I worked at a truck stop about twenty years ago. It was a weekend, and there were only two of us working, and managers never worked weekends.

I was working by myself while the other cashier went on her break. I started getting a little bit of a line, but nothing drastic. One man yelled at me:

Customer: “Can’t you open another register?!”

Me: “I could, but I could still only run one at a time.”

Customer: “Two registers, two hands!”

Me: “And sadly, only one brain, so I’d have to divide my attention between the two, so each line will take twice the time.”

Customer: *Goes back to waiting in sullen silence.*

I was halfway through a long, tent-camping-only road trip when I stopped at a truck stop in desperate need of a shower. Before going into one, I grabbed a bottle of shampoo from the stop’s store and brought it to the counter staffed by a very haggard looking cashier.

Me: “Just this, please.”

Cashier: “That’ll be… one of your fingers.”

Me: “I see… do you have a knife back there I could borrow, then?”

He slams a huge pair of pliers on to the counter.

Cashier: “All we’ve got are these.”

Me: “In that case I think I’ll need some Tylenol, too. Unless you happen to take debit?”

Cashier: “Yeah, I guess we could do that instead.”

And I went off to wash my hair, thankfully with all ten fingers.