Customer: “I’d like your grilled calamari salad, please. Also, I’d like to substitute the calamari for squid.”

Me: “Sir, calamari is Italian for squid.”

Customer: “No, no, I know the difference. Squid have tentacles, so I want that instead.”

Me: “Certainly, sir.”

(I end up having the kitchen make the salad as usual, much to the customer’s satisfaction.)

Me: “Here is your grilled squid salad, sir!”

Customer: “See, that wasn’t too hard! Thank you!”

(While waiting tables one afternoon, a group of 4 older gentlemen, aged about 65-70, seats themselves in my section. In the middle of their meal, one of them beckons me over.)

Customer: “Did you know that 2 out of every 3 people sing in the shower? The other third touch themselves. Anyway, do you know what they sing?”

Me: “Uh, well, no. What do they–”

Customer: “I didn’t think you would. You can go.”

(I am working a very busy drive-thru. A twenty-something-year-old woman has requested a very complicated ice cream order: a small milkshake, made with vanilla ice cream with caramel, hot fudge, peanuts, and Snickers on top, unblended, in a medium cup. It takes me a minute to figure out how to enter this into the computer. By the time the woman has paid, her ice cream has been made correctly, but in the normal small cup.)

Me: “I’m sorry, it looks like this has already been made in the small cup. Is that okay?”

Customer: “No, I specifically asked for a medium so it won’t spill.”

Me: “Well, I can put a lid on it. Will that work?”

Customer: “No, I have to eat it now. Can you just dump it into a medium cup?”

Me: “I can scrape it into a bigger cup, but the toppings won’t be on top anymore.”

Customer: “Why not?”

(Searching for something to satisfy her, I find a cup sleeve that adds extra room to the top and fits it into her ice cream cup.)

Customer: “Will it spill?”

Me: “Well, it’s a removable sleeve. But if you keep it in there, the ice cream won’t spill.”

Customer: “But I have to eat it right now. Are you sure it won’t spill?”

Me: “If you spill it, ma’am, it will spill.”

(I have just finished my shift at a pizza place. I’ve gotten out of uniform, taken my glasses off, and untied my hair. I walk over to a male coworker, who is still working behind the counter.)

Me: “How much is it for me to get a sandwich?”

Coworker: “Well, it’s $6.95, but for you, I’ll make it $5.”

Me: “Wait, I thought our discounts were 50%?”

Coworker: “Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you can get it that cheap. But, if I can get your number, I’ll pay for it myself.”

Me: “I already gave it to you twice last week.”

Coworker: “How could you have? I’ve never seen you before!”

Me: “Yeah, sure.”

(I reach over the counter to grab a cup for my drink.)

Coworker: “Normally I’d charge you for that, but since you’re so adorable I’ll give it to you. So, what’s your name? Want to go to dinner next week?”

Me: *holding up name tag*

Coworker: “…you’re a ninja, aren’t you?”

(We’ve been together 6 months now.)

Me: “Hello, ladies! How are you today? May I get you something to drink?”

Customer: “No, nothing to drink. I don’t drink. Just a sweet tea, please.”

Me: “Our iced tea is unsweetened. I can bring sugar with it, or if you like, we can make you an Arnold Palmer–”

Customer: *angrily* “I told you I don’t drink!”

Me: “Ma’am, an Arnold Palmer is iced tea mixed with lemonade.”

Customer: “Oh, I’ll try that!”