(I am working alone during the night shift. It’s very slow when a little boy around the age of five comes up to me.)

Boy: “Hello, do you know if the protein you have is bad for me?”

(We have supplements you can add into your drink.)

Me: “No, it’s not bad for you, but do your parents want you to take supplements?”

Boy: “One second, please. I want to ask my mom and dad.” *runs off and comes back quickly* “Can I just make my own smoothie?”

Me: “Sure! What fruits do you want?”

Boy: “What do you have?”

(I list all the choices and he makes a decision.)

Me: “Great! What size cup do you want?”

Boy: *looks at the small and medium sizes* “Is the medium too much for me? Because I want more than a small but I don’t know if I can finish it.”

Me: “You can choose what you want, buddy. Do you want a medium?”

Boy: “I think I can drink it all. Can I take these cup sizes and show my mom and dad?”

(I agreed and he ran off again. He came back and ordered a medium drink. I quickly made it for him and he went off running to his parents, smiling and clearly happy with his order. That was the cutest kid I have ever helped!)

(Sample stands aren’t terribly common where I live, but every few months a major brand will have one for promotional materials. I spot the stand for a rather expensive brand of milk which I don’t buy unless it’s my only option, but having already found the coupons being given out in my trolley I don’t go too close. The stand worker comes up to me when I am very clearly looking at the shop’s own-brand cartons…)

Representative: “Excuse me, would you like some coupons for [amount] off [Brand]?”

Me: *politely, but not making eye contact* “No, thank you.”

Representative: “Okay. Just wanted to save you some money…” *walks back to stand*

(How she thought that passive-aggressive comments would help convince someone looking at milk that was less than half price — and just as good as what she was flogging, without useless additives — is still beyond me…)

(I work as a cashier in a gardening goods store. Usually, I enjoy my job and do well at it, but not today. It is my first day back to work after a rough break-up with my boyfriend, so I am still upset by it. Not only that, but the store has recently released one of those motion-activated toys that sings a song every time someone walks in front of it. Not only is the song my ex’s and my old song, but they are set up by the registers to try to sell, so I hear this same song over and over for the entire shift. About two hours into my shift, I am silently crying at my register while doing my best to keep my voice from cracking as I help customers, several of which ask if I am okay. I assure them that I’ll be fine, trying to remain professional, but I can’t help it. Eventually, I am pulled away by my supervisor.)

Supervisor: “What’s going on? We’ve gotten several reports that you’re upsetting the customers.”

Me: *wiping tears off my face* “I’m really sorry. I just broke up with my boyfriend a few days ago, and I guess it’s still hitting me really hard.”

Supervisor: “Well, that’s no excuse. I’ll give you a few minutes to get yourself together, but this needs to stop.”

Me: “Actually, I don’t think that would help. Those new toys keep playing that song, and it really reminds me of my ex. Would it be okay if I took the rest of the day to go home and work through this? I promise I’ll do better tomorrow.”

Supervisor: “I can’t send you home. I have relationship issues, too, you know. But you don’t see me bringing it to work.”

Me: *still feeling ready to cry at any minute* “I’ll try…”

Supervisor: “Good. Because you’re not going home today and I don’t want to hear from any more customers that you’ve been upsetting them.”

(I had to spend the rest of my shift constantly reminded of my ex, and discreetly making sure that no one noticed my tears. Any customers who asked about me, I asked them please not to mention it to my supervisor. I’m still not sure how I made it through that day.)

(My parents immigrated to the US a few years before my sister and I were born and went through all the red tape to get their citizenship legally. Even though it’s been twenty plus years my mom still speaks with an accent and some broken English when stressed. One afternoon a telemarketer calls and my mom, in a hurry to go pick up my youngest sister from school, answers without looking at the caller ID.)

Mom: “Hello?

Telemarketer: “Hello, are you interesting in improving your home security?”

Mom: “No, thank you, ma’am. Can you please no call here? Good bye.”

(Not a minute later the telemarketer called back, but this time got the answering machine. She screamed and cussed at my mom for hanging up; she then started threatening to call immigration and get her “Mexican a**” deported. My older sister called the company back later and reported the woman. I’m not a hateful person, but I hope she was fired.)

(My freshman year of college, I live in a dorm. Somehow, I get this random phone call.)

Caller: “Hi, I’m a representative with [Solar Company]. I’d like to talk to you about our services.”

Me: “I’m not interested but thank you anyway.”

Caller: “Why aren’t you interested? Solar can really help you save on your electric bill.”

Me: “I don’t have anywhere to our solar. You see—”

Caller: *interrupting* “Oh, are you no longer the owner of [Address of my college]?”

Me: “Uh, no. I’m not.”

Caller: *click*

Me: *to myself* “Do they really think I’m the owner of this entire place?”