(We go to a fast food drive-thru. Note for the purpose of the story: my mom is allergic to artificial sweeteners, and cannot have diet soda, whereas I am diabetic and need to drink a diet soda.)

Mom: “I would like a #1 combo with a large diet soda and a #2 combo with a large regular soda, please!”

Worker: *sounding annoyed* “Pull up to the window.”

(We figure she has just had a bad day. Mom pulls up, and the worker hands us two UNLABELED sodas.)

Mom: “Excuse me, miss? Which one of these is the diet and which one is the regular?”

Worker: *completely serious* “I don’t know. I’ll have to taste them.”

Mom: “Uhhh, NO. You’ll redo them. NOW!”

(A passing manager heard the commotion, got the story, and quickly remade our sodas. Then, he apologized and slammed the window shut so he could yell at the worker. My mom and I looked at each other, confused, and then burst out laughing. We did not see that worker again.)

(I am a 911 operator.)

Caller: “There is a bear in my garage.”

Me: “Please confirm your address.” *caller confirms her location*

Caller: “Can you send someone to arrest the bear?”

Me: “I can send a deputy to try and chase him out.”

Caller: “Can you send someone to arrest the bear?”

Me: “Ma’am, bears cannot be arrested.”

Caller: “Why not?”

Me: “Bears are not recognized as criminals under California state law. They do not have the ability to commit crimes. They are wild animals. They behave out of instinct. I will send a deputy to help you remove the bear.”

I am at a popular state-wide gas station chain to buy myself a drink for the road. The store is pretty busy, but there is only one cashier working. By the time I pick my drink out and get in line to pay, the line is five or six people long. The person at the front of the line has a fairly large order.

The cashier repeatedly presses the button to call for her coworker to come get on a register. My dad works in one of these gas stations, so I know that this releases a very long, loud buzzing sound in the stock area. It’s pretty hard to miss, and you can even hear it a bit in the front of the store. Still, there’s no sign of the other employee. At this point, the cashier and customers are starting to go from frustrated to concerned.

Finally, the cashier pulls out her phone and tries calling the employee, but there’s still no response. At this point, a customer ducks out of line and charges into the freezer — an employee-only area, but it’s not like anyone is going to stop him — and emerges a few seconds later, fuming and dragging the second employee by the arm. The cashier proceeds to yell at him. It turns out he was listening to music with earbuds in. Why he didn’t answer his phone, he doesn’t say.

The line splits in half, and I end up second or so in line at the new cashier’s register. He doesn’t speak to any customer and, once my drink is in its bag, proceeds to throw it at me. Too exhausted to do anything about it, I turn around and leave.

As I walk out the door, I hear the guy say, “Can I go back to the freezer, now?” My only regret is that I didn’t stick around to hear the other cashier’s response. A week later, a “Help Wanted” sign showed up on their door… I wonder why!

(My six-year-old niece tells the best stories. My sister-in-law tries to warn me to walk away anytime [Niece] starts a story with, “My body,” but I love her stories.)

Niece: “My body is full of worms. There are worms in my throat and they fill up with blood and I can’t breathe. Then the blood drains out and I’m okay.”

(Another time:)

Niece: “My body is falling apart. My bones are too sharp and they cut my flesh.”

Sister-In-Law: “I think [Niece] needs therapy.”

Me: “What she needs is a dark room and a typewriter! She’ll be the next big horror author!”

(I volunteer to bring my friend’s teenage children to school one morning. I’ve dropped the youngest at junior high and am now going to drop off the oldest.)

Me: “Well, that was a confusing drop-off. At least I know where to drop you off.”

Oldest: “Yeah, Mrs. [My Name], at your house so I can go back to sleep.”

Me: “Nice try, kid, but you have to go to school. ‘A’ for effort, though.”