After I got out of the military I took a temporary job working security at an outdoor mall.

I was actually required to wear a locator so the powers that be could see if I was walking around enough on my 12-hour shift.

My feet were horribly blistered from so much walking. So, I went to take an elevator to the second floor. This actually was part of my job, to look for vandalism.

When I pressed the button, I heard someone make a remark that I could tell was a snide one.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he responded, then said, “Lazy rent-a-cop.”

I responded, “Well, I’ve been walking for ten hours, on a twelve hour shift. My feet are blistered, and my knee is screaming. I’m a disabled veteran, so is it really a problem if I take an elevator?”

That shut him up. For the record, I am a disabled vet, though my knee injury was an operational one, not a combat one.

(A woman accompanied by her husband or boyfriend is picking out ranch dressing and settles on some three-cheese ranch. I thought she mentioned wanting bacon ranch, so I show it to her.)

Customer: “Oh, no, we have some at home; I was just saying it’s good, but I like the three-cheese kind better.”

Me: “Oh, well, if you still want the bacon flavor in your salad with the three-cheese ranch, you could put some bacon bits on it, too.”

(The woman lights up as if the idea is genius.)

Customer: “Oh, that’s a great idea! Where would the bacon bits be?”

Me: “Just past the salad dressings, on the top, over there.” *I point*

(The woman tells me about how she is not a good cook because she’s never been married. She says that she knows you don’t have to be a cook to figure it out, but that she isn’t good at thinking of flavors to mix. I nod and smile and she goes over to deliberate on which bacon bits to get. I return to stocking and share a bemused look with a coworker who is stocking in the same aisle, just a few yards away. About five minutes later, the customer gets my attention.)

Customer: “Now, which ones of these taste better?”

Me: “Well, a lot of people buy [Brand] because they’re known for good meat. I’ve only ever had the [Store Brand] ones, because they were cheaper, but I can imagine that I wouldn’t be able to taste the difference, anyway, since they’re both just plain bacon. I’ve had [Brand Imitation Bacon Bits] before, too. My mom used to buy them, but they taste nasty. I would recommend that if you’re going to put bacon on something, just put real bacon.”

Customer: “Oh, okay. Now, is this real bacon?” *she shows me both the [Store Brand] and [Brand] bacon bits she is holding, both of which clearly read, “Real Bacon Bits” on the pouches*

Me: “Yes. And they’re pretty good.”

Customer: “Okay. So if it say, ‘real,’ on the package, does that mean it’s real bacon?”

Me: *pauses a moment to register the question* “Yes. That is real bacon.”

Customer: “Okay. So if it says, ‘real,’ it’s real bacon?”

(I assure her that it is real bacon again, and that if they say it’s real bacon, brands aren’t really allowed to put anything but real bacon into the package. I assure her again and again as she rephrases the exact same question about three more times, as if she isn’t grasping the concept.)

Customer: “Okay, so… So, could you show me an example of something that would not be real bacon?”

(I am stunned for a moment, but I pick up a bottle off the shelf and point to the label as I read it off to her.)

Me: “Here. ‘Artificially-flavored bacon chips.’”

(By now my coworker was silently trying to keep his cool and not laugh in front of the customer. We had to wait 10 or 15 minutes until she was out of the aisle, at which point we cracked up to each other.)

(I am a remote employee, so I work from home during the day. One day, while on a Skype call with my boss and some clients, I hear a knock at the door. I ignore it because this is an important meeting and I’m not expecting anyone or any deliveries, but they keep knocking. Then, eventually, I hear some cheery old woman’s voice.)

Woman: “Hello? HELLOOOOOOOOOO? I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! HELLOOOOOOOO? I’M NOT GOING AWAAAAAAAAY.”

(She is also WHISTLING very loudly and shrilly. Annoyed and apologizing profusely to my boss and clients, I run to the door. It’s a little, prim, old woman who looks like someone’s stereotypical grandma.)

