(We have stuffed animals filled with “beans” on display at the register. I am ringing up one customer when he picks one up. He starts to massage it almost aggressively, then sniffs it, before putting it back down.)

Customer: “Do you microwave these?”

(I am so taken aback, I assume I have misheard him and that he must have said “manufacture.”)

Me: “Um, no. We just sell them.”

Customer: “I have some bean bags at home; I microwave them and put them on my shoulders to help with pain. Can I do that with these?”

Me: “No, these are kids’ toys. They would probably get burnt.”

Customer: “Oh, okay. Thank you.”

(My algebra teacher teaches both honors and regulars at my school.)

Classmate: “Mr. [Teacher], what are the regulars doing right now?”

Teacher: “They just did a MathXL quiz.” *he giggles* “I made the password ‘ilovemath’ just so they would have to write it out once in their lives.”

I work in a large craft store. Most customers aren’t terrible, though there are a few “special” ones that ruin your week. This customer was the opposite.

She came in wanting to buy crafts to make with her nine-year-old grandson. I nanny two nine-year-old boys as a side job, so I volunteered to help her. It turns out her grandson lives abroad, and she hadn’t seen him since he was four, because travel is so expensive and she’s not in the best health.

We spent a good half hour walking around and finding cool things to do together, because she wasn’t totally sure what he would like. We covered all the bases, from dinosaurs, to outer space, to building, to painting, to costumes, and everything in between. It was fun. She was very nice, and almost vibrating with excitement about the upcoming visit. It gets better, though.

The next week, she came back in just to show me pictures of their awesome projects. I almost teared up. They built this entire mini-city, spending four straight days working together and bonding. He got to use a hand saw and hot glue and other tools, and in every picture he was covered in paint and dust and absolutely beaming.

Those pictures make all the mean customers and the sore feet worth it. Everyone loves feeling appreciated, and customer service workers don’t get nearly enough.

This story is part of our Crafting Roundup!

Read the first Crafting Roundup story!

Read the Crafting Roundup!

(I am a customer. As I am walking into my local store, I notice a giant, hand-written sign on their door, all highlighted. Apparently, the card readers on their pumps are down, customers need to prepay inside, and they are sorry for the inconvenience. There are also notices on all the pumps. I am in line when I hear this exchange:)

Customer: *to cashier* “Are your pumps broken, or what?!”

Cashier: “No, sir. They just can’t take payments at the moment. I’ll be glad to prepay for your gas here.”

Customer: “Ugh, fine. You really should put signs up, though.”

Me: *chortles to myself*

Customer: “What?!”

Me: “Um, there’s a huge sign on the door saying that.”

Customer: “Nobody reads those! There should be signs on the pumps!”

Me: “Sir, I didn’t even buy gas and I noticed the signs on the pumps.”

Customer: “Shut up.” *followed by the evil-eye and silence*

(I don’t know how the staff can keep it together like they do and keep from slapping the stupid out of people.)

(My parents have taken me on my very first camping trip.)

Me: “Mommy, I have to pee! Can I go in the woods like Daddy?”

Mom: “No, you can’t go in the woods! You’re not a boy! There’s an outhouse right here you can use.”

Me: “No! It’s yucky in there and there’s monsters!”

Mom: “I know it smells bad in there, so you’ll just have to go as fast as you can. And there aren’t any monsters in the outhouse, I promise.”

Me: “Yes, there are, and they’ll pull me in and eat me, and you’ll be sad because you won’t have a [My Name] anymore!”

Mom: “Look: there’s no monsters in the outhouse. I’ll go first and show you.”

(My mom opens the door and discovers that there’s not one, but two timber rattlesnakes curled up together on the floor. They must be asleep, because neither of them start rattling until after my mom slams the door shut again.)

Dad: *later* “Why did you decide to let her pee in the woods? I thought you were taking her to the outhouse.”

Mom: “No way! There are monsters in there!”

This story is part of our S’Mores Day roundup!

Read the next S’mores Day Roundup story!

Read the S’mores Day Roundup!