I have been collecting a specific book series that originally came out in the 1930s since I was a kid, not in the 1930s. My local library’s used bookstore has a warehouse where they keep all their books, and on Saturdays, you can go and have a gander while the volunteers sort the books.

On the off chance, I ask if they have any of the series I collect, and they do! Mostly modern versions and stuff I already have. They do have one thing I’m interested in. In the 1990s, they made reprints of the books with the original dust cover illustrations. They are not perfectly like the originals. The board colors are different, the spine has the 90s publisher name, and the inside explains that it is a special reprint edition. I don’t have this particular edition of this book, so I brought it up to purchase it.

It is important to note that to some people, I look very young, and they will treat me as such.

Warehouse Volunteer: “Oh. I’m not sure I can sell you this.”

Me: “Why not?”

Warehouse Volunteer: *In a tone like she’s talking to a child.* “Well, sweetie, this book is very, very old. We need to research it first to know what it is worth before we sell it.”

Me: “This version is only about thirty-four years old. It isn’t an original.”

Warehouse Volunteer: “No, honey. Like I said, these books are very, very old.”

Me: “Actually, this is a [Edition] reprint. Probably from 1991 or so.”

Warehouse Volunteer: *With the same patronizing tone.* “Honey, you may think you know, but we really need to research it before we can sell it to just anyone.”

I pick the book up, point to the publisher’s name on the spine, then open it to the publishing info and show her the date, then show her the page that explains it is a reprint.

Warehouse Volunteer: “Oh. Uh. I guess you’re right! It’s from the 90s.”

She sells it to me for five dollars, which is a fair price, and I turn to leave.

Me: “And by the way, I’m as old as this book.”

The lady started to try to make excuses, but I just politely said goodbye and left.

I’m meeting a friend in a public space. I spot him across the square and walk toward him. I see him talking to a charity volunteer. My friend pats him on the shoulder and gives him a few coins.

When we say hello and start walking to our destination:

Me: “Did you give that charity guy some money?”

Friend: “Yeah.”

My friend is so tight that when he drops a penny, it hits him on the back of the head. I’ve never seen him give money to charity, ever. I voice this observation.

Friend: “Yeah, but I felt sorry for him. He said he was collecting money for the “British Fart Houndation” and I figured he was at the end of a very long day.”

A customer in the charity shop where I volunteer wanted a bag for her purchase. We usually charge for a new one, but I offered her one from the pile we keep, which comes with the donations inside. 

She opened it up, stuck her head inside, and had a good sniff.

Customer: “I’m very fussy about my bags.”

Me: “Perhaps you would rather have one of our new ones? They are 10p.”

She took one look at the new bag and said:

Customer: “I’m not paying 10p for that!

She took the “unsmelly” one!

I work for a charity store. Like a lot of charity stores, we have our fair share of volunteers.

I see a customer storm in, angry from the get-go. She marches up to the counter, but to her credit, actually reads the large sign we have up there.

Sign: “Attention customers, some of our staff are volunteers, which means they are not paid to deal with your bull-s*** – literally. They are allowed to match your tone. Which workers are paid, and which are volunteers? You’ll never know! Wanna take that chance?”

She looks angrily at the sign, then angrily at me, then angrily at the sign again.

Customer: “Ugh, forget it!”

She storms back out… angrily, of course. 

P.S. Paid staff are also allowed to tone match, but it’s fun to keep customers on their toes!

I was working the registration desk at a social club convention; this particular desk was for those who had pre-registered, and all items were supposed to be in the registrant’s packet (the registrant’s badge, ribbons to be affixed to the bottom of the badge, and the gala dinner ticket – if purchased).

Registrant: “Do I get anything for volunteering?” *She had signed up weeks ago.*

Me: “That’s what the ribbons are for.”

Registrant: *Same question.*

Me: *Same answer.*

Registrant: *Same question.*

Yes, a third time.

Me: *Same answer.*

Registrant: “Yes, I heard you before, but do I get anything special?”

Me: “Since you kept asking the same question, I assumed you hadn’t heard me.”

I SO wanted to give a more smart-aleck answer, but had to refrain.