(I am waiting on a holiday parade to start. There are police officers on crowd-control duty and barriers set up to keep the parade route clear. Across the street, the sidewalk has been reserved for VIPs of the company sponsoring the parade. Despite the barricades on either side of the street, people keep coming up to ask the cops to let them cross. Some are understanding when told no, but the majority argue back and get mad and rude. Some of us strike up a conversation with the officer standing nearby, and she tells us she’s been doing this event for years.)

Man: “Do people get mad like that all the time?”

Officer: “Oh, yeah. One guy actually told me, ‘I hope your kids are dying across the street one day and you aren’t allowed to cross to them!'”

Man: “What? Was his kid dying?”

Officer: “No, he had just gotten here late and wanted a better spot that he saw in the ticket-holder area, and I told him it wasn’t general admission.”

(One of my coworkers is walking from the sales floor to the backroom.)

Manager: “Where are you going?”

Coworker: “A customer wants a motorized toy truck for their kid. There are none on the shelf, but I scanned the barcode and the scanner told me there’s one in the back room on the top shelf. I just need to get it down with a machine. I won’t be even five minutes.”

Manager: “You want to go to all that trouble for one toy car?”

Coworker: “It’s the kind that’s big enough for the child to drive in; it’s a 200-dollar sale.”

Manager: “No, that’s too much trouble for one thing. Get back to stocking your aisle and tell the customer that the scanner was mistaken.”

Coworker: “Sorry, but you did hear that it’s a 200-dollar sale, right?”

Manager: “Yes, but we can’t come back here every time the customer wants something. You have stocking to do!”

(A week or so later, I happen to be working alongside this coworker when the same manager walks up to her and the following exchange happens.)

Manager: “Hey, a customer is looking for a packet of seasoning and it looks like there’s one back here. The location is on the scanner here; can you get it down?”

(My coworker reads the scanner.)

Coworker: “[Manager], this is on the top shelf, wrapped in a pallet of mixed merchandise. I would have to get the machine to bring the pallet down and hope that the seasoning is in a place that I can get at without ripping the shrink-wrap. If not, I’d have to wrap the pallet again before putting it back up. All that for a single 50-cent packet of seasoning?”

Manager: “Well, we have to make the customer happy, and every little sale counts, right? Just try to make it quick; he’s waiting.”

(He walked off, leaving both of us just looking at each other, speechless.)

(My mom is suffering from a terrible cold. We’re both in the kitchen. She goes to get a cup of water and is very careful to only touch the cup she’s going to use.)

Mom: “I don’t want to touch anything I don’t have to. I’m afraid I’m infecting everything I touch.”

Me: *laughs*

Mom: “What?”

Me: “I was just imagining two viruses re-enacting that scene from The Lion King. ‘Look, Simba. Everything that woman touches is our kingdom.’”

Mom: “You are one strange cookie.”

(My cashier tells me the customer on the phone is looking for the price of a 100-pack of [Brand] DVD+R discs, so I go write down the price and answer the phone.)

Me: “Thank you for holding. You were waiting for the price on a 100 pack of [Brand] DVD+Rs?”

Customer: *snotty* “No, I was waiting to see if you carry them!”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, I misunderstood. Yes, I do carry them and have them in stock.”

Customer: “And how much are they?”

(I have visited the cardiologist for EKGs and echoes every two years since I was born, and one year I am old enough to ask my doctor why I have to.)

Doctor: “You have a heart murmur. Arrhythmia and mitral valve prolapse.”

Me: “What’s that mean?”

Doctor: “Well, most people’s hearts have a steady two-beat. BUMP-bump, BUMP-bump, BUMP-bump, like a drummer. Your heart is like a jazz drummer, who just does whatever: BUMP-bump-bump, BUMP-bump-bump, BUMP, bump-BUMP, no bump. There’s extra beats and missed beats, with no pattern to it.”

Me: “What’s the other one?”

Doctor: “Imagine the hood of a Japanese convertible. The roof goes up, and when it comes back down, it fits perfectly into its base without problems, and is completely sealed. Now imagine the hood of an American convertible. When the roof comes back down, it doesn’t quite fit into the base; it’s off-center, and the air-conditioning will leak out and rain can get in. Your heart is an American car, and the valve is the convertible roof.”

(Two decades later, and I still love this doctor’s explanations to a confused kid.)