(I work at a store that stays open until 10 pm each night. On this day, it’s around 9:58 pm, my manager and I are the only ones still in the store, we’ve cleaned up, and we are walking to lock the front door, keys in hand, when a car pulls into a space outside and an entire family gets out and runs up to the door.)

Father: “Wait! Wait! Are you still open?”

(I look at my manager who, to my annoyance, just shrugs.)

Manager: “Technically, yes, we are.”

Father: “Great! We only need a few things!”

(Unable to do anything now, we let them in and watch as their kids begin destroying the aisles we have just organized while the parents take their time grabbing things and tossing them into a hand basket. Some time later, they come up to the register, which my manager has reopened for them. I’m bagging.)

Father: “So, when do you guys normally close?”

Manager: “We actually are closed now.”

Father: “What!? That’s impossible! You said you weren’t closed when we came in!”

Manager: “That’s because you came in just before 10 pm, when we do close.”

(The father gives us both a blank look.)

Manager: “You’ve been in here for almost 30 minutes.”

(More blank looks.)

Mother: “Honey, time doesn’t stop while you’re in here.”

(Another moment passes as the father looks at his wife, the clock on his phone, then at the manager in shocked silence.)

Father: “Well… why didn’t you say that before we came in? If I’d known that, we’d have gone to a different store!”

(He grumbles as we ring up his purchases and his wife corrals their kids, getting in a final jab as they leave.)

Father: “Next time just tell us to go elsewhere!”

Manager: “…but I was trying to AVOID that very argument!”

When I was really young, my parents had to take me everywhere with them, as we were poor and could only afford childcare whilst both of them were working. Often the childcare role was filled by family.

Once, when I was about three, my dad took me with him to the bank. It was one of those banks where the tellers were out on the floor with you around a little table. I was standing between my dad and the teller when the teller passed gas. I heard it, as I was so short my head was at about the teller’s waist, but my father did not, and the embarrassed teller didn’t say anything about it.

So, as my father had done to me many times before to teach me my manners, although perhaps in a less sassy, exaggerated way, I looked up at her, put my hands on my hips, and said, “What do you say???”

The woman blushed the most vibrant shade of red and quietly said, “Excuse me,” while my father could hardly contain his laughter. It’s a story he can’t recount without laughing to this day.

(Occasionally we get some folk calling the store just to prank us and waste our time, so on slow days, some of us, like me, try to see if we can beat them at their own game. Next to our registers are a collection of plush toys shaped like animals.)

Caller: “Yes, hi, I was wondering if you sell tigers.”

Me: “Yes.”

Caller: “Really?”

Me: *looking at one of our stuffed tigers sitting on a display across from my register* “His name is Bernie, and he’s about a year old.”

Caller: “Uh… what about rhinos?”

(Lo and behold, we have a rhino plushie too.)

Me: “We have Sarah; she’s around the same age.”

Caller: “Yeah… what about elephants?”

Me: “African or Indian? We have both.”

Caller: “What? Hold on… are you pranking me? ‘Cause I called in order to prank you… I think…”

Me: “You asked if we have animals. I’m telling you what your options are.”

Caller: “Yeah, but… I didn’t mean… uh… you know what, forget it! I’ve completely lost track of what’s going on here!” *click*

(I am one of many baristas working for a major name coffee brand that’s known throughout the world. Being located in the state where said brand was founded, we expect to see a lot of interesting things when folk come for their much needed java. That said, I don’t think we expected for two police officers to come in one day and ask for my manager to come to the counter. I’m manning the register next to him as the following takes place.)

Officer #1: “Yeah, um… okay, we’re still not sure how to take this, but we got a 911 call from someone at this location stating that the store was a terrorist cell working to murder its patrons.”

Manager: “Really?… wow… that’s… I don’t know what to say about that. I mean, you know us [Officer #1]. You come by pretty regularly on your patrol to get coffee from us.”

Officer #1: “I know; that’s why I’m letting you know, just in case this gets escalated further. We’re pretty sure it’s a prank but… well… I mean, it’s safe to say that this was the last thing we expected dispatch to ask us to check out.”

Officer #2: “Don’t worry, we’ll report that we’ve checked you out and all seems as it should be.”

(The two officers make to leave.)

Random Customer: “Wait! Where are you going?”

(We all turn to see a tiny old lady [who I served a little while ago] staring at us with a mix of fear and anger.)

Officer #1: “Uh, I’m sorry, ma’am, can we help you with something?”

Lady: “I called you in here to stop these d*** terrorists from killing these poor, God-fearing Americans! Aren’t you going to do something?!”

Officer #1: “I’m sorry, ma’am, are you saying you’re the one who placed the call to 911?”

(The lady storms up and grabs the container of artificial sweetener on our condiments bar.)

Lady: “Look at this! Do you know what’s in these? Aspartame! Sucralose! Neotame! Chemical death in every packet! These people are terrorists, aiming to kill everyone who comes in here!”

(There is a pause as the sudden screaming causes the other customers to stop talking and see what’s going on. The lady starts pointing at random people.)

Lady: “You! You! YOU! You all put this in your coffee! You’ve let these heathens poison you! Every single one of these is death in a packet! You’re all going to die before the day is gone! This isn’t a coffee shop! It’s a d*** morgue!”

Officer #1: “Okay… well… now that we better understand what’s going on, perhaps you’d like to accompany us to our squad car, ma’am? We can put you in touch with the people who can help you further.”

Lady: “Yes! Get me the FBI! Get me the NSA! Every single one of these d*** coffee bars has these! Poisoning and killing Americans everywhere! They’re turning our country into a giant graveyard!”

Officer #1: “Yes, well, again, can you please accompany us outside?”

(The lady clings to our container of sweeteners.)

Lady: “I need this! Evidence of terrorism! Murder!”

(The officers look to us.)

Manager: “Uh… sure. Go ahead.”

Lady: “Yeah, I know who you are! You and your whole terrorist sect are finished! This will not go unanswered! All these packets! How many have you killed already?!”

(The officers finally get the lady out of the shop [with our sweeteners] and into the squad car. Officer #1 comes back in.)

Officer #1: “Okay, I am so sorry about that. We had no idea that was a serious call. We’ll make sure she doesn’t come back here again.”

Manager: “That’s fine just… wow…”

Me: “Yeah… well… it gets better.”

Officer #1: “What do you mean?”

Me: “I served her. She put four of those packets of death in her coffee!”

(I’m 18 years old and work in a local grocery store. In order to get deals and sales on items, customers usually give us a card or their phone numbers. One evening as I’m checking, a customer who looks to be in his late 30’s comes through my line.)

Me: “Hi, how are you tonight?”

Customer: “Good!”

Me: “Glad to hear that! Do you have your grocery card or phone number with you by chance? You’ll save some money.”

(The customer decides to give me his phone number.)

Customer: “Okay, now since I gave you my number, you give me yours.”

(I’m a little startled by this comment, but I decide to not say anything and just keep checking him out. I get done and put my hand out to give him his change and receipt.)

Customer: “Oh, you can just write it on the receipt.”

(Since he speaks while I am counting his change back, I don’t understand what he says at first. I almost don’t say anything, until I notice he hasn’t taken his change out of my hand yet. I then realize that he wants me to acknowledge what he said.)

Me: “I’m so sorry; I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

Customer: “Your number. You can just write it on the receipt.”

Me: *in the friendliest customer service voice I have ever used* “…thank you, have a nice day, sir!”