I’ve worked in retail for a little over five years now. I work at a local gift shop, and it’s pretty small, so we don’t get too many rude people, but I still have some interesting stories since I also live in a small town.

A customer walks in holding a large jug of laundry detergent, and since we’re just a gift shop, I know he’s not trying to make a return or anything, so I wonder what he’s carrying it around for. He shops around for a bit and grabs a few items to bring up to the register. I scan everything while he starts to chat with a coworker of mine.

The total ends up being $20 even, and he then hands me the jug of detergent. Of course, I’m confused, wondering if he is trying to barter with me or something. He must notice the confused look on my face because he elaborates before I can ask.

Customer: “The money is in there, my dear.”

Even more confused, I take the jug from him and it’s HEAVY. I open it and it is completely full of quarters.

Me: “Uhh, is this all you have?”

He simply nodded and continued to talk to my coworker, so I had to stand there and count out $20 worth of quarters. I was thankful that there were no other customers because it took a good few minutes, mainly because I had to dump quarters out onto the counter since the jug was one of those ones with a small pour spout on the top.

Once I was finally done counting, he thanked me and went on his merry way, taking his quarter jug with him. He was definitely nice and stuff, and honestly, it wasn’t even a big deal, especially since small change is always more than welcome. I’m just thankful I didn’t have to count out $20 in pennies.

This happened about twenty-five years ago and I still think of it about once a month.

My dad used to think of himself as a fancy, business-type gentlefellow. We’d go to restaurants and he’d try to order off-menu, at like a chain restaurant. He wouldn’t wash his hands before we ate; he’d have the waitstaff bring him lemons and then rinse his hands in lemon juice because I guess that’s what fancy people do. It always took several attempts to seat us because he’d walk around the place trying to find a place to sit worthy of his time. He was insufferable. And as a little kid, it turned me into a walking apology for his behavior.

One weekend, we went to get dinner, just him and me, and he went through all of his usual behavior. But he was actually in a pretty good mood, so I had high hopes. Unfortunately, as soon as the waitress started taking our drink order, he found out that they were out of real cream for his coffee.

He didn’t swear or raise his voice, because that’s what the common people did, but he laid right into this poor woman about the sheer temerity of running a restaurant and not having the ability to meet the basic needs of your customers and then trying to smooth things over with cheap, fake products like non-dairy creamers. He suggested that she was trying to make him sick by feeding him some sort of chemical swill. I remember her exact face as she just stared at him and took it, not knowing what to say. It haunts me.

My dad ended up just ordering an appetizer and she left politely… and never returned. He and I sat in that booth for thirty or forty minutes until the manager finally came out and went table to table explaining that the waitress had quit suddenly. My dad was, of course, offended, and the manager, of course, offered to give us our meal for free.

And that’s the part that annoys me the most: that my dad won. Hopefully, that poor woman found a better job.

I’m not feeling well and I am taking the day off to recuperate. It’s a head cold and nothing to do with the chest, but I do have a sore throat and runny nose.

Work requires a doctor’s note if I want to get paid. I can’t make an appointment at my old doctor’s office because I live too far away and they need to have seen me within a year to be able to do a phone appointment. The new doctor near me won’t see me because of cold symptoms; I need a negative [health crisis illness] test result to see them first.

I go and take the [illness] test, and I need to wait a couple of days for the test result.

My work could have just said it was fine for the one day, but now I have a note for the [illness] test, and I legally have to isolate for the next three days. I am gonna enjoy them after my head cold clears up!

I work at a build-your-own poke bowl place. At the end of a crazy rush, I was ringing a guy up.

Me: “You’ve made a really good bowl! Lots of these flavors go together well.”

He looks me dead in the eyes.

Customer: “Do I get a present for making the NPC happy?”

An NPC is a Nonplayer Character in a game.

I just stared at him for a minute before telling him his total and asking if he was using cash or a card. His friend tried to lighten the mood by pointing out where my chat box would be. I hope I never see either of them again.

At the restaurant where I work, normally, I just make tortillas. But today, my boss is out recovering from surgery (she’s doing well), and her husband is home with her. So, as the highest-ranking staff member on-site, I am the boss lady today.

Just as the dinner rush is picking up steam, one of my servers comes into the back and lets me know that a customer is asking for a manager because she’s upset about her order.

I don’t even make it to the table before this miserable pile of woman shrieks at me while pointing to the man sitting across from her.

Woman: “Why does he have more tacos than I do?!”

I grab the tablet from the server to check their order. The woman ordered one of our meal deals. It comes with three tacos, yellow rice, beans, and fried plantains. The man ordered seven tacos from our à la carte menu.

I read the order back to her.

Me: “Did the server enter your order correctly?”

Woman: “Yes, that’s what we ordered.”

Me: “You both received exactly what you ordered, then. But I will happily have four more tacos brought out to you right away if you want to order more.”

Woman: “And I suppose I’d have to pay extra for that?”

Me: “Of course; tacos aren’t free.”

Woman: “Then not only do I not want the tacos, but I will not be paying for this meal!”

Me: “Ma’am, we have cameras in both the restaurant and the parking lot, so if you leave without paying, the police will have both your face and your license plate number.”

They finished the meal, and the man who I assume was her husband (he did not utter one word in my presence, and he never made eye contact) paid the bill and left a solid 34% tip with the word “sorry” scrawled at the bottom of the receipt.