(My store sells baby chickens in the spring, so before we get them, we set up tanks and fence gates in the middle of the store to attract attention. A father and a little girl come in one morning.)

Little Girl: *gasp!* “Baby chickens!”

(She looks in the tanks, which are empty.)

Little Girl: “Where are the baby chickens?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sweetie, but they’re not here yet. They’ll be here soon.”

Little Girl: “How soon? In a few minutes?”

Me: “No, just a few more days, kiddo.”

Little Girl: “Oh. They are here sometimes, though.”

Me: “That’s right, and I certainly hope your Daddy will bring you back to see them.”

Her Father: “Had you not said it, she’d be begging me, anyway.”

(I’m at a fairly popular gaming store in search of a video game that came out yesterday. The company producing the video game is notorious for not producing enough stock.)

Cashier: “Can I help you?”

Me: “Uh, yes. I was wondering if you had [Game]?”

Cashier: “I think they’re all sold out except pre-orders. Hold on.”

(He goes around to computer. I follow him and stand across the counter.)

Cashier: “Yeah, looks like we only have pre-orders. You really should have pre-ordered it; they never stock enough.”

Me: “Well, not usually games… I know they didn’t stock much of [Console #1] or [Console #2]—”

Cashier: *interrupting before I can finish the name of [Console #2]* “No. They always sell out. You should have pre-ordered it. Wait, it looks like we do have one. But only one. So, you should have pre-ordered it.” *turns around to grab the game*

Me: “I guess. But I didn’t really have the money—”

Cashier: *still not facing me, incredibly judgemental* “You didn’t have five dollars?”

Me: *I pause, taken off-guard by his tone* “I didn’t know if I would have the money to pay it off when it came out.”

Cashier: *now talking to and looking at me like I’m a small child* “You can pay a little bit at a time. A little money here… a little money there… and then you’re guaranteed to have the game.”

Me: “I’ll think about it.”

Cashier: “You should have pre-ordered it.”

Me: “Well—”

Cashier: “You’re guaranteed the game.”

Me: “…”

Cashier: “Do you have a rewards card?”

Me: “Not with me. Is there an alternate ID option?”

Cashier: “Phone number.”

Me: “Uh…”

(It’s my brother’s card, but I can’t remember his phone number. I reach for my phone to load it up, hoping the card has more than one number attached.)

Me: “It might be [Dad’s Phone Number].”

Cashier: “Nope.”

Me: *looking at my brother’s phone number* “Oh, it’s—”

Cashier: *interrupting me again* “Your total is [price].”

(At this point, I was tired of his attitude and just wanted to get out of the store, so I didn’t push the issue and just handed him the money. After handing me the game, he started to say something else. Fortunately, one of my friends ran in and gave me the excuse to talk to him and leave before I had to listen to anything else. I understand that pre-ordering can be a good choice and, yes, it guarantees you the game, but seriously? You don’t get to reprimand your customers for not pre-ordering. That’s not cool.)

(My mom is watching me play a popular video game where you can throw your hat to “capture” different enemies and use their powers. One such enemy throws fireballs. I’m attempting to capture this enemy, but just as I throw my hat, he throws a fireball. The hat knocks the fire back into the enemy, killing it.)

Me: “Well, that backfired.”

(Beat.)

Mom: “Seriously?”

Me: “I swear, I didn’t mean to make a pun!”

My dad is the manager of a local gas station chain. He’s a really social guy, and it’s a fairly popular gas station in a relatively small town, so he knows basically everyone — or at least, they know him.

He’s driving while talking on the phone — using Bluetooth, of course — and gets a little distracted, so he doesn’t realize he’s driving a little too slowly, maybe five miles under the speed limit. A car honks at him, which snaps him back to paying attention, and then the other driver aggressively begins to pass him. As they drive by, the passenger glares and raises a certain finger, then suddenly looks horrified and backs down. Dad can’t help but laugh; it’s one of his employees.

Her next shift, she apologizes profusely. Now, every time she comes into work, Dad teases her that she has road rage.

I am at a popular state-wide gas station chain to buy myself a drink for the road. The store is pretty busy, but there is only one cashier working. By the time I pick my drink out and get in line to pay, the line is five or six people long. The person at the front of the line has a fairly large order.

The cashier repeatedly presses the button to call for her coworker to come get on a register. My dad works in one of these gas stations, so I know that this releases a very long, loud buzzing sound in the stock area. It’s pretty hard to miss, and you can even hear it a bit in the front of the store. Still, there’s no sign of the other employee. At this point, the cashier and customers are starting to go from frustrated to concerned.

Finally, the cashier pulls out her phone and tries calling the employee, but there’s still no response. At this point, a customer ducks out of line and charges into the freezer — an employee-only area, but it’s not like anyone is going to stop him — and emerges a few seconds later, fuming and dragging the second employee by the arm. The cashier proceeds to yell at him. It turns out he was listening to music with earbuds in. Why he didn’t answer his phone, he doesn’t say.

The line splits in half, and I end up second or so in line at the new cashier’s register. He doesn’t speak to any customer and, once my drink is in its bag, proceeds to throw it at me. Too exhausted to do anything about it, I turn around and leave.

As I walk out the door, I hear the guy say, “Can I go back to the freezer, now?” My only regret is that I didn’t stick around to hear the other cashier’s response. A week later, a “Help Wanted” sign showed up on their door… I wonder why!