end of the round, shooters usually come up to check their scores, say thank you, etc. The teenage shooter stalks away without coming by my chair. The lead shooter comes up to me.

Lead Shooter: “He’s been pulling that crap all day and you’re the first one to call him on it. Here, this is for having a backbone.”

He handed me $20!

I’ve been helping a woman shop for gifts for her daughter. She finds them cheaper on our website, but I’m unable to price-match due to stupid corporate rules. The woman buys three items and orders the other three online. After I ring her up for her three, she looks at me expectantly.

Customer: “So, now that I’ve bought these online, do I just pick them up now or…?” 

Me: “Well, you ordered them online so they’ll be shipped to the store in a few days.” 

Customer: “WHAT?! BUT I NEED THEM TODAY!” 

I’m staring in disbelief, not sure what she thought was going to happen. 

Me: “I apologize for the confusion, but you did order them online to get the sale price, so you’ll have to wait for them to come in, or you can buy them full price now and we can refund the difference when your order arrives.” 

Customer: “No, no, that won’t work for me. You will return and refund all of this right this instant.” 

I manage to keep my cool, despite her comments that we’re a scam and don’t know what good customer service means. I refund the three items she bought and she leaves, knocking over a display as she goes. 

Next Customer: “Jesus Christ, what a moron!”