Me: “Hi, welcome to [Restaurant]. What can I get you to drink?”
Customer: “Can I get a diet Coke with extra caffeine?”
Me: “You want me to put extra caffeine in your diet Coke?”
(The customer looks at me as if I’m an idiot.)
Customer: “Yes! Just put the extra caffeine in my drink!”
(I ended up just giving her a regular diet coke.)
(I work in an amusement park that has a water park next to it, but they aren’t connected. This happens on a hot summer day when the water park has hit maximum capacity.)
Guest: “The water park is being so stupid!”
Me: “How?”
Guest: “They aren’t letting anyone in. They have the entrance completely blocked off!”
Me: “They are at max capacity.”
Guest: “Well, we are season pass holders, so we should get in!”
Me: “But they are at maximum capacity. They can’t fit any more people in; there’s no room.”
Guest: “They should make room, since we are season pass holders. We should have priority over one-day tickets.”
Me: “So, what you are saying is, you want them to kick the day ticket people out so you can get in?”
Guest: “Well, I– I mean I– No, I, uh– Season pass holders should be top priority, so we should get in first! So, yes, that would be nice, if it were possible.”
(I gave her a look that could only be described as saying, “Seriously?” She just grinned and walked away.)
(I have just graduated from college with my Bachelor’s Degree. Six days after that, I have knee surgery that involves cutting through my tibia and recentering it on my knee. Obviously, I’m no longer working at my restaurant job, and I’m planning to find a job in my field while I’m laid up. This happens when I drop by my work to get my paycheck and have lunch, post-procedure.)
Boss: “Wow! They really messed you up!”
Me: *on crutches and in a full leg brace* “Yep!”
Boss: “So, six to eight weeks?”
Me: “Um…”
Boss: “Well, in, like, four weeks, could you come and [do busywork, that could be done seated if I had help]?”
Me: “Um… probably not…”
(I knew he was shorthanded right then, but come on. I had a broken leg and a degree! I didn’t want to come back, anyway!)
Boss: “[My Name], do you how long these performance self-reviews usually are?”
Me: “What? Like, when printed out? Usually about two pages, right?”
Boss: “Yes. And yours is 11.”
Me: “How many pages did I tell you it was going to be?”
Boss: “Well, 30, but…”
Me: “You’re welcome. If you’d like, the review window is still open; I could expand on it. I might be able to get that baby up to 100 pages by next Monday.”
Boss: *sigh* “You did warn me you’re terrible at being political.”
Me: “Yes, but I’m an expert at hostage negotiations.”
(We have just finished working with a cat who was so scared of being at the vet that she soiled herself, and then got it everywhere. I have finished cleaning the treatment area but have yet to wash my hands. As with all health fields, it’s common knowledge that anything on your hands will eventually end up in your mouth if you don’t wash them.)
Vet: “Would you like to look at her ear slide?”
Me: “Sure. Let me just wash my hands first.”
Vet: *jokingly* “You mean you don’t want to end up eating poop?”
(I start giggling.)
Me: “It’s not that I don’t want to ingest poop; I just don’t want to smell it on my hands!”
