(I work for the food-stamp office. I am calling a client back the next day to finish up an application. I advised her I would be calling about eight in the morning. Our office opens statewide at 8:00 am EST.)

Me: “Hi. This is [Government Office], and I am calling for [Client]. Is she around, by chance?”

Client’s Mother: “She had to go somewhere, but she will be back. You said you would call at eight!”

Me: “Ma’am, it is eight am EST.”

Client’s Mother: “NO, IT IS SEVEN, AND YOU LIED TO MY DAUGHTER!”

(I explained time zone differences, and she was still irate when the call ended because she thought I was lying.)

(I am working as the main cashier during a very busy lunch rush, in a fast food chain that is considered to be “high end” in our area. Prices are higher, but portion sizes are larger, and we bring the food to your table, refill your drinks, and clear the table when you are done eating. Two women and a man come in with a toddler. The first woman has a coupon to get a free double burger with the purchase of a combo, but is complaining about the cost.)

Customer #1: “Wow, $9 for a combo! Are you sure you want that?”

Me: “We also have our [#1 Sandwich] on special, two for $6; you would get two burgers with all the veggies for the price of one of the other sandwich.”

Customer #1: *ignores me and continues to argue with the other members of her party*

(Finally, after holding up the line for five minutes and not letting anyone else order, they come up to my register.)

Customer #1: “Okay, we’ll take one of those.”

Me:  “The double burger, or the [#1 Sandwich]?”

Customer #1: “The one you said.” *turns away and continues to bicker with her companions*

Me: “So, just the two burgers?”

Customer #1: *annoyed that she has to acknowledge me* ” I said I wanted four!”

Me: “Okay, so, four burgers. Just the burgers?”

Customer #1: “Why didn’t you get my fries?”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that. Just one order of fries?”

Customer #1: “Two orders of fries. And a soda.”

Me: “Just one soda?”

(The customer just ignores me. I am frustrated at this point and ready to end the transaction.)

Me: “Okay, so, four [#1 Sandwiches], two fries, and one soda. Will that complete your order?”

(I set one cup on the counter.)

Customer #1: “Where is my other cup? I wanted two drinks!”

Me: *trying to keep smiling and not slap her* “Okay, let me just change that. I have four burgers, two fries, and two drinks. Is that correct?”

(The customer ignores me while talking to her companions, but the man speaks up.)

Customer #2: “Could I have no pickles on one of those burgers?”

Me: “Not a problem. Okay, your total is $20.”

Customer #1: “WHAT?! Are you kidding me?” *she is now almost yelling, and half of the very full lobby is staring at her* “This is why I never come here. I can’t believe that. This makes me sick to my stomach. Literally, I am sick to my stomach right now! This is ridiculous!”

(She has gotten four deluxe, quarter-pound cheeseburgers, two medium fries, and two medium drinks for $20, including tax, which is not any more than she would have paid for the same items at a discount competitor. A few minutes after their order is taken to them, the man brings two of his sandwiches back up.)

Customer #2: “These were supposed to be plain.”

Me: “I am sorry. I heard you say no pickle on just one burger, but I didn’t hear anyone say anything about any of the burgers needing to be plain.”

Customer #2: “Yeah, two plain, one no pickles.”

Me: “Okay, so, I just want to make sure: you want two burgers with just meat, cheese, and bread, and nothing else, right?”

Customer #2: “Yeah, that’s right.”

(I sent the burgers back to get counted on the waste, and had two new burgers made. The kicker? Quarter-pound cheeseburgers that are not deluxe are more than a dollar cheaper per burger. Maybe, had the customers paid attention when ordering, and ordered their food correctly, I could have saved them a couple of bucks, and the female customer wouldn’t have had to be sick to her stomach over how much money her food cost her!)

(My grandfather is a retired police officer and he is very adamant that my sister and I know how to handle guns properly. Since I was five, he and my father have taken me on monthly trips which often end with a trip to the gun range. My sister has just turned five, and it is her first trip to the range. We are inside the range with our ear and eye protection on and Grandpa is doing the same thing with my sister that he did with me every time for the last three years.)

