(I’m a research student in a lab that uses zebrafish. Since my work is in zebrafish juvenile development up to three months and all of my lab-mates are doing projects with fish that are only a few days old, I do most of the fish care for the lab, including raising the babies to adults to add to our research population. I frequently joke about the fish being my babies, and my nickname in the lab is ‘Mother of Zebrafish.’ One weekend I want to go hunting with my family, so I send around an email to my lab-mates to see if anyone else can care for the juveniles and adults for a few days while I’m gone. One of my lab-mates agrees, and after I get back, we go out for drinks just to catch up and discuss our work. It’s relevant for the story that I’m a white girl, and my lab-mate is a Hispanic man, with a noticeable accent.)

Me: “I hope they weren’t too much trouble while I was gone?”

Lab-Mate: “Nah, they were great, and I had to be in anyway to get the results for the immuno-staining. It was no trouble.”

Me: “Much appreciated! Thanks for taking care of my babies so I could go hunting!”

Stranger: “EXCUSE ME?!”

(Surprised, both of us turn around to see a woman glaring at us.)

Stranger: “You left your kids alone all weekend so you could go HUNTING?! What kind of a negligent mother are you?! And you!” *turns to lab-mate* “Is she at least paying you, or is she just buying you beer? She’s just paying for your beer, isn’t she? You deserve a better job; I know a good landscaping company.”

Lab-Mate: “What the h***? Piss off, lady. We’re talking about fish, not literal children!”

Stranger: “What?”

Me: “We work in a lab; he was taking care of the fish over the weekend! Oh, and for the record…he’s a neurobiology grad student with a grant from the NIH. You can stuff your landscaping job!”

(She turns red, and stalks out in a huff.)

Lab-Mate: “Wonder what she’d do if we told her our thesis advisor grew up in Mexico City…”

(I go into a self-serve frozen yogurt shop, where they let you choose a cup size and then charge by weight. When I go in, there’s a small boy with a huge tub, filling it with every flavor and topping he can find. I get a small cup and finish up pretty quickly. The boy comes to stand next to me at the counter after I have already put my yogurt on the scale.)

Me: “This will be all.”

Cashier: “What about his?”

Me: “Um, he’s not mine.”

Cashier: *laughs*

Me: “I’m not joking. He was here when I came in, and has clearly been at it awhile to fill that giant tub. Did you not see him before?”

Cashier: “Listen, I know it will be pretty expensive, but you have to pay for your son.”

Me: “Yeah, I don’t have any children. He isn’t mine.”

Cashier: “Well, whose else could he be? You’re the only other person in here!”

Me: *quietly* “Which means he has an irresponsible mother, but that mother is not me.”

Cashier: “I’m not letting you leave without paying.”

Me: *sighs, turns to little boy* “Please tell this lady where your mom is.”

Little Boy: *looking very confused* “She’s in the car outside.” *holding up a couple $20 bills* “She gave me this for ice cream!”

Me: “Great, thanks.”

Cashier: *looking absolutely disgusted* “Your total is $3.78. How was I supposed to know he wasn’t with you?”

(I just left. I get that it was a weird situation, but seriously, how did she not see the kid in the tiny shop for what must have been at least ten minutes before I walked in? And why on earth would I lie about not being a child’s mother? Parents of the world, please chaperone your kids. Don’t assume an employee is paying them any attention at all!)

(I am a cashier at a pizza place in the mall food court. A woman is in line with a child, about ten years old. They order their food and the woman sits down at a table, leaving the child to pay.)

Me: “That will be $17.50.”

Child: *hands me $2*

Me: “I still need $15.50.”

Child: “Okay, hold on.” *she walks over to the table and comes back with another dollar*

Me: “I still need $14.50 more. Can you please go get your mother to come pay?”

Child: *walks to the table and tells her mother something*

Mother: *gets up and storms over to the cash register* “You should be ashamed of yourself for trying to scam her! She is a child!”

Me: “Ma’am, your meal is $17.50. She handed me $3.”

Mother: “This is bulls***! I’m never coming here again! You should be ashamed!” *grabs her daughter and storms off*

(It’s a normal Sunday at [Fast Food Restaurant], which is always the busiest day of the week. It’s also Memorial Day Weekend, which makes our lobby packed. I’m working as the cashier while my manager packs for me. A very cross lady forces her way to the front.)

Customer: *almost shouting* “Where is my fork?! How can I eat without my fork?!”

Manager: “Ma’am, it’s in your bag with the other food.”

(The customer nods and leaves without another word. A few hours pass by and the rush has died down. I head to the lobby and start wiping tables, stocking, cleaning, etc., when the customer from earlier comes back. I have everything stocked and over half of the tables cleaned. I take her order and hand over her food. A few seconds pass by when she yells:)

Customer: “You’re out of forks!”

Me: *stopping and looking at her confused* “Ma’am, the forks are right under the salt packets.”

(She looks and takes one to put on her tray. She looks again and yells:)

Customer: “You’re out of lids.”

(While printing something for my manager on my register, I say without looking:)

Me: “Ma’am, please turn 90 degrees to your left.”

(She does and puts a lid on her drink cup. She walks around to the area I just cleaned and once again yells:)

Customer: “There are no clean tables!”

(I head-desk and my manager walks over.)

Manager: *holding back laughter* “You want a break?”

(I nod and clock out. I walk over just in time to be hit by a full drink.)

Customer: “You should have clean tables!”

(She yells this while being chased out by the manager-in-charge, who comes back a few minutes later:)

Manager-In-Charge: “What the h*** was that about?”

(A regular yells out jokingly:)

Regular: “You’re out of napkins!”

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(The entire staff is having an end of the fall quarter meeting in a large conference room. Since it’s flu season, there’s frequently the sound of coughing and sniffling because management made this meeting mandatory and refuses to let anyone call off sick. I’m sitting to the side, and the director has just called the meeting to start when one employee from the very back walks forward, crossing the entire very large room. Everyone falls silent to watch her. She props open one of the doors halfway (which just leads to a hallway) and then walks all the way back to her seat, pass dozens of coworkers, some of which are clearly feverish.)

Employee: “I just HAD to open a door! I couldn’t stand the thought of being stuck inside a closed room with all these sick people! I don’t want to get sick myself!”

(She was sitting next to another coworker who was surrounded by a pile of used tissues. As if opening a door part-way in a giant conference room halts the transmission of viruses and bacteria.)