I work at a movie theater where in between the two front registers we have a large, glass bin of popcorn that is a part of the front counter. This leads to a rather common problem…

Me: *Scooping popcorn from the bin.*

Costumer: *Walks up from a line and proceeds to start spouting an order.*

Me: *Stares down at the blank space with no register, and no register within a foot of the space.* … I’m sorry someone can help you at one of the registers.

Costumer: *Walks away to join a line without a word.*

I will never quite understand how costumers expect to order without any way for me to process their order!

I’m at a library. There is a man with a beautiful female boxer walking around. A little girl has just gotten to pet the dog, and a woman walks by with a baby. The toddler says something to the woman with her.

Woman: No, you can’t pet the baby. You can pet the doggy, though.

I’m heading to New Jersey to visit my parents and taking NJ Transit. As we get closer to my stop I move to the vestibule to wait by the door. One of the conductors, a middle aged African American woman, is standing there already. After a few moments, an older white man approaches her, sticks his finger out at her and starts berating her. It takes me a few moments of listening to him chastising her to realize that the issue arose when she came through and found him sitting on the stairs and asked him to move as it’s a safety precaution. Apparently the man was wildly offended by this.

He went on for a few moments while she calmly told him she was merely doing her job and he should have listened to her when she told him to move. He spoke to her like she was a child and berated her for her “attitude” and that she needed to do her job better. The finger wagging continued the whole time. She kept telling him to be quiet and “Just enjoy your weekend and let it go.” It was obvious she was frustrated, done with him, and didn’t want to listen.

Eventually, unable to take how rude he was anymore, I intervened and told him politely that what he was doing was exceptionally rude, that he shouldn’t speak to people that way, and that she was merely doing her job and he was interfering with it. He gasped and complained that no one would give him a seat so what was he to do! He said that he’d recently had surgery and needed to sit down but no one offered him a seat. I looked at him and said “Then why didn’t you ask? What was so wrong with asking?” He guffawed and went on about how it was unfair he couldn’t find a seat and that no one offered him one.

That was the moment when I realized I had the perfect retort, one that would perfectly shut down the conversation. I looked him dead in the eye and said:

“Well frankly sir, I think I’d take it as a compliment that these people on the train didn’t look at you and assume you were a frail old man.”

He was literally stunned. And yes, he shut up immediately.

(Blood donation charities often set up mobile stations in town centres to ask for donations from passersby. At this point I’m 17, pretty socially awkward and also have a lot of health issues including iron deficiency anaemia, b12 deficiency anaemia, asthma, low blood pressure, and dizzy/fainting spells, I also recently had dental surgery. I now know that all of these things mean that I can’t donate though I’m only aware of the iron deficiency and low blood pressure being a problem at this point. To add to all of that, I’m very afraid of needles and don’t do well with confrontations so it’s a great mix!)

Charity worker: Hello there, we’re taking blood donations today for the local hospital. Could you spare a few minutes to save a life?
Me: Oh sorry, I’m not allowed to donate
Worker: Of course you are, everyone can donate as long as they’re old enough. How old are you?
Me: I’m 17
Worker: Perfect, just old enough for us to grab you then [laughs while I just look nervously at him]. Right, come over here and we’ll get you started
Me: But I’m not very well
Worker: Of course you are, you look fine. Fit and healthy, and you’re 17, there’s nothing wrong with you
Me: My iron levels are low and my blood pressure, my doctor told me I’m not allowed to give blood
Worker: Oh no your doctor has just made a silly mistake, you can absolutely donate. Just come sit down and we’ll do the forms
Me [panicking]: No! I can’t! I’m not well and I don’t like needles!
Worker [sternly]: Young lady, do you know who is “not well”? The sick children in [local hospital]! Are you going to let them die just because you don’t like needles? Do you think they like being full of needles, hooked up to those machines?
Me: No, of course not, bu-
Worker: Exactly! And I’m *sure* that you’re not so cruel that you’ll let poor babies die
Me: B-b-but, I’m really not well, I told you I’m not allowed to donate. Let me call my mum, she’ll know, she’ll tell you!
Worker: You’re a grown up, you don’t need mummy! Now, you want to save the babies and you are allowed to donate, I promise I’m the expert, we know. Come on now, it will only take a minute

(I should have walked away at this point but I was upset and shaking at the thought that I was killing some poor baby by being selfish that I followed him to the donation van. He sat me down and handed me a form to sign, I didn’t look too closely beyond writing my name, address, the date, and signing, in the beginnings of a panic attack. I’ve seen the blank version of the form since then and the conditions I told him were on there as exclusions. After signing the form, he hooked me up and I have a panic attack so badly at the needle that it triggers my asthma but the wheezing is ignored and the worker and his colleague carry on with the collection. After they’re done I tell them I feel dizzy but they say that’s normal and just give me a biscuit to take with me. I manage to make it to a nearby cafe, still wheezing and feeling dizzy, before collapsing into a vacant chair just inside. My vision goes black and I must have passed out. I come to and find a couple of staff members and a customer looking at me)

Cafe staff #1: Hey, back with us? Are you feeling okay?
Cafe staff #2: Are you [mum’s name]’s daughter?
(I nod weakly)
Cafe staff #2: She works at [nearby store], I’ll go call them and see if she’s there
Customer: Bet she’ll be disappointed, her daughter doing drugs!
Cafe staff #1: I don’t think she’s on drugs, are you sweetie? She’s just sick
Customer: She’s been injecting stuff, look at that plaster!
Me: They took my blood… The van… Over there
(A wave of dizziness hits and I groan)
Customer: These addicts will say anything!
(This type of comment continues until the first cafe staff returns with a cup of tea)
Customer: Don’t give her free stuff, you’re only encouraging her!
Cafe staff #2: Sir, please go and sit down
Customer: I’m sick of these druggies around town!
Cafe staff #2: Sir, go and sit down, let us handle it. Go and sit.
Customer (glares): I’m leaving anyway, don’t want to be around people like that

(The staff are lovely, sitting with me and encouraging me to drink, and giving me a little to eat. My mum arrives not long afterwards and drives me home, having to take the rest of the day off work. She calls to complain about the donation van and they track down my paperwork but argue that I had declared that I didn’t have any medical conditions despite me telling them I hadn’t been shown that page of the form. In the end they don’t do anything about the workers, just reassuring me that their screening process will mean my unhealthy blood won’t ever be used, and I’m left with a day recovery and a much worse fear of needles than I had before.)

(My coworker and I are overseeing the self-serve machines. A lady with a two-level pram comes through and begins scanning through her groceries. She seems perfectly pleasant, and not in any way out of the ordinary. I walk past the pram and catch a glimpse of the babies, only to notice that they’re not babies at all. They’re dolls, dressed in real nappies and full baby clothing with proper bottles of real milk next to them. My coworker walks past a few moments later, sees them, and almost jumps out of her skin—I later learned she’d seen the babies not moving and staring directly ahead and for a brief moment thought they were dead, hence her shock. When she comes to and realised they’re dolls, she turns to the customer.)

Coworker: “Are these yours?”

Customer: “Yes, those are my babies. I wanted babies really badly, so I got these ones. They’re my babies.”

(My coworker just smiled and backs away over the other other side of the self-serve area where I was standing, where we both stayed until the woman and her “babies” had left.)