I’m stacking shelves many years ago. A customer pokes me in the ribs — a big no-no, but I let it slide.

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: “Which colour is better? Orange or blue? Hmm?

She is holding two pillow covers. I would normally engage the customer, ask about the room, and discuss how the orange might give a warmer feel. But her poking me and her sour disposition have already annoyed me.

Me: “The orange.”

Customer: “No, you’re wrong! The blue is better.”

Me: “Okay, glad to have been of help.”

Customer: “Well, I’m ready to pay.

Me: “Of course. The tills are right over there.”

Customer: “Aren’t you going to do it?”

Me: “One of my colleagues is at the tills. Unfortunately, I cannot leave this stock in the way as it would be a trip hazard.”

She seems to think about this. I get the impression she wasn’t expecting a factual, to-the-point answer.

Customer: “You know, if you restocked the shelves at night, then it wouldn’t need doing in the day!”

Me: “Then how would I help all of our ‘lovely’ customers with their colour choices?”

Customer: “I don’t like your tone.”

Me: “Duly noted. Please pay at the tills.”

She gave up and stormed off. I heard her argue with my manager, but when I asked all he said was:

Manager: “Oh, yeah, the crazy lady? I just told her that I would look into it and walked away from her. I don’t have time for fake problems.”

I’m shopping at a discount shop. At the tills, they have bottles of Coke for a few pence each. The woman in front of me places her items on the till, spots the pile, and then asks:

Customer: “What’s wrong with the Coke? Is it out of date?”

Cashier: “No, but it nearly is.”

Customer: *Accusingly* “This one says it’s out of date!”

Cashier: “That is the best before date, and that’s today.”

Customer: “Let me have a look.”

She begins to paw through the bottles. Each one of them (surprise, surprise) has today’s date on it. She then turns to the guy with her and has a conversation about whether it’s safe to drink, what happens to the Coke after the date, how it’s just a conspiracy etc., etc. — all while the line behind her grows.

Me: “If 5p is such a topic of conversation for you, I’m happy to buy you one myself. But if we could hurry this along?”

Customer: “Some people have no idea of patience.”

Me: “Nor do some people have any appreciation of others, it seems.”

She finally pays and leaves. I place down my items and the cashier puts a bottle in my bag.

Me: “Oh, I was joking about buying a bottle.”

Cashier: “Oh, don’t worry about it; I’m throwing these out later. I didn’t realise there would be such drama over some cheap Coke — may as well give them away.”

Me: “Thanks!”

It was only a few pence but a nice gesture. The Coke tasted fine and probably would have for days after that. I wonder if that woman takes all her purchases that seriously; she must have no time for anything else in the world.

My family has gone to a karaoke night at a pub because my sister is a very talented singer and my dad wants to show off. The little one and I get our duet out of the way first, and then it’s her time to shine. Almost every time she gets up to sing, the pub noticeably quietens.

Later into the night, my dad is tipsily boasting to the bartender about how great my sister is. She’s in this orchestra and did this music exam, and so on and so forth. However, he’s sober enough to notice the very drunk guy who starts trying to hit on my sister.

Dad: “Oi, knock it off. She’s only sixteen!”

Drunk Guy: “Huh? No, no.”

Dad: “Get lost.”

The drunk guy gets lost to a table a bit away and thankfully doesn’t come back to bother my sister again. Since my dad has that sorted, I’m not paying too much attention to the drunk guy and notice that the bartender seems to be studiously not paying attention. My dad goes back to his boasting, though, and the bartender chats with him some more.

Dad: “And can you believe that she’s only sixteen?”

Bartender: “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

Dad: “What d’you mean?”

She then explained to us that our town had a town-only law where under-eighteens weren’t allowed in pubs after 21:00. That’s the same time that the karaoke started. She wasn’t going to ID either me or my sisters, but since my dad told her the age, she had to kick us out.

Cue Dad grumbling the whole way home about how it was so unfair that my sister wasn’t allowed to join the karaoke, and how was she going to show off how talented she was if she didn’t get the chance to?

