(A customer walks up to my cash register.)

Me: “How are you doing today? Did you find everything all right?”

Customer: *abruptly* “No, I’m in a hurry.”

Me: “I’m sorry about that; I will have you out of here as quick as I can!”

(I ring up his purchase quickly and then wait for him to pay. He pulls out a card.)

Me: “If it’s debit you use the chip reader; if it’s credit you slide the card.”

Customer: “It’s debit.” *swipes the card*

(The screen puts up the message I just told him and tells him to put the card in the chip reader.  I also repeat what I just said. He ignores me and swipes three more times.)

Customer: “Why the f*** isn’t this working?”

Me: “Because it’s debit, sir; you have to chip it.”

Customer: “Why the f*** didn’t you say that? You’re wasting my f****** time! I told you I was in a hurry.”

(I’ve learned at this point to not argue with customers and apologize to him for my lack of attention. He then enters the wrong debit pin, so his purchase is denied.)

Me: “Sir, it says you entered the wrong pin. Will you try again, please?”

Customer: “Are you f****** stupid? You must be if you work here.”

(He re-enters his pin wrong two more times and I hesitantly tell him it’s still wrong, knowing he’s getting angrier and angrier.)

Customer: “What the f*** is wrong with you? You’re doing this on purpose, you stupid b****! Give me my f****** purchases right now!”

(His wife, who is apparently still looking around, walks up.)

Customer’s Wife: “What’s wrong?”

(His attitude immediately changes.)

Customer: *fake sweet* “Nothing, honey. I was just explaining to this young girl that she really should have been trained better before they put her up on the registers all by herself, as she obviously doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She keeps saying my PIN is wrong.”

Customer’s Wife: “Maybe that’s because we switched banks last week and you’re entering in the wrong PIN, and should apologize to her for being a condescending jerk.”

(He gets bright red and tries entering a different PIN, and this time the transaction goes through.)

Customer: *glares at me* “Nice to see you finally got your s*** together; you really wasted my time.”

(In a voice just as fake as the one he acquired when his wife showed up, I hand him his bag and apologize one more time.)

Me: “Sorry for not knowing your private personal bank information; you have a good day.” *huge fake grin*

(He blushes an even brighter red and snatches the bag out of my hands.)

Customer: “Whatever.” *stalks away, leaving his wife behind*

Customer’s Wife: *genuinely apologetic* “Sorry, sweetie.”

Me: “It’s okay; he’s not the worse I’ve had by far.”

Customer’s Wife: “Now I’m even more sorry. What’s wrong with people nowadays? If it’s any consolation, I’m going to burn his dinner tonight.”

(I am teaching a 12th-grade journalism class.)

Me: “For today’s assignment, I want you think of someone famous that you admire. They can be living or dead, as long as they are a real person. Imagine that you have the entire day to interview that person, write at least five questions, and try to think about how he or she would answer. Be creative! Here is a list of famous people to help give you an idea, in case you don’t have someone in mind.”

(The list contains a variety of people from history and the present day that most students should be familiar with, especially by the time they are in high school.)

Student #1: “Ms. [My Name], I don’t know who this person is.”

(I walk over to the student’s desk. To my astonishment, he is pointing to Albert Einstein’s name on the list.)

Me: *thinking the student is pulling my leg* “Come on, you know him! He was the scientist that came up with the formula E=MC2.”

Student #1: “Never heard of him.”

(I was shocked that even though I picked common people that are usually discussed in social studies and other subjects in school, these kids had no idea who I was talking about! The only names they did recognize were Dr. Seuss and Martin Luther King, Jr. But, they only knew MLK, Jr. because they don’t have to go to school on his birthday! They had no idea why he was important!)

My sister has never been a good cook; this has simply become a fact of life. These are a few of the stories that have come up over the years.

When I was about seven and she was around eleven, we decided to do something nice for our parents. We grabbed the cook book and found dinner and drink recipes to make one night: chicken pot pie and quality punch. My parents bought the supplies for us, and we got to work. Halfway through preparing the punch, we started to realize there was a lot of it. We looked at the recipe a little closer… It read, “quantity punch.”

My sister made brownies, but switched the oil with high fructose corn syrup. When we ate them, they were extra chewy, and she wouldn’t eat them because the eggs were questionable.

She tried to boil water, and a fire started. She calmly went to our parents’ room and woke Mom up, saying, “Fire,” as if nothing was wrong. My mom, dazed from just being woken up, had to have my sister repeat the statement three times, and only on the third did my sister emphasize it as if something was horribly wrong. The house didn’t burn down, though!

My sister went off to college, and in her second year, she was made an RA (resident advisor). They put her through all sorts of training, including what to do in case of fire. Halfway through the year, we got a call from her about how she was microwaving a cookie at the dorm, and it caught fire. She panicked, and her neighbor had to come over and put the fire out because she knew what to do when a fire happened with someone else, but not for her own room.

(While I am waiting in line to check out, another customer walks up and notices the man in front of me doesn’t have a bag for his purchase.)

Woman: “Sir, make her give you a bag for that!”

Man: “She didn’t give me one because I told her I didn’t want one.”

Woman: “Naw, she owes you a bag!” *grabs the man’s purchase away from him and bags it herself* “I buy one piece of candy, and they will give me a bag. They owe me my bag!”

(My parents and I are walking around the zoo. It’s near the end of our day there and we’re pretty tired. We’re walking around the African area and my mom asks a question.)

Mom: “Where are the sand people?”

Me: “What? Sand people?”

Mom: “Yeah, you know, the little guys that…” *mimes popping up out of the ground*

Me: “Oh! Meerkats, mom. I think you mean meerkats.” *dies laughing* “I’m calling them sand people from now on, though.”

(And yes, we did end up finding where the “sand people” were, and had a good time watching them. I won’t let her forget this, though.)