(My work is hiring for both grocery and cashier positions. It is eight pm, and I’m working on the floor in grocery. A man in his twenties approaches me, carrying a resume. I’m a woman, also in my twenties.)

Job Seeker: “I need to see your manager.”

Me: “We have a manager-on-duty at the moment.”

Job Seeker: *gets a little snippy* “Are you saying he can’t see me?! Why isn’t he here?”

Me: “He was here before five am. He is probably sleeping right now, because he’ll be back here tomorrow at five am, again!”

Job Seeker: *looking a little ashamed* “Oh, I have a resume to hand in.”

Me: “If you go up to customer service, they will give you an application to fill out and attach to it. You can leave both with them.”

(He ran off without another word.)

(I am a young mother. My youngest son is two and just learning to talk. At this time, my sister-in-law is pregnant, and my sister is trying.)

Son: “Mommy, I’m pregnant.”

Me: “Oh, really? How did that happen?”

Son: “I wanted to try it.”

(I guess we talk about pregnancy too much in our house.)

(It is 2015. None of our upholstered furniture pieces have a factory warranty on the fabric or the stuffing for more than one year. I take a phone call in customer service.)

Customer: “Yes, I bought a sofa set from you people, and the cushions are starting to compress.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll just need your phone number to look up your account.”

(I pull up her info and flip through all her bills only to find a sofa set purchased in 2007, which we haven’t carried since 2009.)

Me: “Is this the set you purchased in 2007?”

Customer: “Yes. They actually started doing this about four years ago. My friend said I should call you about it.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid your warranty expired in 2008.”

Customer: “Well, if I don’t get service on this, I guess I won’t be shopping through you ever again.”

(Yes. That absolutely makes sense. About as much sense as me calling Ford and demanding service cause my 1979 Lincoln leaks oil.)

(I recently dyed my hair a bright copper red. It’s pretty eye-catching, and I regularly get comments about how I work for the wrong chain because I look like the Wendy’s logo. Usually I just laugh, but this guy is something else. Note: I wear a nametag.)

Customer: “Hey, is your name Wendy?”

Me: *laughs a little* “Nope, afraid not.”

Customer: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yup. I’m 100% positive my name is [My Name]. Did you want your sandwich toasted?”

Customer: “Oh. Well, then, you should go work at Wendy’s!”

Me: *courtesy laughing* “I’m pretty happy here, actually. Sorry, was your sandwich toasted?”

(During this exchange, the line behind him is growing longer and longer, and the guy behind him has started tapping his feet.)

Customer: “But you can’t work here. You need to work at Wendy’s!”

Me: “Well, maybe one day. But right now, I work here. I’m sorry, sir, but I need to know if your sandwich is toasted or not.”

Customer: “But your hair is so red!”

(At this point I give up and assume he doesn’t want it toasted.)

Me: “What kind of veggies would you like?”

Customer: “Oh.” *gives list of veggies he wants* “You just look like Wendy. Oh, I wanted that toasted, though.”

(I had, by this point, put on all the vegetables. The worst part was that he came in and did more or less the same thing two more times! The fourth time he came in, I hid in the back and made my coworker deal with him. He still asked where the “Wendy’s girl” was.)

(Two little girls are in the woman’s washroom. Both sound like they are under six years old.)

Little Girl #1: “I have to poop!”

Little Girl #2: “Don’t say that; we’re innocent people!”

(It was all I could do not to burst out laughing in my stall.)