(My husband and I are BLESSED with a very calm toddler. His calmness often worries people, usually strangers. One day while I’m out shopping with him, my toddler decides he wants to open a box of crackers while I’m browsing.)

Me: *taking the box away from him* “No, no. We don’t open things before they’re paid for, sir.”

Toddler: *whines and reaches for the box* “Mama!”

(At this point his face pinches up like he’s going to cry but I know he’s not going to do it so I shake my head at him.)

Me: *puts the box back in the cart’s basket* “No, that doesn’t work with me. You just ate before we came to the store, so you are not going to starve.”

(My toddler proceeds to very calmly jabber at me as if he’s trying to argue with me, but I keep telling him, “no,” and he finally shakes his head and goes back to playing with his stuffed animal. At this point, I realize that a woman is staring at us with a shocked look on her face.)

Woman #1: *awed* “I just knew he was going to have a meltdown, but he never did. How did you get him to act like that?”

Me: *shrugs* “He’s always been like that. He’s never actually thrown a tantrum, either.” *laughs* “My husband likes to joke that we’ve got a defective kid because he’s so well-behaved for his age.”

(The woman laughs and I hear a loud “harrumph” behind me so I turn around to find another woman glaring at us.)

Woman #2: *accusing tone* “You should be ashamed of yourself! Your son is obviously autistic or has something else wrong, and you’re making fun of him by calling him defective!”

Me: *rolls eyes* “No, ma’am, he does not exhibit any signs of autism or any other disorders. If you must know, his pediatrician says he is in good health and is a very happy and average toddler, and that he is calm because my husband and I are calm. Kids learn by example.”

Woman #1: “Yeah, which means if you have any kids, they’re probably rude little a**holes just like you.”

([Woman #2] stomped off in a huff and [Woman #1] and I shook our heads before wishing each other a nice day and returning to our shopping.)

Me: “Could I return this, please?”

Cashier: “Oh, my God. That is hideous. Why on earth would you buy that?!”

Me: *not appreciating her attitude* “None of your business. Could I return it, please?”

Cashier: “No. This is punishment for buying something so awful.” *runs away laughing*

(I stare at her in shock while a manager comes from the other end of the checkout.)

Manager: *grinning* “Caught her, finally! Let’s get this refunded.”

(While doing the refund, the manager told me all about how the cashier and her two friends had been misbehaving, and that her spectacle with me was all she needed to finally fire them all. I’ve honestly never seen someone so happy.)

(I work in cell phone sales at a major department store. Although I work for a different company than the department store, we don’t have our own section; we’re stuck back in electronics. We are expected to help with electronics sales, despite not having keys for any of the locked cases. By the time this customer rolls around, my coworker is on hour two of his “fifteen minute break,” I’ve had two elderly ladies who believed in the “if I scream, I get discounts” policy, another guy who took it personally when he forgot his receipt, and almost no questions for cell phones. Finally, this customer comes up with a question I can answer.)

Customer: “Hi. I have 32 GB of space on my phone and it’s getting full. Do you know if my phone can take a memory card?”

Me: *genuinely upbeat at the polite tone he puts on* “Well, let’s take a look. May I see your phone?”

(He hands me his phone. I take off the case and start looking it over to see if the memory slot would be behind the back case or the slot where the SIM card goes, and he suddenly gets angry.)

Customer: “The slot is right here.” *points at the SIM card holder, almost knocking the phone out of my hand*

Me: “All right, one moment.”

(I go to pop out the little drawer and slide it out, seeing that there is indeed a space for a memory card. As I’m doing this, he tries to yank the phone out of my hands, screaming:)

Customer: “NO, IT’S HERE!” *he causes the tiny SIM card to go flying to the floor*

Me: “I’m so sorry! Let me get that…”

(As I’m rooting around for the card, I check a paper folder near where it fell and see it’s not there. The entire time I’m looking on the carpet he keeps screaming:)

Customer: “IT’S IN HERE! IT’S IN HERE!”

(He picks up the folder and tries to shove it in my face. I try explaining I looked there, then look again to appease him, but he is still screaming. Finally, I find it across the floor from where the folder was, nowhere near it.)

