(A customer has just asked to mix two sundae flavors together. She picks the two flavors that have the most toppings in them. They’re hell to top on their own; together is going to be miserable. My manager clarifies with her in case she doesn’t realize exactly what comes with each.)

Manager: “Ma’am, that is a lot of toppings to put in. That’s going to be two different kinds of cookie pieces, chocolate chips, peanut butter, strawberries, and cheesecake pieces; are you sure that’s what you want?”

Customer: “Jesus f****** Christ! Can you do it or not?”

Manager: *gritting his teeth* “I’ll have that right out.”

Customer: “Hey, wait, can I have an application? Are you hiring?”

(Later, after she’s finished her application, she waves me over impatiently from where I’m busy taking an order so she can ask me to get my manager back to her.)

Manager: “I really won’t be hiring for another month, just so you know.”

Customer: “Well, can’t you just hire sooner?”

(I asked my manager if he would consider her, because she seemed like a bundle of sunshine to work with, but he said no.)

(I am house-sitting for my uncle while he is recovering from brain surgery, making my commute to work in downtown about 45 minutes through morning traffic. My job as a morning receptionist requires me to open the office doors at seven so that people can come in and get themselves settled in the space. This particular week, we are hosting a group of people who expect the doors to be open promptly at seven, and for the most part I have been on time, if not a few minutes early. On this day, however, I am less than five minutes late to open the doors.)

Me: “Good morning, everyone! Sorry about that. Thank you for being patient.”

Coordinator: *to someone else* “Wow, she’s really pushing her arrival time.”

(I hear this and am a little annoyed, but I ignore her and go about opening the office and getting the morning started. About an hour later, my manager comes in and greets me and everyone else, then heads to his office to get started on his work. At some point the coordinator must speak to him about me being late, because then this happens:)

Manager: “Hey, can I talk to you about something?”

Me: “Yeah, what’s up?”

Manager: “Look. I know you’re watching your uncle’s house and everything while he’s still in the hospital, but I really need you to be here on time. These guys want the doors open at seven, so you need to be here at seven. Again, I know you’re helping your uncle out after his surgery, but please be on time.”

Me: “Okay, I will be.”

(This entire conversation takes place at my desk, at the front of the office, with this entire group in hearing distance, and my manager does not have a quiet voice. I am embarrassed, angry, and confused as to why this conversation wasn’t more private, but I decide to bring it up to him after I’ve cooled off a bit.)

Me: *later* “Hey, [Manager]. Can I—”

Manager: *he stops me* “Hang on. Let me explain. I’m sorry I had to do that right then, but I have a good reason, I swear! That coordinator came over to complain to me that you were late this morning, but it was obvious that it was only by a few minutes, and she was acting like it was the end of the freakin’ world. It really got to me, and I know what you’ve been going through recently, and I just wanted to get them off your back. She was close to your desk getting coffee, and I wanted her to hear, but I’m still sorry.”

Me: *stunned*

Manager: “Yeah, it really bothered me.”

Me: “Yeah, I guess so. Okay, well, I was upset by that, but now that I know what you were doing, I’m not mad anymore! Thanks for doing that.”

Manager: “Great! Let me know if she keeps giving you a hard time.”

(The coordinator was more pleasant with me after that, and it was great knowing that my manager is looking out for me. Also, my uncle has recovered amazingly well.)

(I’m at home with my sister and her three-year-old son. She’s getting his dinner ready before she runs an errand.)

Sister: “Okay, [Son]. Here’s your dinner. It’s really hot, so be careful. [My Name] is going to watch you while I go to the store.”

Nephew: “What are you getting at the store?”

Sister: “I’m getting a new kid.”

Nephew: “A new… What? No!”

(After that, he started to cry and my sister spent the next couple minutes trying not to laugh while telling him it was just a joke, she wasn’t getting a new kid, and she was sorry.)

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(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 have graduated from high school early, and I’m starting college. I’m barely 16 years old, and my mom is a broke single mother. For my graduation, she buys me a $400 used car, and I apply for financial aid so I can go to college. Part of my financial aid is a work-study job in the college cafeteria. My shift is supposed to be from 6:00 to 10:00 in the morning, but since I have a 10:00 class, the manager moves my shift to 5:45 to 9:45 so I can make it to class on time. Serving breakfast to surly college students is NOT fun, and almost every day, the boss gives me too much to do, so I’m late getting out of work. Now, I am in danger of being dropped from my class for excessive tardiness. I ask my mother for permission to quit my job and look for another one, and she says yes. I go to my boss.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I need to quit this job. It’s interfering with my schoolwork and I need to get good grades.”

Boss: “You really need to stay and finish the job. Otherwise, all your life, you will feel like a quitter. I don’t accept your resignation.”

Me: *is stunned into silence*

(I go home and told my mom what happened. She gives me permission to stop going to work, so I go to class instead. Two days later, my boss calls me.)

Boss: “I’m sorry, but due to your attendance, I’m going to have to let you go.”

Me: “I can’t say I’m sorry about this. I quit two days ago, remember?”

(It took me years to get over feeling ashamed of losing one of my first jobs, but now when I think back on it, I’m proud that I stood up for myself.)