On the other hand, my fourteen-year-old sister was very happy that she wasn’t going to be forced to sit in a pub all evening again, and I was happy for the excuse to stay home and babysit her.

I entered a 200-km Audax (non-competitive cycling event), and I have a day return train ticket from London. I am just recovering from a broken clavicle, and it turns out this ride is a bit much for me at my current level of fitness. When I realise I am not going to finish the ride in time to qualify, I slow down and wend my gentle way back to the station to take me home.

I am hungry and tired and the temperature is dropping. I find I have missed the last train back to London, but no worries; it’s only four hours until the first morning train, so I can just curl up in the waiting room until it comes. It’s warm enough, and I am so tired that I will probably have a nice sleep. My biggest concern is whether I need a new ticket.

A train employee comes in and asks me where I am going. I tell her London. She points to the depart board where there is only one train, heading away from London, arriving in a little while. She tells me once that train departs, the station will close until the first train in the morning. She looks very concerned and walks away. 

I am too tired to be worried. I know it’s impossible after midnight to book a hotel room online for the same night, and the idea of cycling around to find a hotel with a manned reception or calling random hotels sounds harder than the alternative of just finding a bus shelter and curling up until the station reopens. I won’t die at 3°C, and I am unlikely to come to harm. It’s been a hard day, and it’s just going to be a little harder.

Meanwhile, my heroine is apparently more worried than I am. Maybe she knows her town better than I do and doesn’t want to leave a woman sleeping rough near the train station. Or maybe I just look as pathetic as I feel. Whatever the reason, she has obviously been thinking hard about how to keep me safe or warm or both.

Train Worker: “I’ve worked out what you should do. Catch the train to Peterborough. When it gets there, just stay where you are. An hour later, it will leave again, coming back through Stevenage and on to London. I will let the guard on board know what you are doing.”

So that was it. A concerned rail worker went out of her way to make sure I was warm and safe the whole way back to London. I even got enough sleep to make the cycle from Kings Cross station to my home pleasant — London before six is a delightful place to cycle. She was so careful of my welfare that it would not have surprised me if she was considering inviting me into her home before alighting on a better solution.

I filled in a very positive customer feedback form, which was actually rather difficult, as the form assumed I was making a complaint! Oh, and the gates were open when I got to London, so I didn’t have to buy a new ticket.

Related:
If They’re Willing, There’s Usually A Way

I’m working the front of house. I’m dressed smartly as the restaurant is reasonably formal — mid- to high-end food and prices. As our system is down, I’m carrying a clipboard with the reserved list, so it’s pretty obvious that I’m working.

A woman my age walks in alone; no one seems to be following her.

Me: “Good morning. Do you have a reservation?”

Woman: “Oh, no. Do I need one?”

Me: “We do have some tables available. How many are dining today?”

Woman: “Well, it’s—”

A guy dressed in a sideways cap, tracksuit, and very bright trainers (sneakers) walks in and speaks to me.

Guy: “Hey, what you talking to her for?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Woman: *Sighs* “He works here. He was trying to find us a table.”

Guy: “Hmm, I know what these guys are like, though.”

Me: “Was it just you two today?”

Guy: “Yeah, find us a booth.”

Me: “We don’t have ‘booths’ but I can certainly find you somewhere private.”

I stuck them way back away from view. I checked on them. The guy was on his phone and it all felt very awkward. We got busy quickly, and I was asked to move on a guy out front who was disturbing our guests

Surprise, surprise, it was the guy from earlier. I could smell what he was smoking from a mile off. I eventually managed to get him to move around the corner, but he didn’t go without a fight.

I managed to miss the theatrics, but apparently, he stormed out before the bill was paid. I checked on the woman he was with, and she was pretty calm.

Turns out this was some sort of last chance/reconciliation dinner. She told me she had some amazing-sounding job offer out of the country, but he wanted to stay to work on his rap career.

I bought her a dessert. She left a tip and I wished her well.

A couple of weeks later, we got a card through the door thanking me for the support and a small note that she was on the way to the airport… alone.

I hope she does great.