An older man and a teenager are at my checkout. One of the items they’re purchasing is a slab cake from our bakery with “Happy 16th Birthday!” written on it.

Me: “Happy birthday to whoever is turning sixteen!”

Teenager: “Oh, I am actually.”

Customer: “My nephew, turning sixteen! Can you believe it?! I told him I’d give him twenty dollars for every A he got at the end of the year, and he got nothing but A’s! Can you believe it?!”

Me: “That’s amazing, congratulations!”

Customer: “Yeah, he’s a hard worker.”

The uncle then spots a homeless man sitting outside the store — his usual spot. The uncle turns to his nephew.

Customer: “Work hard and get a good job, or you’ll end up a useless bum like him. F****** drain on society, I swear.”

I actually physically stop scanning items for a second, since the change of the uncle’s tone is so jarring. The nephew notices this, too, but doesn’t say anything straight away.

I ring up the total and tell them.

Nephew: “When I’ve been here before, I’ve been asked if I’d like to round up the purchase to give to a charity.”

Me: “That’s right! If you’d like to do that, you could donate thirty-one cents to one of the charities that our store supports.”

Nephew: “Do any of them support homeless people?”

Me: “We actually do!”

Nephew: “I’d like to donate to that one, please.”

The uncle scoffs but doesn’t protest.

Customer: “I see what you’re doing, [Nephew]. Whatever, fine, it’s just thirty-one cents.”

Nephew: “I’d like to donate all of this, too, please.”

The teenager produces a pile of cash from his pocket. It’s easily over a hundred dollars.

Customer: “What?! No! That’s your birthday money! That’s for you!”

Nephew: “And this is what I’m doing with it.”

Customer: “I forbid it! I told you that money was for you to invest!”

Nephew: “And I am. I’m investing in the people that society has forgotten. You wouldn’t take back the money that I earned fair and square now, would you, Uncle?”

The customer glares at his nephew and then at me, as if I could do anything about it, and then he just kinda gives up.

Customer: “Fine. Waste your money. You’ll never get another cent from me!”

The uncle storms off, and the nephew actually donates all the money!

Nephew: “Honestly, if he hadn’t won $100,000 in the lottery a couple of years ago, he’d be homeless, too. I’ll consider this his hypocrite tax.”

The next generation will be all right… 

Related:
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 13
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 12
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 11
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 10
Homeless Is Where The Heart Is, Part 9

This story was pieced together by a coworker and me. I get a call and it sounds like a teenage boy.

Teenage Boy: “Hi. One of your colleagues is getting shouted at by my dad right now. I’m really sorry about that. He’s been on the phone for twenty minutes if that helps identify him, but anyway, I know what’s wrong. The Internet is down because…”

The teenager goes into some technical issues that are most likely the issue and provides all the security details. We actually get the issue fixed in about five minutes!

Me: “Glad I could help!”

Teenage Boy: “Thank you! I’m going to go and save your colleague now.”

He hangs up, and I take a quick break to walk the floor. It doesn’t take me long to find my flustered coworker being shouted at on the phone. Suddenly, he stops looking so anxious, actually smiles, says the sign-off spiel, and puts down his headset. He tells me this is what went down.

Coworker: “Sir, I am trying to help you, but—”

Coworker’s Caller: “You ain’t trying to do s***! I’m trying to get my Internet back here, and all you’re telling me to do is type in some numbers and all this other complicated s***, and that’s your job! You’re just being lazy!”

Coworker: “Sir, that is just our standard IP address for your router, and—”

Coworker’s Caller: “You think I am dumb? You have the means to fix it from your end, but—”

Suddenly, there is another voice on the call: the teenage boy.

Teenage Boy: “Dad… Dad! The Internet is fixed! Look!”

Coworker’s Caller: “What? But… how?”

Teenage Boy: “I called them and got it fixed. It was pretty simple if you actually just followed their instructions.”

Coworker’s Caller: “But that’s what I have been doing!”

Teenage Boy: “No, Dad, you’ve been being an a**hole. Now hang up the phone! Those poor workers are scored based on call times, and it’s been nearly half an hou—” *Click*

There is hope for the next generation.

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I have just sat a family down at their table and handed them their menus. They are parents, an adult daughter, and a teenage son. I am about to come by to take their drink orders when the adult daughter approaches me. She stuffs a twenty-dollar bill into my hand.

Daughter: “Here, take this. This is to say sorry for whatever is about to come. Wait a minute and then come back to the table.”

Confused, I oblige and check in on another table quickly before going back to theirs.

Me: “Are you guys ready for your drink orders?”

Mother: “We are not ‘you guys’. We are not your buddies, so don’t refer to us that way. And yes, I will have an Arnold Palmer.”

Me: “Certainly, ma’am.”

I take everyone else’s orders without issue and bring them out to them.

Me: “Hi! Are you… ready to order your meal?”

Mother: “The last time I was here, I ordered the chicken parmesan, and it was a complete disappointment.”

She lets the sentence hang in the air without any follow-up.

Me: “I… I am sorry to hear that. So, will you be ordering something else?”

Mother: “Are you stupid? I want that again, but I better not be disappointed this time!”

