My brother (seventeen) is searching for his phone.

Brother: “I can’t find it! Have you seen my phone?!”

Mom: “No, I don’t keep tabs on your stuff.”

Brother: “This is bad! I need to call [Girlfriend] and tell her where to meet up!”

Mom: “Just use the landline.”

Brother: “Land… line?”

My mom escorts my brother to the phone connected to the wall in the kitchen.

Mom: “Landline.”

Brother: “What is it?”

Mom: “Are you serious?! It’s a phone!”

Brother: “Oh! Like in the old movies?”

Mom: “Yes. Call her from this.”

He picks up the phone, looks at the numbers, and hits another roadblock.

Brother: “I don’t know her number.”

Mom: “You would not have survived the nineties for a second.”

Our hotel’s check-in age is eighteen, which is pretty much the norm for every hotel in our region. This is clearly written on every single booking website. 

It’s about 11 PM when this young lady comes in for her reservation.

Guest: “I’ve been driving all day!”

Me: “No problem, I’ll check you in quickly so you can get some rest.”

Except that when I check her ID, she isn’t 18. I inform her of this.

Guest: *Shocked.* “I’ve been able to check into hotels before without being eighteen.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but at our particular hotel – and pretty much all hotels in the city – this information is clearly written on the booking website you made the reservation on. Are you travelling with your parents?”

Guest: “Nope, I’m alone.”

I call my manager, who tells me no, this is the one rule I can’t bend.

The guest calls her mom, who calls me at the reception. Turns out her mom is in a city that’s five hours away.

Guest’s Mom: “My daughter is an extremely responsible and respectful young lady, and nothing will happen if you check her in.”

Me: “Ma’am, I believe you, but rules are rules, and I’m pretty sure there are legal matters involved here.”

Guest’s Mom: “So you’re going to leave her all alone out on the streets then?”

Me: “Well, ma’am, maybe you should’ve thought about that before making your reservation at my hotel, where your daughter could not check in by herself?”

In the end, after some back-and-forth long phone calls, my manager agreed to let the young lady check in, because it was late at night and nowhere else would take her.

I was just bewildered. What kind of parent lets their not-yet-eighteen child travel all alone without checking whether they can check into accommodations?

A teenager comes in with his mom trailing behind, clearly dragged into this mission against her will. He makes a beeline for the counter, holding an old Xbox 360 game in his hand.

Teen: “Hey, do you guys buy games?”

Me: “Sure, depends on the title and condition. What’ve you got?

He slaps down a copy of one of the earlier ‘Call of Duty’ games, in a cracked case with no manual and a disc that looks like it doubled as a coaster.

Me: “Oof. That one’s… pretty old. It’s basically a retro title at this point.”

Teen: *Confidently.* “Yeah, but it’s a classic! Should be worth a lot.”

Mom: “He’s been talking about this all week like he was bringing in a family heirloom.”

Me: “Well, I can scan it and check.”

I scan the barcode. The system thinks for a second, then spits out a trade-in value.

Me: “Alright, looks like we can offer you $0.99 store credit.”

Teen: “Are you serious? That game was iconic!”

Me: “Sorry, I can only sell it for what the system offers. Even a manager can’t override that.”

Teen: “But… but this game belongs in the gaming hall of fame!”

Me: “Maybe you could take it there, then?”

I admit I might have been a bit sarcastic, but what did this guy expect?

Teen: “People will look at this and buy it because of the happy memories!”

Me: “I used to work for Blockbuster. Memories don’t pay the bills, my dude…”

I work at a mental health crisis call center. Most of our callers are people who are genuinely seeking help or connection.

And then we have this caller:

Me: “Crisis Line, my name is [Work Name]. I’m a trained counselor. May I have your name and phone number?”

Caller: “Yeah, I’m Mr. Long Johnson.”

Me: “Okay. That was Mr. Johnson?”

Caller: “That’s right. Mr. Long Big D*ck Johnson.”

Me: “And how can I help you tonight?”

Caller: “I have fourteen inches here that wants to talk to you.”

Me: *Deciding to have some fun with this caller.* “There’s a fourteen-year-old there with you who wants to talk?”

Caller: “No, I’ve got fourteen inches.”

Me: “Okay. I hear there’s an adolescent with you. This line is specifically for adults, but I can get the number for the Teen Line for you.”

Caller: “My fourteen inches wants to talk.”

Me: Right, sir. Your fourteen-year-old needs to talk. Like I said, this line is specifically for adults, but I do have other numbers you can call for him, including one line that is just for teens.”

Caller: “No! I, uh…” *Hangs up.*

A teenager comes in with his friend. They walk straight to the back wall of sneakers, points at a pair, and says loudly:

Customer: “Yo, I want these in a size eleven. But only if they’re real. Not like… fake display shoes.”

Looks like he’s trying to get attention, and sadly, I have to be the one to give it. I walk over.

Me: “They’re real. The displays are just one shoe, the rest are in boxes in the back.”

Customer: “Nah, bro, I mean real. Like, not fake fake. Not replicas.”

Me: “They’re from the actual brand. We don’t sell knockoffs here.”

He looks suspicious, like I’m pulling a con on him. His friend finally speaks up: 

Friend: “Dude, this is a real store, not some back-of-the-truck stuff.”

Customer: “Yeah, well… I’ve seen TikToks.”

Friend: “We also saw a TikTok where a guy thought the moon was a hologram.”

Customer: “Alright, fine. Just making sure. I don’t buy fakes.”

I go get the shoes. When I come back and hand them over, he looks at them, then points at the label.

Customer: “These say ‘Made in Vietnam.’ That real?”

Me: *Without missing a beat – HUGE customer service smile plastered over my Asian face.* “Yup. So was I, and I can assure you I am very real.”

That seemed to seal the deal, and he got the sneakers.