(A customer has knocked the lid off of a milk bottle and some has leaked onto the floor. She is very upset and embarrassed.)
Customer: “Oh, I’m so, so sorry! Can I clean it up? I’ll pay for it, too. It was my fault!”
(I look her dead in the eye and speak in a completely dead-pan voice.)
Me: “Hun, there’s no use crying over spilled milk.”
(My other customers laughed, and the look of relief on her face cheered me up no end!)
(I am at the blood bank. There are two clinics running simultaneously: one for regular blood tests and another for pregnancy-related blood, linked with the midwife clinic next door. Regular clinic patients have to abide by the ticket system. The midwife patients do not.)
Phlebotomist: “Ms. [My Name], just come through here, please.”
(I stand up to go through to the chair behind the curtain, only to be pushed out of the way by a middle-aged woman.)
Woman: “I’ve been waiting over an hour for a simple blood test and that girl has only been waiting five minutes. You will take my blood now.”
Phlebotomist: “Ma’am. You need to get out of that chair. I can’t take your blood here. You need to wait until you’re called by someone on the other side.”
Woman: “I’m not moving! I’m number 27! I’m next to be called!”
Phlebotomist: “Fair enough. When’s your due date? Have you fasted for two hours for your prenatal diabetes test?”
Woman: “What are you on about? I’m not here for a diabetes check! I’m not pregnant.”
Me: “Well, I am. So get out of that chair!”
Woman: “Well, I never!”
Me: “Lady, this is the midwives’ clinic. You’re in the wrong place!”
Woman: “I’ve been waiting over an hour!”
Phlebotomist: “Well, you’re going to have to wait longer than that. Security is here to take you away. Come back another day, when you’ve calmed down.”
(She was escorted out and I got my blood done. Her number was called as I left the waiting room.)
(I work in an art supply shop. We sell canvas, paints, and the like. Because we are right next to a really prominent art college, we get lots of customers as we are cheaper than their on-campus shop. We have a lot of regulars and tend to know many by name. One regular, a good-looking man, never says a word to me except to ask the occasional question. He has come in every Sunday for almost a year.)
Me: “Did you find everything you needed? We’ve got a special on charcoal at the moment: two packs for £5.”
Regular: “No, that’s all right. I do have a question, though.”
Me: “Sure, go ahead.”
Regular: “Will you go out with me?”
Me: *awkward* “I’m so sorry. I’ve got a boyfriend.”
Regular: “OH, FOR F***’S SAKE!”
Me: “Excuse me?!”
Regular: “I’ve been coming to this stupid shop for almost a year, buying all this crap, and you can’t even go on a date with me?”
Me: “I’m sorry, but I have a boyfriend. You have to pay for this stuff, and then you have to leave.”
Regular: “I spent so much money on you! I don’t even do ‘art’! I just wanted to be close to you!”
Me: “…”
Regular: “You owe me! I love you!”
(The man proceeded to jump on top of the expensive canvas he was buying, snapping it in half. He also threw the paints he was buying on the floor. One of them burst. His tantrum got louder until my manager finally escorted him out and told me to take my break. The man never came back.)
(I’ve just started working in the kitchen of a bingo hall as a food runner, and one of the chefs is eating a mozzarella stick, as it’s quiet. Just as she’s finishing her last mouthful, a senior member of staff comes in.)
Manager: “I hope you paid for that.”
Chef #1: *whilst eating* “Paid for what?”
(The manager turns to the other chef, looking for affirmation.)
Manager: “[Chef #2]?”
Chef #2: “She told me not to say anything.”
(The manager turns to me.)
Manager: “[My Name], remember you’re on probation and I can fire you.”
Me: “I saw nothing. Unless I need it for blackmail.”
Manager: “Okay.”
(He then grabbed a slice of bacon out of the warming tray and started eating it as he left.)
(I am about to start a semester abroad, my first real experience living abroad which I am, admittedly, nervous for. My mother and I have woken up at about three in the morning in order to make the four-hour trip to the airport. I have a bad habit of not worrying about things and assuming I can figure it out if things go south. My mother is the exact opposite and worries endlessly. This happens about two hours into the trip.)
Mum: “Oh! Did you bring your passport?”
Me: “Yes, of course, I did.” *still checks*
Mum: “Just checking.”
Me: “Can’t catch the plane if I didn’t, anyway.”
(A little later.)
Mum: “Are you sure you’ve got your accommodation sorted?”
Me: “I better f****** hope so; otherwise, I’m just going to have to figure something out.”
Mum: “Wait, so you do have it sorted?”
Me: “Yeah, Mum. Please, can you chill out? I’m nervous, too, but you’re not helping.”
(A little while later:)
Mum: “Do you have your boarding pass?”
Me: “It’d be too late to do anything if I didn’t, so I don’t know why you are asking. Yes. Yes, I do, can you stop? You’re freaking me out.”
Mum: “All right, sorry…”
(After four and a half hours, we are nearing the airport.)
Mum: “Are you sure your passport is in date?”
Me: “Why would you ask me that?! Why would it even occur to you to ask me that?! No! No, I am not sure! I was sure, but now I’m not! And even if it wasn’t, what could we possibly do at this point to fix the problem? All that question has done has made this more stressful than it needs to be!”
Mum: *starts laughing* “Because I’m crazy! I’m sorry!”
Me: “Don’t be sorry. Shut up! And before you ask, no, I have not checked if the airport has an infestation of airport alligators, and even if they do, we’re here now, so I’m just gonna have to deal with it!”
(We laughed until we got to the terminal, and my mum told the rest of my family when she got home. Now “Airport Alligators” is a family joke for unnecessary stress.)
