(One of the few employees I get along with, an older black woman with two young children, is chatting with me one day during a break. At the end of the break, the manager on duty pulls me aside. Being the only person I truly get along with, we are always really casual with one another in our conversation, and having the same sense of humor, we don’t really hold back, though typically we talked outside of our workplace because of it. Our manager, a skinny white guy who looks like he is barely over eighteen, while well-meaning, is typically more or less a busybody.)

Manager: *sounding legitimately distressed* “You can’t say that to people.”

Me: “Say… what? I’m confused.” *scratching my head* “Were we too loud? We were outside and in the back like usual.”

Manager: “No, not that, you said, ‘People like you are tougher, anyway.’”

Me: *more confused*

Manager: “Listen, I won’t write you up, but you can’t use that kind of racially-motivated language.”

Me: “Racially-motivated? We were talking about her kids… and how seeing throw-up didn’t bother her the way it did me. I was… What?”

(If you’ve never seen a man so pasty white turn red from that kind of embarrassment before, it is truly a sight to see. Neither of us hated him for it, but she was sad she didn’t get to see him turn that red.)

(We are a government facility that provides fingerprinting to the public. We also man the phone lines for tech support, questions about printing, etc. I answer the phone, and a man asks some general questions about printing. Then it gets weird.)

Customer: “Can I come down and get my wife’s fingerprints for her?”

Me: “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Customer: “Can I pick up my wife’s fingerprints there for her?”

Me: “No, sir, we don’t retain fingerprints.”

Customer: “Well, can I get printed for her?”

Me: “Um… sir. Think about what you just asked me.”

Customer: *long pause*“So… can I get her prints or not?”

Me: “Sir, unless you are her, or have her hands in some magical way, there’s no way I can give out fingerprints for her.”

Customer: “Oh, well. It was worth a shot.”

(I call my mom in Virginia because I am sick and that is what moms are for. It’s just a cold, but it’s a miserable one with fever and inflamed sinuses and so much fluid from every hole in my face that I’m a giant, drippy, sore-throat mess.)

Mom: “You should gargle some hot salt water, or I like to get a little cup with equal parts vinegar and honey and drink that. If you can drink it straight, it’s better for your throat than diluting it with water.”

Dad: “Or you could just eat a bag of salt and vinegar chips.”

Me: *thoughtful pause* “I’m going to go get a bag of salt and vinegar chips. For medicinal use.”

(I could practically hear my mom’s eyes rolling through the phone.)

(I’m recovering the back of our store. It’s the end of my shift and I’m a little done with people for the day. While cleaning up a table, I begin hearing a soft “clunk, clunk, clunk,” as if something is hitting the floor a few feet away, and I go to investigate. I find a woman shopping with her husband, nonchalantly talking to him as she drops pieces of jewelry on the floor she apparently doesn’t want anymore.)

Me: *in the sweetest tone* “Oh, would you like me to put those away for you?”

Customer: “Oh! I’m so sorry! No, I can put those away, I just—”

Me: *stooping down to pick up the jewelry* “Nope, it’s fine; I got it!”

Customer: “My hands were just so full and—”

Me: *still sweet* “No worries! Someone could just slip on these if they’re left on the floor, and we don’t want that, do we?”

Customer: “No, not at all, I—”

(I walked away before she could finish. I found one empty tag in the pile, which was probably nothing, but I reported her to my manager, anyway, so someone could keep a good eye on her after I left. I hope she felt extra embarrassed.)

(I’ve worked at my job long enough to be recognized by our regulars. I have a bagel in my mouth, a bagel in one hand, and my uniform and apron in my other hand on my way to the registers to buy the bagels before my shift starts.)

Customer: “Excuse me. Will you ring me up?”

Me: *gives a significant look to both my hands and then back to the customer, bagel still in my mouth*

Customer: *after a moment* “Oh!”