(I am a student, working in the fifties-style diner in our college’s union. Normally, we are supposed to ask for student IDs to verify that the customer doesn’t have to pay tax, but if they look close, we’ll give it to them without asking. Our registers have very old touch screens, and sometimes you have to press a button multiple times to make it work. After the transaction has gone through:)

Me: “Thank you and have a nice day!”

Customer: “What is this?”

(She shows me her receipt, pointing to a line at the bottom. Apparently, her tax wasn’t taken off.)

Me: “I’m sorry; I guess I must’ve made a mistake.”

Customer: “Redo it.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Me: “Redo the order. I want my money back.”

(NO ONE besides our boss has the capacity to open the register outside of a transaction, let alone do a refund. I ask one of my supervisors, anyway, on the off chance they might be able to. No such luck. I tell my coworker on the only other register I’ll be back. My boss is nowhere to be found. I have to go all the way down to the accounting office to grab someone to help me. By the time we get back, the line is out the door. We redo everything, and the girl leaves with a nod, having gotten her money back.)

Coworker: “How much was the refund?”

Me: “Thirty-three cents.”

Coworker: “You’re kidding.”

Me: “I’m not. If I’d had my wallet, I’d have given her a dollar of my own money and told her to never come back.”

At my younger sister’s elementary school, the library books were divided up by grade. Theoretically, a sound idea. Practically… not so much. My sister was a pretty advanced reader for her age, and so she wanted to read books ahead of her grade level.

The librarian refused.

My mother wrote a note giving her permission, and talked to my sister’s teacher, who spoke to the librarian in hopes of convincing her… to no avail. In her mind, third graders read third-grade books, second graders read second, so on and so forth.

The thing was, though… the librarian had control over what books my sister could take off the shelf or check out. What books she read during library time? Nothing she could do.

My third-grade little sister would very deliberately check out books from the public library that were fifth grade level or higher… and then serenely sit right in front of the fifth-grade bookshelf, reading her book without a care in the world.

I’m pretty sure she’s one of the reasons that librarian only lasted another year.

While I grew up in California, I have lived in Washington for the past 35 years, so I’ve grown unaccustomed to the California heat. While visiting my sister and her family, I find that the constant heat is making me feel very tired.

I’m having a conversation with my adult niece, and the topic turns to travel and weather differences, and at one point I say, “Do you know what makes me tired?” Without missing a beat, and with a completely straight face, my niece replies, “Being awake.”

While that wasn’t at all how I was going to end that sentence, I had to concede that she had an excellent point.

(I work weekends at a fast food restaurant to help out with the bills. This particular exchange happens when I am taking orders in the drive-thru one Saturday afternoon. Note: at this restaurant, meals include fries and a drink.)

Me: “Welcome to [Restaurant]. This is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi, I need two chicken nugget meals, one with a vanilla shake instead of a drink, and the other with a lemonade.”

Me: *repeats order back, prepares to give total*

Customer: “Wait, wait, wait. Now, I don’t want chicken nuggets.”

Me: *almost positive that she asked for nugget meals* “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you need a different meal?”

Customer: *with increasing frustration* “No, my son wants the nuggets, but I don’t.”

(At this point, I assume she’s accidentally ordered the wrong meal for herself, so I cancel one of them and wait for her to order the correct one.)

Me: “Oh, all right. And which meal did you need, ma’am?”

Customer: “I already told you, I want the chicken nugget meal, just with no nuggets.”

Me: “So… just an order of fries and a lemonade?”

(Keep in mind, the price for fries and a lemonade is SIGNIFICANTLY lower than any of our meal prices, so there’s no monetary reason for her to order this way.)

Customer: *exasperated* “Yes! God, what is so confusing about that?”

(I work at an arcade restaurant, and my job is stamping hands and checking them as guests leave.)

Almost Every Parent That Leaves: “Oh, no, you can keep the kids.” *or* “Help, I’m being stolen!” *or* “Oh, darn, I have to keep them.”

Me: “Haha, you’re so clever.”