(At our thrift store, we take in people who have been court-ordered to do community service. The local court is willing to extend deadlines as long as Community Service Workers can show they’ve been making an effort. On our part, we are normally quite happy to give them a photocopy of their partially-completed hours served to show that they are, in fact, making an honest effort to get through it. Then, this woman comes in. Her stint with us is basically a battle from start to finish. She huffs and puffs and twirls her hair around her finger while telling the supervisor that she simply “doesn’t do that,” and she’s “too good to be stuck doing this.” She complains about having to sweep the floor, then pushes a broom around for three minutes before putting the broom away and claiming she did the whole store.)

Lead: “You’ve been here for four hours and you haven’t gotten a single thing done, so I’m afraid I cannot credit you for the time. I think you need to go home and think about whether doing your community service with us is right for you. There are other businesses that will help you work off your hours.”

Community Service Woman: “Whatever.”

(She leaves. The next day, the phone rings.)

Community Service Woman: “Yeah, so, I need you to send the court a completed record of my hours.”

(I get her information and find the notes.)

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You are supposed to fulfill forty hours. It says you didn’t even come in the first two days, and the third, you refused to do anything for four hours.”

Community Service Woman: “Well, I need you to send a completed copy of the form to the court, now.”

Me: “Ma’am, if you want a completed form, you have to actually do the work.”

Community Service Woman: “Well, I’m not going to do that, so what you are going to do is fill it out and sign off that I did it.”

Me: “No, I don’t think I will.”

Community Service Woman: “Listen to me very carefully. You will fill out my form, you will sign off on it, and you will send it to the court. You will do what I tell you to!”

Me: “Nope, actually, I won’t. I’m not going to lie to the courts. But I will be happy to pass you off to [Supervisor who had to deal with her before], and let you tell her what you need.”

(I put her on hold before she could say anything and gave the supervisor a summary of what she’d tried to pull with me. The supervisor answered the phone, listened, and sweetly promised to submit all the “appropriate” paperwork to the courts. She hung up and asked me to write down, as accurately as possible, my conversation with the Community Service Woman. Instead of a completed hours form, the court got a detailed report from the supervisor and me about how she tried to fudge her paperwork and bully me into lying to the court. We never saw her again, but I doubt things went well before the judge.)

(I work as a donations attendant at a thrift store. My job is basically to accept donations from customers and to reject donations that are too damaged or that we cannot take. A lady comes in with twenty-two big black plastic bags that she says is all clothing. Since we accept all clothing, I don’t bother to rip open the bag and see what’s in it. I finish taking the bags, give her a receipt with a coupon on it, and tell her to have a good day. About an hour later I’m pushing in the cart with the twenty-two plastic bags and one falls out and rips slightly. Being curious, I decide to rip it open further and see what’s in it.)

Me: “WHAT THE F***?!”

Coworker: “What’s wrong?”

Me: “An hour ago, a lady gave me twenty-two big plastic bags that she said were full of clothes. Well, they aren’t clothes. They are all filled with GRASS CLIPPINGS!”

(My coworker about died laughing, and after throwing all the bags in the compressor I ended laughing about it, too. I don’t want to believe this lady intentionally gave me grass just to get a coupon, but HOW do you mix up your grass clippings with clothes?!)

(I’m female, but not a girly-girl. I work at a thrift store. I am working my way through my in-bin, sorting donated shoes. I grab a sneaker and something inside it moves. I’ve heard stories of coworkers finding live mice inside of things before. Our area is considered to be high desert, so of course, less savory things could potentially be inside my shoes. I freeze as the light reflects off of something shiny and segmented. And it’s pretty big. For just a second, my heart seizes. Normally, insects and spiders don’t bother me too terribly much. But on the other hand, I am NOT keen on finding myself with a giant, irate, venomous creature in my collection of footwear. I hold very still for a heartbeat. Nothing moves. I carefully jostle the shoe again, and it moves again, and I get a better look. Segmented legs, but they’re plastic. I breathe again. I extract a pretty realistic toy scorpion out of the shoe. Was it some random kid’s toy that got mixed in by accident? Nope. There’s a price sticker on the bottom of this thing. OUR PRICE STICKER. From this month. I turn and walk kitty-corner across the aisle, holding the scorpion toy by the tail, to the toy processing area.)

