I work at an old ale house. A couple of years ago, we had a beer from Oskar Blues called “Death by Coconut” on draft. This beer is a porter with, you guessed it, coconut. I had a customer order the “Oskar Blues porter.”

When I delivered her food and was making the courtesy check:

Customer: “Can I order a different beer? This is disgusting.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that. Would you like to order a different beer?”

Customer: “I did NOT realize there was going to be coconut in this.”

I was at a loss and maybe spoke too soon when I said:

Me: “Well, it is called Death by Coconut…”

Customer: “Yeah. I didn’t read that.”

Me: “It’s a good thing you’re not allergic to coconut, then!”

Customer: “Then I guess it really would have been death by coconut!”

She laughed, and I brought the beer menu around. This time she READ the d*** thing and picked out a beer with a flavor profile she liked. Also, she still paid for both beers, so a great customer in the end.

Partway through a two-hour drive, on the way back from a work meeting, I was very, very tired, so I stopped off at a service station for a coffee and a snack. As I went in, there were three of those glass automatic doors in front of me, each with one of those black sensors at the top.

I went up to the nearest one, and nothing happened. I stepped back and tried again, and still, nothing happened. I tried waving up at the sensor, and still, nothing happened.

A woman walked in and paused behind me. Being very tired and a bit annoyed and embarrassed at being ignored by a door, I turned, frowned, and said, “I don’t think I exist.”

The woman gave me a slightly confused look with a hint of consternation before turning and walking up to the glass panel on the right, which immediately opened to allow her in.

This poor woman had walked into a service station to find a strange, confused man trying to walk through a glass, totally immobile dividing wall and babbling about not existing. I hope she got a good laugh out of that.

I did.

I work at a convenience store in a small town. My shift extends an hour after closing and mostly entails cleaning and whatnot. Normally, the store closes at 7:00 pm, but on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, we close at 6:00 pm. This is conveyed via a giant yellow sign outside the convenience store, visible from the road.

On New Year’s Eve, shortly after 6:00 pm, I was about to start cleaning — literally pushing a bucket with a mop sticking out of it — when a car pulled up outside. A would-be customer stepped out of the car, approached the entrance, and walked into the door.

Yes, INTO.

It seems they failed to notice that the automatic door didn’t activate until they met the obstruction. Fortunately, neither the customer nor the door seemed worse off for the collision.

Here I was, mentally preparing for this customer to start yelling at me to open the door, when I saw them look toward the sign near the road. After a moment, the customer made an exaggerated facepalm, walked back to their car, and drove off.

I went about the rest of my shift with a smile on my face, glad I got the one customer who showed up too late and didn’t go ballistic over it.

It’s the peak of Christmas card printing season, and our photo printer which can pump out over 1,600 photos an hour is getting 2,100 photos an hour, all day, every day. Our one-hour photo is over capacity. We stay late to finish each day’s orders. We have signs up explaining that there will be delays.

My boss has had to take a few days off for personal reasons. We all understand; the customers, less so.

It takes almost two hours to get this customer’s photos, and they are not happy.

Customer: “You need more staffing.”

Me: “I apologize. Our boss was scheduled today, but he’s out for his father’s funeral. If you’d like to complain, the store’s hotline is—”

Customer: “OhGODI’msorrynooo—”

And they ran off.

It sticks out in my mind because it was the one and only time I remember from almost nine years of retail where a customer realized that maybe they weren’t the center of the universe.

There is a small store two blocks from me. Imagine a corner store with above-average meat, produce, Algerian pastries, and a ton of unique non-perishables, as well as American staples like ramen and frozen pizza.

I go to this store almost every day, and more than seven times a week. I’m as good of friends with the owners and workers as the social dynamic allows.

Unfortunately, I frequently feel like an a**hole. I am bad at time management, so I often arrive within ten minutes of the store closing.

Me: *Apologetic* “Sorry, sorry, I’ll be quick!”

Employee: *Mopping* “It’s okay! Take your time! I’m sorry; be careful not to slip!”

She is always mopping around this time, and I always carefully plan a route to avoid stepping in and muddying the wet floor.

Today, I show up figuring they will already be closed, but I’m thrilled to see the open sign and the unlocked gate. I meekly open the door, ready to apologize and leave if needed.

Me: *Astonished* “The floor is dry!”

I don’t think anyone heard me as I don’t see anyone. I proceed in, and the owner and I exchange jovial greetings.

Me: “Hey! How has your day been?”

Owner: “Oh. It’s been busy. So busy today…” *Gazes into the distance.* “Busy, busy.” *Snaps out of it and slaps on a grin* “And how are you, my friend?”

Me: “Oh! I’m okay. I will be really quick, okay? I don’t want to keep you all.”

I’m thinking maybe he doesn’t know how late it is and that the employee who usually mops was needed elsewhere due to the busy day.

Owner: *Looks a little confused and chuckles* “Of course, of course, take your time.”

I go and grab a few things. The employee has just started mopping but stops to ring me up. However, I forgot my ramen noodle packet. I go to get it, but this is the one section of the store that has been mopped.

I then remember that I intentionally grabbed a recently cleaned pair of shoes in anticipation of this floor as a last-minute consideration before running out the door. I carefully walk to retrieve the packet and am delighted to see that my footprints are simply slightly drier spots.

I hand the employee the packet as she is still ringing up the other four things; in a small store, this was a very brief footstep adventure.

Me: “I’m sorry, I had to walk through the wet floor.”

Employee: “It’s okay.”

Me: “I’m always doing this, and I’m sorry… but this time I wore special clean shoes, so I wouldn’t leave dirty footprints.”

The woman did a kind of snort-laugh I hadn’t gotten out of her before. This employee is a fairly recent immigrant. When I first met her, my off-topic remarks were met with stressed confusion, as she had prioritized learning the English needed for the job.

From now on, I will wear clean shoes when I’m running late.