The restaurant I’m going to has an app that lets you order a meal ahead of time to be picked up. Before I leave for the restaurant, I order a pasta dish with chicken added to it on the app. A minute later, I get a phone call from the restaurant, and a flustered employee tells me, “The, uh… the machine that makes the chicken is down.”

I change my order to have meatballs instead. On my way to the restaurant, I’m wondering what “the machine that makes the chicken” is. A meat slicer, maybe? When I get there, I see approximately five signs warning me that they cannot make any pot-stickers or chicken because a particular piece of equipment is broken.

It’s the grill. The word she was looking for was “grill.” She must have been having a rough day.

(I manage a chocolate shop. I have the weirdest, but most upbeat employees ever. One night, three police men walk in with full gear on.)

Head Police Officer: “We need to ask you a question.”

(One of my employees and I do the wide eyed “Oh, crap; which law did I break!” look.)

Me: “Sure. What’s up?”

Head Police Officer: “We are running a shooting drill in a week, and we need volunteers for it. You would just pretend to be running around or shot.”

Me: “THAT SOUNDS AWESOME!” *I stop and clear my throat.* “I’ll ask my employees and get back to you. Free samples?”

(All of my employees stayed late or showed up on their day off to do it. We didn’t get paid extra, but it was wicked fun to trade roles, calling 911, acting dead, or running and screaming through the mall.)

(I recently started working in a deli at a large chain store. This is my first day on the floor.)

Customer: “Is your meat kosher?”

Boss: “Yes.”

Me: *immediately* “No!”

(The customer looks confused while my boss looks ready to strangle me.)

Boss: “Yes! It. Is.”

Me: “Sir, our cheese is sliced separately from meats, but we put ham on the same slicer as turkey, and everything is washed in one unit. There is nothing kosher about our fresh product once sliced.”

(The customer thanks me for being honest and moves on. My boss, however, pulls me in the back and tries to tell me the meaning of kosher.)

Me: “You’re an idiot.”

Boss: “Excuse me?! I’ll have you fired!”

Me: “I can’t wait to see how the lawsuit plays out.”

Boss: “You’re fired!”

Me: “No, I’m not.”

(I’m still there. My boss won’t speak to me anymore.)

(My partner picks me up from university, with their sister in tow. We take their sister to the local pizza place to pick up her takeaway order, and while she’s inside my partner turns to me.)

Partner: *slightly evasive* “Hey, I need to run some things up if that’s okay.”

Me: “Yeah, sure.” *beat* “Wait, what? I heard, ‘I need to run some things…’ and my brain just filled in, ‘…by you,’ I guess, so I answered okay, but what?”

Partner: *flustered* “Pick some things up. Run and pick some things up. Yeah. After we drop off [Sister]? I just wanted to make sure you’re feeling up to it, since I know you had a long day.”

Me: “Oh! Yeah, that’s fine.”

(Their sister returns, and we drop her off. I mention to her that, as I assume, we’re going to go do some quick grocery shopping. While we’re in the driveway, I turn to my partner and ask:)

Me: “So, what things did you need to pick up?”

Partner: *exclaiming loudly* “[My Favorite Ice Cream Place]!”

Me: “Um, what?”

Partner: *hiding face in hands* “I was going to surprise you by taking you to [Ice Cream Place], because you were so sad last time we tried to go and they were closed. But I’m really bad at lying.”

Me: “Oh no! That’s so sweet of you, though. Thank you!”

Partner: “I was going to be so cool, just driving along, and eventually you were going to ask me where we were going, and I was going to say [Ice Cream Place]! But then you asked immediately and I didn’t have an answer prepared. I failed at being romantic!”

(I didn’t actually feel like I could stomach ice cream right then, anyway, so we did go to the grocery store after all, and picked up some dessert for another night. Next time, I’ll try not to be so nosy!)

(My daughter is used for ads in another country, and the photographer gives me digital copies to use as I want. I take my daughter everywhere with me, because I’m a single mom. I go to get copies of the unused shots for the grandparents.)

Worker: “We can’t print these.”

Me: “Why?”

Worker: “They are obviously not yours!”

Me: “I’ve been given the right to use them.”

Worker: “Well, that’s not your kid!”

Me: *looking down at my kid* “She’s not?!”

My Kid: *looking up* “Hi! I’m [Name].” *then spells it* “I’m four!”

Worker: “That doesn’t prove she’s yours!”

Me: “I’ll go elsewhere.”