I’m working in a library. One of the patrons in the study area has been talking loudly for long enough that she’s been shushed by other patrons twice. After a third shush, she starts yelling.

Me: “Ma’am! You can’t be yelling in the library.”

Patron: “I don’t see a sign that says be quiet.”

Me: “It’s pretty well implied worldwide that libraries are supposed to be quiet places.”

Patron: “I don’t do “implied,”—” *Finger quotes.* “—I do signs!”

Other Patron: “Oh, cool! There are no signs saying I can’t pee all over noisy patrons, and since the restrooms on this floor are so far away…”

The other patron walks over and makes a show of reaching for his fly.

Patron: “Stop! Go away! Eww!”

Other Patron: “There’s no sign telling me I can’t.”

The patron grabs her laptop and phone and hurriedly makes her way to the exit.

Me: *To the other patron.* “Thank you, sir. I can’t believe we might have to put up a sign asking people to be quiet in the library… or not to pee on noisy patrons.”

Other Patron: *Sad.* “Aww…”

I’m currently living with my mom. We deal with our own meals and such, which isn’t a problem on its own, but unfortunately, she has a bad habit when it comes to the food I make for myself… 

I’m making a big pot of garlic Parmesan pasta and chicken in this story; I like having leftovers so I can eat through the week. I like spices and cheeses and all that good stuff, while normally my mom likes salads and light seafood because anything else is apparently too rich for her. As soon as the sauce starts bubbling though, she’s poking her head around the corner…

Mom: “What are you making? Mmm, smells good!”

Me: “Oh, just some garlic pasta with chicken. You can have some when I’m done.”

Mom: “Thanks! But oh, no thanks for me, you know I just like to smell what you’re making!”

She returns to her nightly TV, and I finish up cooking my dinner. Once I sit down, she manifests in the kitchen as soon as it’s out of my sight, and I hear it, the sounds of mixing pasta and sauce.

Me: “…Mom, you can have some with your salad if you want.”

Mom: “No, no, it’s okay! I just want to try the bits!”

Me: “Okay, but could you not add any more sauce? I don’t like when my pasta gets too soggy.”

Mom: “Oh, you! You’re so funny, you like your food SO dry. But I’m not touching it, I just want to see what you made…”

Resigned, I get up to check she hasn’t loaded it with more sauce in the guise of getting a drink. She hasn’t, but what she’s doing is stirring with a spatula, digging out bits of onion and sauce, licking the whole thing, then going back to stirring around for more sauce and onions.

Me: “Go ahead and have some pasta, Mom, it’s okay.”

Mom: “I don’t want any, really! It just smelled so good—” *Stirs, licks.* “—that I just wanted to try some of the bottom—” *Stirs, licks.* “—and on the sides. Mmm, it just smells so good! Thanks for the bits!”

She then leaves the kitchen, and I look forlornly at my spit-pasta. I try to cook as far away from her as I can, but unfortunately, if I want to keep the peace, I’ve learned not to stop her when she does manage to get at my food…

Luckily, she’s moving out to her own place next month, and I’m looking forward to it.

I am outside a classroom, waiting for the class to start. Since the activity we perform in the class is rather loud, most of us wear earplugs.

One of the attendees searches in his bag and sighs:

Attendee #1: “Oh gosh, I have forgotten my earplugs! Does anyone have a spare pair?”

Another attendee searches in his backpack, pulls out a little box, and hands it to the first one:

Attendee #2: “Here they are; they are brand new.”

Before the receiver can say anything, the giver continues:

Attendee #2: “No need to buy a replacement pair, just wash them and give them back to me at the next class.”

I take a mental note to never borrow anything from him AND to double-check that I never forget my earplugs.

This story is from a long time ago, so it is somewhat paraphrased.

At a movie theater, for specific holidays, it doesn’t matter how many people you have scheduled. It doesn’t matter if everyone shows up. You’re still shorthanded.

Usually, one person would work the counter and the other would get the food ready. So, you’ve got two people per register. 

I’m one of the more senior people working this holiday outside of management, most of whom are currently helping to clean the theaters so we can admit the huge crowds in time. It should also be noted that even though I am not management, I am one of the longest serving workers here, and am trained on certain tasks that even some managers cannot do. This meant that when something came up in the back that threatened to delay the making of popcorn, I had to go take care of it.

A coworker tapped me on the shoulder, informed me of such an issue, and I’m about to go to the back, and some guy standing in line yells out:

Customer: “Don’t leave the register! It’s slow enough as it is and I’m f****** hungry!”

Me: “Sir, I understand much better than you what it’s like to be hungry since I haven’t eaten all day, so that I can serve you and everyone else here.”

Customer: “Then you should hire more people!”

Me: “Sir, we could stand here and argue that point, but if you want me to come back as quickly as possible, then I have to be allowed to do my job. You can either wait or take my place.”

Customer: “Well… hurry up, d*** it!”

I mentally roll my eyes as I go to deal with whatever the issue was. I fixed that within five minutes, and when I came back, the same customer was getting served his popcorn.

Customer: “I’m finally getting my food, no thanks to you!”

I glance at his movie ticket.

Me: “Enjoy the movie, sir, that you’re getting to enjoy because as the only available person trained to deal with biological waste, I was able to get your auditorium ready in time.”

Customer: “Bio… logical?”

Me: “As in something that came out of a human. As for what it was, and what seat it landed on, I simply don’t have the time to tell you! This line needs to be served! Enjoy the movie, sir!”

I get back to getting customers their popcorn and snacks, and the customer slowly walks into his theater, seemingly less excited about the movie than he was before.

Coworker: *Quietly.* “Eww, was it pee, poo, or vomit?”

Me: *Also quietly.* “Nah, the lights weren’t turning off, so I had to reset them. But he’s about to spend the next two and a half hours worried that he’s sitting in a seat that might have been exposed to any of those three or worse, and the thought of that will sustain me until I get some actual food myself.”

Sometimes it’s the little things that get you through the day…

I work at a bakery in a food court in a large superstore named after a bullseye symbol. Our doughnuts and muffins are put in a small case near the register, about the size of two bread boxes side by side. It has a little door that opens in the front and a removable back to take the tray out.

I normally ask the guests which doughnuts or muffins they want so that I can grab them with gloves on. There was a regular guest who had a four-year-old who constantly jumped up and picked his muffin out, touching each and every one.

Me: *To the mom.* “Ma’am, I’ve told you to please not let him do that, because now I can’t sell any of these ones.”

Customer: “Ugh, you’re the only one who has an issue with it! I shop here every week!”

Me: “And every week you get me. Please don’t let him do it again.”

Next week, she comes back in, and I turn the case around because he’s already diving for it.

Customer: *To her son, but glaring at me.* “Oh, sorry hun, we aren’t allowed to do that when that mean man is here.”

She then snaps at me.

Customer: “Such an overreaction! You turning that case around the second you saw us, like we got a disease or something!”

Me: *Trying to ignore her and get the transaction back on track.* “He cannot reach in and get it. If he tells me what he wants, I will get it.”

The little boy is getting frustrated at being unable to stuff his hand into the case, and because his mom is letting it happen (practically encouraging it), he breaks down into a full-blown tantrum.

Customer: “Now see what you did! You’re an evil man! We’re not gonna buy any muffins from you anymore! We’re gonna buy them from Walmart next door!”

She walked away with a smug look as if that was in some way hurting me.