(I am a cashier at a fairly popular grocery store. I also happen to make my own yogurt and cheese on occasion. A man comes through my line with his two daughters.)

Little Girl: “Why does Swiss cheese have holes?”

Man: “Oh, a little mouse eats its way through the cheese to make those.”

Me: *reflexively* “Ick! That would be terribly unhygienic! I’m pretty sure the bubbles form while the cheese is setting due to the special bacteria used in making Swiss cheese.”

(The little girl seems to consider this, though I’m sure she doesn’t quite understand the cheese-making process. The man pays and leaves without another word. Several days later, one of the store managers pulls me aside.)

Manager: “I got a call complaining about you today.”

Me: “What?”

Manager: “A man says you told his daughter the holes in Swiss cheese are because of bacteria, after he told her it was a cute little mouse.”

Me: “Yeah, I remember that. It isn’t a mouse.”

Manager: “I know that, but you know how it is with kids.”

Me: “I guess I don’t?”

Manager: “We tell them little stories.”

Me: “…”

Manager: “He says you ruined her childhood.”

Me: “I’m not apologizing for telling the truth to a little girl.”

Manager: “You contradicted her father in front of him. You have to be careful about things like this.”

Me: “I’m not apologizing for telling the truth! Especially because the lie was gross! A mouse crawling all over our cheese? Come on!”

Manager: “I know, but kids like mice. They’re cute.”

Me: *sigh* “Are you writing me up for this?”

Manager: “No, but I need to make sure you’ll ease up on what you tell kids.”

Me: “I’ll stick to letting them know that Santa isn’t real.”

Manager: *laughs* “You wouldn’t do that.”

Me: “Next time someone says I ruined a childhood, I’d like it to actually be true.”

Manager: “Well, next time, I’m definitely writing you up.”

(I quit that job as soon as I could. Stupid customers are bad enough without having management take their side.)

(My mother has recently moved to a new area. Unfortunately, a week after moving she gets a bad bout of thrush. She goes to the local parade of shops where she has been told there is a pharmacy. Behind the counter is a younger woman dressed in the white coat of a pharmacist.)

Mother: *quietly, as she’s a little embarrassed* “Hello, I was wondering if I could buy some clotrimazole?”

Cashier: “Sorry, madam, I didn’t quite catch that. What were you after?”

Mother: “Clotrimazole, please?”

(The cashier is looking very confused at this point.)

Cashier: “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that.”

Mother: “Clotrimazole, generic [Brand]?”

(The cashier at this point turns to her older colleague. My mother is getting frustrated as she is already embarrassed, and thrush is a fairly common problem, so she should be aware of at least the branded version.)

Older Colleague: “[Brand]? I don’t believe I’m familiar with that.”

Younger Cashier: “Is it for cats or dogs?”

(My mother just turned and walked out, too embarrassed to explain. The pharmacy was next door!)

(I work at an upscale bar where waitresses wear tight black dresses. The boss is a bit old-school and will only employ pretty college girls. I think he knows our student loans and the average $200 a night in tips are the only things that keep us there. Most customers are nice, classy people, but once in a while we get what we call “frat boy bankers” who drunkenly grope us. We just hired a gorgeous new girl who the frat boys spot and demand come serve them.)

Customer: “Hello, sugar.”

New Girl: “What can I get you?”

Customer: “A piece of this!” *grabs her butt*

New Girl: *uses some sort of cool move to grab his wrist and bend it back painfully* “Get out.”

Customer: “What the h***?! Get me your manager!”

New Girl: *walks to the boss* “I need you to kick out some gropers.”

Boss: “Those guys spend a grand a night.”

New Girl: “They grabbed my a**.”

Boss: “In this job, you just have to deal with things like that. They usually tip a few hundred.”

New Girl: “It is illegal for them to touch me without my consent. Kick them out.”

Boss: “If you want this job, you will march right back over—”

New Girl: “—and even more illegal for you to try and force me into prostitution.”

Boss: “This isn’t prostitution. No cop would arrest—”

New Girl: “You don’t look like I do without getting harassed pretty much every day. I know sexual harassment laws very well. Either kick them out, or I call the cops.”

Boss: *snorts derisively* “This is the real world—”

New Girl: *holds up phone* “And I have our conversation on tape. Now, get them out.”

(A week later we had a new manager, and she kicks out anyone who so much as makes lewd comments.)

I am doing some stock take at a high-end watch shop. Each watch has a long serial number on the back, a combination of letters and numbers. All the staff use the International Radio Alphabet (Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, etc.) to call out the serial numbers. The store manager comes from upstairs, needing a watch to transfer to another store — a fairly common occurrence.

He needs to note the serial number on our POS system, but elects to write the number down and fill it in later.

The number is called up to him as another sales staff packages up the watch in a pretty box.

Later, the manager is getting frustrated with the POS system not accepting the serial number.

He’s about to go berserk at the sales clerk that’s reading him the number, until I check, and the manager is trying to enter “Whiskey Romeo 3456” rather than “WR3456″ into the database.”

(This sandwich shop has a system where you pay extra to eat inside because there is limited seating. This is a particularly busy day, but it’s cold outside and there is a free seat, so my friend and I decide to sit inside and pay extra. Both of us are ordering sandwiches which need to be heated up before serving. We also buy a small cake and a bottled drink.)

Employee: *as she hands me my drink and change* “I’ll give you the cake in a takeaway bag just because we’re out of trays, but I’ll bring your hot sandwiches over in a second, okay?”

Me: “Yes, that’s fine.”

(We go away and sit down to wait for our food and think no more of it. We haven’t started eating the cake at this point. Two minutes later another employee, possibly the manager, storms over to us with a face like thunder.)

Manager: “Did you two girls pay to sit inside? This is a busy restaurant, you know!”

Me: “Yes, we did. We’re waiting for our hot food.”

Manager: “Are you sure about that? You don’t want to tell me anything else?”

Me: “No. We paid to sit inside.”

Manager: “I don’t believe you. You have a takeaway bag. Why would you have that if you paid to sit in?”

Me: “Yes, I have a takeaway bag, but I haven’t started eating it yet. We paid to sit inside, and the girl behind the counter gave us our cake in a takeaway bag because you were out of trays.”

Manager: “Why haven’t you eaten it?! You’re taking up space!”

Me: “Because, as I explained, we are waiting for our hot food to be brought over.”

Manager: “You say that, young lady, but I don’t believe you! I’ll be watching you girls, watching you very carefully!”

(She then leaves, and my friend and I continue to wait for our food. A few minutes later the original employee who served us returns with our sandwiches.)

Server: “I’m so sorry.”

Me: “Bad day?”

Server: “I wish. She’s like that every day.”

(I understand if it’s particularly busy and you’re not sure if someone has paid, but the way she confronted us about it was totally aggressive and unnecessary!)