Grandpa: “Okay, [Sister], what is the first rule of guns?”

Sister: “Treat them as if they are always loaded!”

Grandpa: “And the second?”

Sister: “Only point them in a direction if you are okay with everything in that direction being shot!”

Grandpa: “And in this room that means?”

Sister: “The ground, because there is nothing underneath us but ground, and you can’t hurt the ground when you shoot it.”

Grandpa: *chuckles* “That’s true, but where else could we point a gun?”

Sister: *pointing with finger* “That way, down-range.”

Grandpa: “And where can’t we point a gun?”

Sister: “Not up, because you never ever point a gun at God. And not behind us, because the door won’t stop a bullet and we don’t want to shoot Mr. [Range Owner]. And not that way—” *to our right* “—because we don’t want to shoot the lady with the pretty gun—” *the woman in position to our right has a bright pink camo print gun* “—and not that way cause we really don’t want to shoot Mr. [Cop We Know].”

([Cop] has just pushed the button to bring his target in for examination, and he sees my sister pointing at him, and smiles and waves. Then, suddenly, his eyes get very big, he lunges forward grabs us both, pulls us to his chest, turns so his back is to where we were standing, and curls up around us. I hear a man screaming, “No,” a woman shrieking, a loud thud, something hitting the floor, and then my father shouting, “Clear!”)

Cop: *relaxes and stands up* “You two aren’t hurt are you? That was scary, but you were very brave.”

(I see Grandpa has the lady with the pink gun pinned to the wall, and Daddy is handing her gun and its clip to a very embarrassed-looking man. Grandpa lets the lady go, and she and the man practically run out the door.)

Grandpa: “And that, girls, is was a very good example of what not to do.”

(We continued our shooting lesson as normal. For years I didn’t know exactly what happened, but I brought up the story recently and Daddy told me. The lady with the pink gun was apparently there with her boyfriend, who was a regular at the range, and he was teaching her to shoot. Right about the time my sister was pointing at her, he was putting her hands on her gun to show her how to grip it. And when my sister turned to the cop, the lady also turned in the same direction, still holding her gun, and said, “So, I just hold it like this, right?” The “no” I heard was the boyfriend, who tried to grab her wrists and force the gun down. That was when she shrieked, and my Grandpa disarmed her and threw her against the wall. Then Grandpa handed the gun to Daddy and he ejected the clip before saying clear, then picked up the clip and handed it to the boyfriend.)

(I am checking out at a store. My nine-month-old daughter is in the cart, and like with most children this age, it can be difficult to tell her gender.)

Clerk: “Oh, what a good… girl?”

Me: “Yes, it can be hard to tell at this age, and she is wearing a boyish tee-shirt.”

Clerk: “Pink Floyd! Oh, I just love Stairway to Heaven!“

Me: “… “

(I am the cashier in this situation. An older lady, probably about 60 or so, comes to my register when I am about to block it off and go to lunch. Since she only has one item, I let her come through my line, and put up the chain at the end of my lane. We are well-known for our fresh-made pies in the bakery, and this customer has a pie box with an obviously empty and cleaned pie tin inside.)

Me: “What can I help you with, ma’am?”

Customer: “I bought one of your apple pies here last week for a dinner party and it was horrible! You must’ve used spoiled apples or something!”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. Is the pie expired?”

(I check the tag and find that its expiration date is three weeks away.)

Customer: “Yes, don’t you see? It’s expired, and I want my money back, and a free replacement.”

Me: “Of course, ma’am, but the pie isn’t expired.”

Customer: “Well, it must have been; it was terrible!”

Me: “Where is the rest of the pie?”

(Normally, customers bring in their half-eaten food to show us the problem.)

Customer: “Oh, my husband and I ate it.”

Me: “The whole pie?”

Customer: “Yes. I couldn’t let the pie go to waste, could I?”