Me: “What was it about the meal last time that you found disappointing, ma’am?”

Mother: “Just… all of it.”

Me: “It’s just… it’s likely to be prepared the same way as it was before unless you wanted to make any changes?”

Mother: “Why are you still talking?”

Daughter: “Oh, my God, Mom! What the h*** are you doing?!”

Mother: “What? I’m just letting them know not to disappoint me.”

Daughter: “Mom, we all know that no matter what they do, you will be ‘disappointed’ and will find something to complain about, and you’ll ask for the manager and try to get some kind of discount. It happens every time with you.”

Mother: “It’s not my fault that their service is lacking.”

Daughter: “We could go and have tea with the freaking Queen in Buckingham Palace, and you’d find something about their service to complain about, Mom! It’s embarrassing. Stop it.” *To me* “Sorry about that. Bring her the chicken parmesan, as normal. She’ll find something to hate about it, but that’s on her, not you.”

Everyone else gives me their orders, looking slightly embarrassed and apprehensive of the mother, and things go smoothly for a while. I bring out their food and top up their waters, and I am especially attentive to the table, checking in and keeping on top of their needs so as not to give the mother any ammo.

When they appear to have finished their meals, mother included, I come back over.

Me: “Did you guys want to see the dessert menu?”

Before I realized I said it, Mom’s eyes go wide.

Mother: “That’s it! You called us ‘you guys’ again! I want to speak to the manager!”

Me: “Apologies, ma’am. It’s just a force of habit. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Mother: *Almost screeching* “Managerrrrrr!”

I’m about to turn and get the manager when the adult daughter speaks up again.

Daughter: “And say what, Mom? You’re offended because the waitress was friendly? Your life is so coddled and privileged that someone calling us ‘you guys’ is enough to set you off? Can you even hear yourself right now?”

Mother: “I’m only—”

Daughter: “—only being a b****! You’re never going to change! This is the last time any of us eat out with you, and you only have yourself to blame.” *To me* “Thanks so much for your amazing service. We’ll just take the check, please? No need to fetch your manager.”

I bring them the check without argument. The mother is seething but remaining silent. While they discuss the situation and who pays for what, I give the manager an update on everything that happened.

Manager: “You did good. Nothing is ever going to satisfy people like that, so don’t waste energy trying.”

They pay and start heading out of the door. My manager goes up to them as they’re exiting and shouts out with a beaming smile.

Manager: “Take care, you guys!“

The mother was about to go on a rampage, but her husband dragged her out silently, in a move that looked like it had been practiced.

The family has since been back to eat on several occasions. I’ve never seen the mother ever again.

This story is part of our Highest-Voted-Stories-Of-2023-(so far!) roundup!

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We’re next door to a school, and the students (ages thirteen to fifteen) often come and spend their lunch break at the library, hanging out and playing cards. This year, the new seventh-graders are a rather cocky lot. There’s one group in particular we’re having problems with: a gang of teenage boys who are extremely cool and tough — at least according to themselves. They won’t listen when we tell them about our rules, they often leave a mess behind, and they’re generally loud and disrespectful, both to staff and to other visitors. On several occasions, we’ve been forced to ask them to leave, because they’re disturbing other patrons.

It’s not that we don’t want teenagers in the library, but it’s very frustrating to have to be the stereotype of the stern library lady who walks around and hushes people all day.

One day, one of our regular patrons, who is on maternity leave, comes in with her toddler and her baby. They hang out in the small children’s area. The baby is crawling around on the floor in our play corner, chewing on everything he can reach, and the toddler is all over the place. Mommy is a little overwhelmed keeping track of them both.

I’m busy helping another patron when I notice the toddler making her way over to the sofa where my teenage troublemakers are sitting. I try to keep half an eye on the situation and be ready to intervene, but a minute or so later, one of the boys gets up from the sofa, takes the toddler by the hand, and escorts her back to her mommy. A moment later, the other boys follow.

I’m half-expecting some kind of trouble, so I try to help the patron I’m with as fast as possible, but when I’m finished, I find that the general ruckus that always accompanies this group of teenage boys seems to have quieted down.

I decide to do a walk-around in the little children’s area, officially to put some books back on the shelves and clean up a little but mostly to make sure the boys aren’t bothering my regular and her kids.

What I find is the entire group of cool, tough teenage boys lying on the floor, playing with the baby. One of them has cozied up with the toddler and is reading a picture book to her. Mommy seems perfectly content with the free babysitting services and is happily answering curious questions about her kids.

It was the quietest lunch hour in weeks, and I was tempted to ask Mommy to keep coming in at the same time every day so my young troublemakers would keep being distracted by the cuteness.

I work in a restaurant. I took a very chaotic table of teens today, celebrating one teen’s fifteenth birthday. What started out as a party of eight turned into a party of thirteen, and they all downed their sodas like crazy, so I had to do a bunch of refills.

They were super sweet, though, and kept thanking me for “putting up with them,” which was so cute.

At one point, I asked them:

Me: “Hey, guys, are we gonna order any entrees, or do we want a few more minutes?”

Teens: “I think we are good on entrees, but we are ready to order our meals!”

So cute, I could cry!