(My husband and I have gone to a restaurant to go dancing. The restaurant is now closed but the bar is still open. I order a drink but I am hungry and hoping there are snacks for sale at the bar.)

Me: “Do you have anything at all. Maybe some bags of chips for sale?”

Bartender: “If you are looking for something salty, you can always lick my arm.”

Lady At Bar: *overhearing* “And that is how you don’t get a tip.”

(She was right. I didn’t leave a tip.)

(I work as a waitress and am waiting on a table of a really nice family with three kids. It is an unusually hot day and each of the children has one of those really tall, exaggerated slushies with in-built straws.)

Me: “Where did you get those slushies? They look pretty cool!”

Father: “Oh, just next door.”

Me: “Oh, I didn’t realize they sold them. I’ll have to get one next time I’m in. It’s been so hot recently.”

Father: “What’s your favourite flavour?”

Me: “I don’t know. All of them, I guess! So, are you guys ready to order?”

(I proceed to take their order. Their food is served and they have their meal, pay, and leave with no hassle or problems and nice chit chat all the way through. They’ve left after their meal for about 20 minutes when the father enters back in. I’m behind the bar at this point.)

Father: “Hey, I got you this. It is really hot today!” *hands me one of the slushies, with all the flavours mixed together*

Me: “Oh, thank you!”

(He smiled and walked out again. It made my day! Sometimes, the customer is the good guy!)

(I am fresh out of high school. I work at a popular fast food chain and my long-term partner lives about an hour away. I have just returned from a short vacation, during which I spent my time at her house. As we didn’t see each other often we had to make the most of our time together. A customer in his 50s, male, is at my counter.)

Customer: “You’ve been a naughty girl.”

Me: “… Excuse me?”

Customer: “You’ve been very naughty.” *points at me*

Me: “Uh… what?”

Customer: “The marks on your neck.”

Me: *instinctively pull up my collar, embarrassed*

Customer: “That’s all right. Seems like you’ve got a lucky boy on your hands.” *winks*

(A young man comes into the store and approaches the counter. He is probably about 17 or 18, dressed all in black, with hair down to his waist and fingernails that are about two inches long.)

Customer: “Hi. I’d like to apply for a job.”

Me: “Okay, just fill out this application.”

(He takes the application, fills it out, and leaves. I immediately look through it. Under ‘tell us about yourself’ he wrote: ‘I am a gothic semi-pantophile. The smallest things excite me.’ We has to look up pantophile. It means someone who is sexually aroused by anything. We didn’t hire him.)

(I work in a restaurant that is beside a coffee shop, which has a small theater on its other side. I stop into the coffee shop to get something before work, and right in front of me are two young chefs on break. The theater is hosting a dance competition, so the coffee shop is full of YOUNG dancers, roughly 10 years old.)

Chef #1: “I’d love to hit that.”

Chef #2: “I know! Look at her, with that makeup and skimpy costume! She’s begging for it!”

(I glance over to where they’re pointing. She’s wearing a short skirt and leotard, similar to what a figure skater wears, and has stage makeup on, but does not have anything risqué about her look.)

Me: “Guys, you don’t want to touch her.”

Chef #1: “Why not? Those red lips could do the work.”

Me: “Look around you. All these are little kids. I used to go to dance competitions all the time with my sister. They’re all 10, and that one, she’s MAYBE 13. Maybe. You guys are 19. Do the math.”

(Both get a look of horror as they realize what they’re implying about a child.)