I’m walking toward our back room to grab some plastic bags for the registers when my coworker grabs me and pulls me aside. He noticed a customer shopping in the men’s clothing who has a backpack on. We don’t allow backpacks inside our store to prevent shoplifting, and we have clear signs letting customers know of our policy.

Me: “How are you doing today, sir?”

Customer: “I’m doing fine.”

Me: “That’s great to hear! I just want to let you know that our store doesn’t allow backpacks inside for security reasons. I don’t think you’re going to steal from us, but I have to follow store policy. If you want, I can take your backpack up front behind the register and bring you back a ticket for it so you can keep shopping.”

Customer: “No, that’s okay. I’ll just leave.”

Me: “Okay. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Customer: “So that’s gonna be your reaction?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “You’re just gonna let me walk out of here? You’re willing to lose a sale over my backpack?”

Me: “Unfortunately, sir, as I’ve already explained, we don’t allow backpacks in our store. I’d be happy to take it up front for you if you want to keep shopping, but if not, you will need to leave.”

Customer: “That’s f****** stupid! You’re willing to lose my money because of a f****** backpack?! That’s a stupid-a** policy!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, I am not the person who sets policy.”

I spot my manager, who is walking toward us carrying a stack of laptops.

Me: “If you would like to speak to a manager about this, my manager is coming toward us.” *To my manager* “This customer would like to speak with you.”

I take the laptops from her and carry them up front to our electronics case while she talks to the customer. I run back and grab the bags I need and bring them to the other cashiers. As I’m refilling the bag dispenser at my register nearest the entrance, the customer walks by me rather quickly. 

Customer: *Flipping me off* “F*** you, man! You’re an a**hole. I hope you’re happy now that you’ve lost my f****** business and I’m never coming back to this f****** s*** store ever again.”

He stormed out, still swearing up and down.

Me: “Your total is $96.37.”

Customer: “But the total was $70 in my head!”

I go over her purchases with her to make sure everything rang up correctly; it did.

Customer: “But it was only $70 in my head!”

I go over the receipt with her again, adding everything out loud.

Customer: “I don’t understand why it’s so much; it was only $70 in my head!”

I pull out my phone calculator and calculate everything again one by one and add the tax. The calculator, of course, shows the same total as the register.

Customer: “But it was only $70 in my head!”

I just shrugged, as there was really nothing else I could do, and she left.

My company does computer forensics. We go through the metadata on a computer to find “fingerprints.” It lets us identify who did what. If you’ve ever read a police case where something was found on the criminal’s computer and used to convict them, that’s us. But it’s also very technical and tricky because we need to prove it was the criminal who used the computer and what specifically they did. “It’s obvious” isn’t good enough.

What that means is that defence lawyers love to find ways to invalidate our evidence. We can’t prove the evidence wasn’t tampered with before we looked at it. For this reason, when transporting the evidence, we cannot let it out of our sight. If the computer has potentially been touched by another person, it can no longer be used as evidence. You don’t want to have to throw out a conviction on a technicality like that.

Anyhow. To the flight attendant who said, “I’m putting this on Not Always Right,” when I told her the second plane ticket was for the computer and that I couldn’t put it in the overhead luggage: that’s why.

I am enthusiastic about fish and sharks, and I volunteer at a small aquarium that features local ocean species. The center exhibit contains very small sharks, hardly longer than a foot, with lithe bodies and brown patterns.

Visitor reactions vary. Some can get as close as “sand shark” or “dogfish.” Kids often run in shouting, “Tiger shark!” or else ignore them, thinking they aren’t sharks at all. Adults sometimes are fooled, too, and I have heard them more than once identified as, of all things, eels. I love the reactions when I tell them those really are sharks. Their small size doesn’t help much, as it means having to listen to parents singing Baby Shark until I inform them and their kids that these are adult sharks.

Imagine my surprise when a little boy, maybe six or seven tops, ran in and shouted, “CHAIN CATSHARK!”

To this day, that was the only time I didn’t have to inform a visitor of what species they were looking at. I hadn’t even heard of the species myself before volunteering there, and I’m obsessed. And yet, this boy had. His parents explained that he just loved sharks. I was proud.

I’m at a cafe where I usually hang out on Saturdays to work on my novel. Most of the staff know me, but they recently hired a new manager, and one of the baristas admits that they don’t really like her.

One day, I sit down in front of my computer at the cafe and prepare to type the words of a future bestseller. I have my earphones in, listening to music.

After a few minutes, I realize that there’s a lady beside me, tapping her foot. I take the earphones out.

Me: “Can I help you?”

Lady: “I’m the manager here.”

Me: “Okay… Am I doing anything wrong?”

Lady: “Are you even prepared for the interview?”

Me: “What interview? I’m just a customer here.”

She looks at the clipboard in her hands.

Lady: “Aren’t you [Job Seeker]?”

Me: “No, actually, my name is [My Name].”

A man in the corner speaks up.

Job Seeker: “I’m [Job Seeker]. I was here for an interview about the baker position?”

The lady huffed and stomped over to him. My barista friends tell me that she’s still there after a year and a half, and they hate her even more because she’s incompetent and rude.