Me: “Yes, hello?”

Woman: *beaming* “Hello, dear! I knew I’d get you, eventually. I always do!” *wags her finger at me in what she probably thinks is a playful fashion* “My name is [Woman]. I live over on [Next Street], and I wanted to talk to you about this event before the next community meeting.”

(At this point, still speaking, she begins stepping forward and pushing past me as if she’s going to come in, uninvited. I shift my body to block her in the doorway, and she gives me a startled, annoyed look. She’s holding an armful of printed papers.)

Me: “Now is not a good time. I’m working. I’ll be happy to take whatever documentation you have to review.”

Woman: “Well! The city is proposing that [blah blah, something about a community garden that she doesn’t want because it would ‘attract people’].”

(I keep trying to tell her that I am too busy to listen or talk right now, and she just keeps raising her voice and talking faster. Finally, I get fed up.)

Me: “Okay, if you’re going to be rude, then so am I, I guess. Have a good day. I have to get back to work.”

(I shut the door in her face. I hear her gasp comically loudly, and then, before I walk away, something that sounds suspiciously like spitting. I yank open the door and she jumps back, looking guilty and shocked that she has been caught. When I turn my head, sure enough, I see that this woman has SPAT a big, gross gob on my front door.)

Me: *yelling, furious* “WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?!”

(She literally turned and ran like I had a gun in her face. I never saw her again. People are insane.)

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(I have been put on a prescription by my doctor. As I am not particularly fond of the modern designer drug industry, my prescription is something that has been on the market for over 50 years. As such, it is very cheap. After I have been using it for four or five months, my insurance company calls me.)

Me: “Hello?”

Agent: “Hello, this is [Agent] from [Insurance Company] calling. Is this [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes. What can I do for you?”

Agent: “I would like to tell you about our fantastic prescription drug plan! You can get regular shipments of your medications every three months, which will save you money. Here’s how it works…” *drones on whilst I try to interrupt*

Me: “Ma’am?”

Agent: *continues script*

Me: “Ma’am?”

Agent: *continues script*

Me: “Ma’am?”

Agent: “Yes?”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m on exactly one prescription, which costs exactly one dollar and seventy-six cents per month, including tax. Nobody else in the house has any other prescriptions.”

Agent: “Oh.”

Me: “I doubt you can save me any money on of that one.”

Agent: *laughing* “You’re right; we probably can’t. Thank you for your patience!”

(It is 8:00 pm on a normal, quiet Sunday night, and out of the blue, we get extremely busy. I call up all of my available backup cashiers, and proceed to ring up my line as quickly as possible. A customer comes up near the end of the rush and slams the item divider onto the conveyor belt, then places his four small tubes of homeopathic pills behind it. He waits his turn, as there is only one mid-sized order in front of him, I ring him up, and then:)

Customer: “Can I make a suggestion? You need to have your express lane open at all times. It’s just unfair that I have to wait in line while you ring up all of these huge orders. This is all I have. It’s just not right.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. This time of night, we just don’t have the staffing for that.”

Customer: “Well, you have the staffing for that lane, this lane, and those lanes.”

Me: “Yes, I’ve temporarily called them up from other departments to help out. But I’ll certainly take your suggestion into consideration.”

(My manager is ringing customers up behind me, and I draw his attention to my customer.)

Me: “Sir, this gentleman is suggesting that we keep our express lane open during all business hours. Just passing that along to you.”

Manager: “Sounds good. We’ll work on it.” *he dismissively goes back to serving his customer*

Customer: *in a huffy, irate tone* “I just don’t see why you can’t have it open at all times. It’s just good customer service.”

Me: “Absolutely, sir. I’ve passed your suggestion along to my manager, and we’ll certainly take it into consideration. It’s not a bad idea at all.”

(His continued glares kept me rambling positive affirmations until he took his four tubes of sugar pills and departed. By the time he’d finished his little rant, we were back down to two registers, and the store stayed quiet right up to closing time.)