Me: *equal parts sweet, sarcastic, and menacing, as I hold up the toy* “[Coworker], dearest… my sweet, wonderful… innocent… darling… coworker… Why was there a scorpion in one of my shoes?”

Coworker: *grins at me, mischievous* “Because I put it there. I’m surprised you didn’t squeal. I was kind of hoping for one.”

(I give him a dirty look and drop the toy into his hand.)

Me: “You’re an a**hole. And unfortunately for you, insects don’t bug me that much.”

Coworker: “I’ve got rubber snakes if you want!”

(I roll my eyes, grab an equally realistic rubber snake toy, loop it around my neck and parade off with it.)

Me: “Good luck scaring me with snakes!”

(I work full-time at a thrift store. These conversations happen far too often:)

Customer: “Excuse me, what color tag is on sale?”

(This is most often asked while the customer is standing between two eye-level signs advertising the special of the week.)

Customer: “Hey, which way to the donation center?

(Asked while standing next to a sign pointing to the donation center.)

Customer: “Any new racks coming out?”

(Said while standing next to a rack of clothes that was brought out in the last ten seconds.)

(Following the death of my son-in-law, my daughter and her two children come to live with me. I’m not the richest lady around, so we have to seriously budget while my daughter gets back on her feet. It’s been rough on everyone, the eldest girl, age three, especially, since she and her father were so close. That particular day, we are frequenting a local thrift store that always has some sort of deal going on, looking for some cheap clothes for the kids. My granddaughter is getting restless and doesn’t want to sit still in the cart. I start handing things to the lady at the register, but I keep having to stop to try to keep my granddaughter seated. All of a sudden, she starts yelling and reaching for something.)

Me: “Hey, hey, careful. What is it, sweetie?”

(The cashier looks where my granddaughter is pointing. She reaches over to grab something.)

Cashier: “Maybe she wants to hold Woodstock?”

(I look to see the cashier holding a little yellow bird that I only know from the “Peanuts” comics. It is a little dirty but it is still in great shape and is quite cute. She hands the stuffed bird to my granddaughter and the girl immediately quiets down and snuggles it. I feel myself getting a little choked up.)

Me: “Thank you.”

Cashier: *smiles* “No problem. He’s my register buddy for today. I found him in toys. Woodstock is the best bird, so I just had to have him up here with me.”

(I return the smile as she scans my stuff.)

Me: “It makes sense that she would notice it there. Her father used to read her Peanuts books all the time. She loves that series.”

(The cashier pauses for a moment, and her smile starts slipping a little.)

Cashier: “I got into Peanuts through my dad, too. He gave me all his books when I was little. It’s something we both enjoy together.”

Me: “Really? That’s sweet.”

(The cashier finishes ringing up my stuff and is preparing to move on to payment when she stops for a moment. She looks at my granddaughter, and then at me.)

Cashier: “Does she want to keep him? She can have him if she wants.”

Me: “No, no, we can’t. I’m already tight on money.”

Cashier: “Actually, it’s fine. We have a special kids’ club here where children under 12 get a $0.99 toy or a kids book for free with any purchase. He’s a $0.99 toy, so he qualifies for the deal.”

Me: *surprised* “Really?”

Cashier: “Yeah.” *looks at the bird* “I wanted it for myself, but I think she needs him a little more than I do. After all, Woodstock is the best bird. He deserves only the best home.”

Me: *holding back tears* “Thank you. Thank you so much.” *turns to my granddaughter* “Sweetie, she says you can keep the bird. Can you say, ‘Thank you’?”

Granddaughter: “Thank you.”

Cashier: “You are very welcome.”

(We finished checking out and left. My granddaughter quietly hugged that bird all the way home. I think it’s going to make a great addition to our home.)