(I end up having dinner with an acquaintance — not the nicest of human beings — every few weeks, for convoluted social reasons. Thursday night, we are at a popular fast food restaurant, but due to the time of day we have the place to ourselves.)

Cashier: *to acquaintance* “Your total is $5.29, ma’am.”

Acquaintance: “Shoot, I only have a $5 bill. Can’t you just take that and tell the register you got all the money?”

(The cashier and I are speechless.)

Acquaintance: *in a wheedling tone* “Come on. It’s only $0.29! What difference does it make?”

Me: *recovering* “[Acquaintance], come on. If she did that kind of thing, she’d lose her job!”

Acquaintance: *pouting* “Fine, I’ll use my debit card.”

(The next week, on Wednesday night, we’re at the same restaurant, it is super quiet, and the same cashier has just finished ringing my acquaintance up. From the order counter, we can see the two other employees sitting and doing paperwork.)

Cashier: *to acquaintance* “Your total is $5.29, ma’am.”

Acquaintance: “Oops! All I have is a five. That’s close enough, right?”

Employee: *in back, in what was obviously meant to be a whisper but carries clearly to the counter* “What is wrong with people? That’s the second time in a week someone’s tried that scam!”

Acquaintance: “Um, put it on my debit card, I guess…”

(I work in a shoe store. Today this guy comes in, and picks out and pays for work boots. Then, this happens:)

Associate: “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any bags big enough for this box.”

Customer: “Then I don’t want them. Give me my money back.”

Associate: “Ooookay…”

(I am repainting some of the public benches for the city when a woman sits on the bench I’m painting.)

Woman: “Oh, my God! You got paint all over my clothes!”

Me: “Well, you just sat on wet paint, so…”

Woman: “How was I supposed to know the paint was wet?”

(I look down at the paintbrush in my hand, and at the company name — which includes “painter” — clearly written on my uniform.)

Me: “Most people can tell.”

Customer: “I’d like to find out information about upgrading my membership.”

Me: “Okay, if you were to upgrade it would be $100 instead of $70, and the coverage would be an extra 100 miles of service.”

Customer: “Can you print that out for me instead of just telling me?”

Me: “Sure!” *prints information out and hands to member* “There you go.”

Customer: “Can you read it to me? I can’t read.”

(I am working in the meat department of a well-known organic food store. A customer comes up and inquires about the chickens in the display case. Note: these are raw, fully plucked, very dead chickens. They are pasture-raised and humanely killed.)

Me: “Hello, how can I help you today?”

Customer: “I need a chicken.”

Me: “Sure, I can get that wrapped up for you! Which one would you like?”

Customer: “These are all too big; it’s just me at home. Aren’t there any smaller ones?”

Me: “They don’t get much smaller than this, but I can offer you half of a chicken, instead.”

Customer: “Half… half of a chicken? They come in halves?”

Me: “Yes, it’s quite simple. I’ll take care of it right now!”

(I grab a chicken from the case and walk to the cutting board. I cut the chicken neatly in half along the spine using a meat cleaver and mallet. Then, I take the two halves back to the customer so she can choose which she liked.)

Me: “Which half would you like?”

Customer: “You just cut it in half… Right in half! With a knife and a hammer!”

Me: “Yeah, it’s pretty simple to do. You could even do it at home if you—”

(She cuts me off.)

Customer: “No! That was cruel. I don’t want it anymore! That was cruel! That poor chicken. You split it right in half with a hammer and knife!”

(She marched indignantly away, while I stood there, flabbergasted and holding the two halves of the chicken.)