Me: “Excuse me sir? Do you have any raw nuts?”

Worker: “Raw nuts? What do you mean?”

(I gesture to the wall of nuts.)

Me: “All of these are roasted and salted. I don’t want that; I want ones that are not roasted.”

Worker: “Oh! You mean still in the shell! They are right next to the shelled nuts.”

Me: “No, those are all roasted too. I don’t care if they are shelled or not; I just don’t want them roasted. Do you know if you carry them raw?”

Worker: “What do you mean, ‘raw?’ Why do you keep saying that? Nuts don’t come any other way!”

Me: “Do you have a way of double checking for me? Or maybe one of your—”

Worker: “Ma’am, there ain’t no such thing as ‘raw’ nuts. Nuts only come roasted. I don’t know who told you about these ‘raw nuts,’ but they were probably just joking with you.”

(I work in a large retail chain store. Head office has sent us booklets on loss prevention, and every employee is required to read the whole thing and sign off on it.)

Me: “Wow, can we really do that?”

Manager: “Do what?”

(I point to a section of the booklet that explains we can place shoplifters under citizen’s arrest.)

Manager: “No. You don’t do that here.”

Me: “But these directions came from head office.”

Manager: *laughs* “Oh, [my name], you slay me. Those morons never know what they want! If you actually tried to arrest a shoplifter, we would get in all sorts of trouble.”

Me: “You mean in case the shoplifter tries to sue us?”

Manager: “I’m not too worried about that, actually. I’m more worried about the head office guys chewing us out for ‘poor’ customer service.”

Me: “So, we were given directions that were important enough to require signing off on, but we CAN’T follow them.”

Manager: “Correct.”

Me: “And the geniuses who came up with this nonsense earn way more than our salaries combined?”

Manager: “Also correct.”

Me: “I suppose they’re also more educated than I am?”

Manager: “Intelligence and education are two very different things.”

(I am working in the print department of an office-supply store. An older customer comes in with a folder of very old newspaper articles.)

Customer: “Hello, young lady. I was just wondering if you could make some copies of these articles for me. They are getting old and I would like to preserve them.”

Me: “Of course!”

Customer: “Thank you very much. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go look around while you do this.”

(I agree, and he hands me the articles. I can see that it is an article about a man who was killed during World War Two. In one of the articles, it shows a picture of the deceased man holding a baby. As the customer has requested, I make copies of the articles that are beginning to fray, rip, and yellow. After making the copies, I quickly laminate them in order to keep them really preserved. The customer comes back.)

Me: “So you know, sir, I noticed that the articles you had were starting to rip, and I assumed that was why you were making the copies. When I finished the copies, I laminated them for you.”

Customer: “I appreciate that young lady, but I can’t afford the lamination.”

Me: “I like history, and I think historical documents are very important to keep. The lamination is free of charge!”

(The customer begins to cry.)

Me: “Sir, are you alright?”

Customer: “Yes, yes. Do you see this baby in this picture? This was me when I was just a few days old. This was the only time my father ever held me before he died. This is all I have to remember him by, and you just helped me to keep them preserved so I can keep his memory alive. Miss, please… can I give you a hug?”

Me: “Of course!”

(He gives me the warmest hug I have ever experienced.)

Customer: “Thank you, miss. You have no idea how happy you just made an old man.”

(I am also crying, due to the joy I gave this customer by taking two seconds to laminate his articles. After pulling away from him, I notice that my manager is also beginning to cry.)

Manager: “Sir, these copies are on the store. Have a nice day, and come see us if you ever need anything else.”

(The customer leaves with a huge smile on his face, and my manager and I are both cheery for the rest of the day. When I arrive at work the next day, I find a small bouquet of flowers sitting on my desk with a note from the customer.)

Note From The Customer: “I picked these flowers for you from my garden. They aren’t much, but I was hoping I could brighten your day as much as you brightened mine.”

(I still have that note, along with one of the flowers that I kept and pressed in a scrapbook. I will never forget that man, and the father he never knew.)

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(My family is not quite at the poverty line but as close as you can get without being able to qualify for any financial help. As such, we keep money tight, and I buy almost all my clothes from a nearby thrift shop. Note: Macklemore’s “Thrift Shop” song has recently come out.)

Me: “Excuse me, but where are the women’s shirts? I think they got moved.”

Cashier: “Look kid, you’re not going to be popular for wearing s*** from a thrift shop. You just look homeless. Go back to [expensive store].”

Me: “No, I come here all the time. I can’t afford [expensive store], and never have. Where are the women’s shirts?”

Cashier: “Kid, I have never seen you before. Just look up on your fancy little iPhone sixty-whatever and find the nearest [expensive store].”

Me: “You’re assuming I have an iPhone?”

Cashier: “Fine, off-brand or maybe 4, whatever. Just stop pretending that you’re gonna be cool for wearing old clothes.”

Me: “Get me your manager.”

Cashier: “Pfft, why should I? So you can make some sob story and get cheap-a** clothes for free so you can still buy your [expensive store] brand shoes?”

Me: “Manager. Now.”

(Reluctantly, the cashier gets the manager.)

Manager: “What’s the problem, [cashier]? Oh, [my name], nice to see you.”

Me: “I asked where the women’s shirts got moved to and [cashier] just told me off, rudely, to go to [expensive store] because I’m not going to be cool in thrift shop clothes.”

Cashier: “It’s true though! That “Thrift Shop” song is total BS. All we ever get now are teens buying clothes to look cool, and it doesn’t work!”

Manager: “[Cashier], this is [my name], and her family comes here all the time. It’s the only clothes they can afford. Sometimes they can’t even afford it. She doesn’t care about being cool. I don’t think she’s ever even *been* in [expensive store]. Go in back and wait for me.”

Cashier: *leaves*

Manager: “This is the third time this week I’ve gotten a complaint about him. The women’s shirts are over in the corner that way…”

(When I came back next week for shoes for my brother, the cashier had been fired.)

(A customer half staggers inside.)

Customer: “Excuse me mate, where are ya’ beers?”

(I indicate to the left of the till where our alcohol aisle is. I suspect that he might already be intoxicated. I tell him where the alcohol section is, but keep a close eye on him. The customer wanders slowly up the aisle, inspecting our cans and bottles of cheap alcohol. He makes it all the way to the end before stopping. There, he proceeds to stand, facing into the corner, as if he is taking a leak. I get out from behind the till and approach him.)

Me: “Are you alright?”

(The customer jumps, startled, and turns to face me. His eyes are bloodshot, yet he doesn’t smell of alcohol.)

Customer: “Oh yeah! I’m glad you’re here. You see, I want to get these beers here.”

(He points to some beers that he can see on the top shelf in the corner. He paws, like a cat at the glass separating him from the beers.)

Customer: “I can’t get to ’em. So, I was wondering if you could just go in the back, go around, and get ’em for me?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. You want me to get… those beers?”

Customer: “Yeah! That’s the ones. So, like, if you could just… go around and get them.”

(I stare at him blankly for a couple of seconds, then decide to release the customer of his misery.)

Me: “Mate… that’s a mirror.”