Me: “There we are. So, it does look like you have a slot for additional memory. Now, your phone only allows an extra [GB amount] of space, so—”

Customer: “I already knew there was a slot for it! I asked you how much space I could add!”

Me: “Well, you can go up to [GB amount] on this phone—”

Customer: “I knew that! I’m asking if I can transfer photos on there!”

Me: *at this point, I am no longer smiling, but my voice is still in customer service mode* “Why, yes, you can, and in fact, we can set it up so music and other media can be backed up on there as well—”

Customer: *now talking down to me like I’m the biggest idiot on the planet* “Just. Answer. My. Question. How much will this cost?”

Me: “Well, we can walk over to the storage devices and I can show you our selection—”

Customer: “That would be great. Where are they?”

Me: “Right this way.”

(I turn to walk two aisles down to the storage devices, make it all the way there, and realize he isn’t behind me. I wait a moment in case he went around the other way, then step back out of the aisle in case he didn’t see which one I went into, then I finally wander back in case he just left. Instead, he’s standing by the TVs, watching a kid’s toy promo. At this point, I’ve had it. I march right back up to him, and he turns to see me.)

Me: “You know, if you want to look at the storage devices, you have to actually walk the f*** over there yourself, right? This is a TV, not a memory card. So, are you going to f****** follow me, or can I get back to my job?”

(As soon as I said it, all my anger washed away and I was left in horror, but apparently it worked. He stood staring at me, completely silent, and then followed me over to the memory section. I showed him which ones he could use for his phone, he asked me about the prices, then declined getting one that day and left peacefully. He didn’t report me, I never got in trouble, and I felt much better after that.)

(I’m the stupid customer in this story. I’ve just found a gorgeous dress on clearance; in a store where things are usually $20 or $30, this is only about $3.75. I’m really excited.)

Cashier: “All right, that’ll be [total just below $4].”

Me: “Awesome, here you go.”

(I hand him a ten without paying much attention and look through my wallet, noticing I have no change.)

Me: “Hey, could you give me all ones back?”

Cashier: “Oh, um… Yeah, sure.”

(The cashier starts counting out the change, and I get confused, wondering what’s taking so long. After what feels like forever, he hands me my change and receipt. I’m still confused for a moment.)

Me: “Hey, you gave me… Oh! Oh, my God! I gave you a 20, didn’t I? Oh, my God, I’m so stupid! I thought I gave you a ten!”

Cashier: “It’s all right, ma’am.”

Me: “No, really, it’s not! Oh, my God! And I’m a cashier, too! Oh, my God, I am so sorry!”

Cashier: “Really, ma’am, it’s fine.”

(I take my bag and go, red-faced and embarrassed. I just forced this cashier to count out $16 in ones, which I know I would hate having done to me. As I round the corner I hear the cashier say something to his coworker.)

Cashier: “Hey, um… I’m going to go get the manager. I need more ones.”

(I work as an apparel associate. We tend to have specific employees who work the shoe department, but currently they’re both on lunch due to poor scheduling. My coworker gets a call for a customer needing assistance in the shoe department.)

Coworker: “[My Name], can you go to shoes?”

(I go to the shoe department and find the customer needing help pretty quickly. He’s a middle-aged man standing in the ladies’ sandal aisle, looking confused.)

Me: “Can I help you with anything today, sir?”

Customer: “Yeah, I was looking for a pair of flip-flops for my wife, but I’m not sure what to get her.”

(I proceed to show how our flip-flops are sized small, medium, and large, so there’s so leeway in sizing them.)

Me: “Do you know what size shoe she generally wears?”

Customer: “Well, she’s about your height. What size do you wear?”

Me: “Sir, height and shoe size don’t have any real connection.”

Customer: “What are you talking about? Of course there is. Now, she’s your height; what size should she wear?”

(Realizing he didn’t get it, I got him a pair of mediums and very carefully explained our store’s return policy to him. I’m guessing he’s never paid attention to how different shoe sizes are between people of the same height!)