Back in late 2020, the world was still in the grip of COVID. Lots of businesses were doing their best to function under difficult requirements, leading to some… interesting setups.

A movie had recently come to theatres that I was interested in seeing. To attempt to follow COVID guidelines, our local theatre was selling every two seats in rows, with the third seat left unfilled as a buffer. 

The idea, of course, was that the two seats would be purchased by people already spending time with each other, such as family members, leaving the buffer seat between them and the next, presumably unrelated, person/people.

When I looked online for tickets to the showing I wanted to attend, I found at least one of each seat pair had been sold. After a bit of thought, I decided to purchase one of the seats beside a seat which had already been sold, reasoning that there was not much difference between sitting in an enclosed space for several hours beside another person, vs sitting in an enclosed space for several hours one seat away from another person.

When I walked into the theatre, the other person in question was already in his seat. He stared angrily at me as I took my seat.

Patron: “Is that your seat?”

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Patron: “Did they just sell you the ticket at the counter?”

Me: “No, I purchased it online.”

Patron: “So you KNEW someone was already sitting in THIS seat, and you came here anyway?!”

Me: “So it would seem.”

Patron: “F****** unbelievable!”

With that, he got up and stormed out of the theatre. He did not return. 

I felt bad at first, but finally decided that if he was that concerned about the risk of exposure by not having a single seat between us for the next few hours, he was probably better off heading home.

Back when I was a teenager in my first job, I worked for a large warehouse-type membership store, the kind with everything in bulk and on big pallets. I see a customer on top of a ladder getting some heavy items down from a staff-only shelf.

Me: “Sir, please don’t use the staff ladders. If you need something, I can call someone qualified to—”

Customer: “—I’m in a hurry, mate. I don’t need to wait for the staff. I can grab it myself.”

Me: “Sir, those ladders are for employees only. Some of those boxes are over fifty kilos.”

Customer: “I lift heavier than this at the gym.”

Me: “You lift almost three metres off the ground?”

Customer: “Look. This saves time for me and for you lot. Shut up.”

My manager is walking over and sees this guy drag the step ladder down the aisle.

Manager: “Sir, where did you get that ladder?”

Customer: “The back somewhere.”

Manager: “Sir, you need to stop.”

Customer: “I’m nearly done. Just need that pallet up there.”

Manager: “You’re not insured to touch that.”

Customer: “Shut up! I’m doing you all a favour!”

Manager: “Right. One moment.”

The manager presses his radio.

Manager: “[Supervisor], can you come to aisle forty-two with your lifting kit?”

Supervisor: “On my way.”

Customer: “What for? I’ve already got it.”

The customer heaves a heavy box onto his trolley, which is already sagging in the middle. That thing is waaaaay over its limit.

Me: “Sir, that trolley is rated for—”

Customer: “—I know what I’m doing. Just leave me alone, all of you! I’m a weightlifter! I could lift you all right now and not even blink.”

My supervisor arrives. He has a prosthetic leg, but it’s not immediately obvious under his work trousers. The manager calls him over.

Manager: “This gentleman needs help loading safely.”

Customer: “I don’t need help. I just need you to be quick!”

Supervisor: “No problem. First, I will need to spread all your items over two trolleys, as these are stacked too tall and—”

My supervisor grips the side of the trolley to push it to the side of the aisle and out of the way. The customer doesn’t like this and pulls it back. The sudden back and forth forced one of the badly stacked boxes to slide off and hit the floor with a loud crack. It fell on the side where my supervisor is standing, and he instantly dropped to the ground.

Supervisor: “Oh! Oh no! My leg!”

Customer: “What?!”

The customer runs around the trolley to see my supervisor on the floor… with one leg missing.

Customer: *Turning white.* “I… I didn’t… I… someone call an ambulance!”

Supervisor: *Holding up his prosthetic leg, which he had hidden behind him.* “Oh, wait, it’s over here!”

There is a moment of suffocating silence.

Customer: “That… that’s not…”

Supervisor: *Popping the leg back in within seconds.* “Relax. It’s designed to do that. Unlike your trolley, which is not designed for that amount of weight.”

Customer: “You people are sick.”

Manager: “And if that had all been real, you’d be arrested.”

Customer: “I… was just in a rush.”

Manager: “A trip to the police station or hospital might slow you down a bit, though, eh?”

Me: “Shall we unload your trolley properly, sir?”

Customer: *Very quietly.* “…Yes.”

Supervisor: “Brilliant. I’ll hop to it then, shall I?”

Customer: *Blank stare.*

Supervisor: “Too soon?”

I work at a Five Guys, an American burger chain known for frying the French fries in peanut oil, and having sacks of both potatoes and peanuts around the store.

Customer: *To my manager.* “Are your French fries made from real potatoes?”

My manager looks at the 50 Lb sacks of potatoes that the customer is standing next to, and the large sign on the wall stating the name and location of the farm where today’s potatoes have been sourced from. He then turns back to the customer.

Manager: “No, ma’am. Our French fries are actually made from French people. Who do you think those five guys were?”

Customer: “Ugh! You could have just said yes!”

Manager: “And you could have just used common sense.”

The customer walked out. That manager quit a few months later; he couldn’t deal with stupid customers. He said he saw better problem-solving skills at home from his newborn baby.

I am looking at the daily specials on the blackboard. I laugh at one of the options.

Me: “What’s home-made Gestapo?”

Waiter: “Oh! That’s supposed to be gazpacho!”

Me: “That’s an interesting typo!”

Waiter: “The chef wrote that himself. It’s accurate, though, he’s a real nazi to work for!”

I work on repairs and maintenance at a busy resort hotel. I regularly have to polish scratches out of elevator walls while they are actively in use. Every time I did this, I embraced my impromptu role as an elevator boy with remarks such as:

Me: “You know, you’ll be… floored with the results when we’re done.”

Me: “This job does have its… ups and downs.”

Me: “Oh, I’m definitely… moving up in my career. Taking things to the next level!”

Me: “Sorry, am I… pushing your buttons a bit with all these jokes?”

Me: “I’m your onboard entertainment for today! The guy doing live paint drying performances was unfortunately busy.”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was mainly the dads who laughed at my jokes. The wives and kids more often groaned, rolled their eyes, and hid smiles. I felt very validated by that.