(I work at an extremely popular chain bakery and cafe. We have recently gotten a new manager: a woman who has been bounced from cafe to cafe because of all the complaints that have been filed against her by employees and other managers. The company refuses to fire her because she is very good with customers and receives glowing reviews from them. A customer comes up to me in the middle of lunch rush.)

Customer: “Excuse me? All of the paper towels are out in the women’s bathroom.”

(I run off to get the paper towel dispenser key, which is kept in the office. I try to get in, but find the door locked. I go up to the new manager, who is swamped with sandwich orders.)

Me: “[Manager]? I need the bathroom keys, but they’re locked in the office. Can I borrow your keys to go get them?”

Manager: “No.”

Me: “I… What?”

Manager: “No, you cannot. There’s money in the office, and nobody is allowed in there when there is money in there.”

(This is correct, but only in stores that do not have cameras installed in the office. Ours, however, does have a camera installed.)

Me: “[Manager], we don’t have to follow that rule here. Please? I only need the keys for a second, and I can see through the office door that the only money that isn’t locked in the safe is change. It probably totals about $10 at the most.”

Manager: “No. I don’t trust you. Wait here while I finish what I’m doing, and then we will get them together.”

(I am taken aback. Not only have I not given this manager any reason not to trust me, but I also know that the general manager holds me in high regard, and that I have a reputation for being an extremely trustworthy person. Nonetheless, I stand and wait for her to finish the five or so sandwiches on her board. While standing there, I am approached by no less than five more customers, all telling me that the paper towels are out. Finally, the manager finishes.)

Manager: *unlocking the door* “All right, tell me where the keys are.”

(I move towards the doorway, fully intending to grab the keys myself. She SLAMS the door in my face, and yells through the door.)

Manager: “Tell me where they are!”

Me: “Do you see the tan box on the wall?”

Manager: “No.”

Me: “It’s a tan metal box with a lock on it. There’s a keychain hanging off of the knob with three skulls on it. It’s right next to the door. Do you see it?”

Manager: “No.”

(I try and fail to direct her towards the keys several times before she gets flustered and opens the door. I reach around the door, open the box, pull out the keys, and close the door behind me. The only part of me that enters the office is my arm up to my shoulder, and I don’t even need to look. I also don’t come within five feet of the money the entire time. On the way back out, the manager drops this gem.)

Manager: “It’s just, I really don’t trust you around money.”

Me: *muttering under my breath* “Well, that’s going to cause an issue, because I’m a cashier.”

I attended a dance camp; there were bunkhouses, separate shower buildings, a cafeteria, etc. When I got there, folks directed us to drive “round Robin’s barn” from the entrance to the parking area. I didn’t understand why at the time, but later noticed that the shorter driveway traversed some 4″ PVC pipe; rainwater drain pipes, I assumed.

A couple of days into the camp, I was in the cafeteria getting some salad, when a particular leaf of “lettuce” struck me as odd. It wasn’t lettuce at all, but a paper towel thoroughly saturated in some greenish fluid.

I reported this to an uninterested employee, and thereafter ate only thoroughly cooked food.

To cut to the chase, about a third of the attendees came down with some sort of dysentery. The situation was bad enough that the state health department got called in. I managed to escape with no significant ailment, but vowed never to return to that camp.

I heard later that the camp was on shaky financial footing and had hired locals with no professional food prep experience. In addition, those 4″ PVC pipes were apparently sewer lines, and at least one had broken.

(I am nine years old.)

Me: “Are we there yet?”

Dad: “Not yet. Another hour or so.”

Me: “What time is it?”

Dad: “3:30 pm.”

Me: “What time is it?”

Dad: “It’s only 3:32!”

Me: “What time is it?”

Dad: “3:35.”

Me: “What time is it?”

Dad: “3:40.”

Me: “What time is it?”

Dad: “3:45, and stop asking, ‘What time is it?’!”

Me: “Il est quelle heure?”

Dad: *has a fit of laughs and throws a tissue roll at me* “Just… NO asking… at all.”

(I tend to have a dry sense of humor that people always don’t get.)

Customer: “I tell you, one moment it’s raining and the next moment it’s sunny. It’s like it doesn’t know if it’s winter or summer!”

Me: “It’s called spring, ma’am.”

(A woman comes up to our night cashier.)

Customer: “I need assistance at the pharmacy case.”

(The cashier pages me to the pharmacy case, as I’m the only one with the key after the pharmacist leaves. I arrive at the case.)

Me: “What items do you need?”

Customer: *hesitates for a moment* “I need condoms.”

Me: *opens the case* “You’re welcome to pick out any of the boxes that you’d like.”

(She picks up a few different boxes, shakes each one, then sets it back down. Then, she turns to me and asks:)

Customer: “Do you know which one of these feels the best for guys?”

Me: *more confused than surprised by the question* “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

Customer: “Do you know which one fits best, then?”

Me: “I can’t help you with that. I’ve never used any of those.”

Customer: *exasperated sigh* “Oh, well. Better safe than sorry.”

(She put the condoms down, grabbed a pregnancy test, and walked away without another word.)