Our store is across the street from a nursing home. Almost every day, we see an older couple come into the store to just look around. They go through the same routine every day, and they don’t really buy anything, but we don’t mind. 

The husband comes over to me one day after we make eye contact and I smile at him a little.

Husband: “I wanted to say thanks for letting us come in every day. It really means the world to us.”

Me: “Oh, it’s no bother at all. I’m sure there are nicer places to visit than this little old store, though!” 

Husband: “Well, it’s for my wife. She has trouble remembering these days, but we always used to come to this store together every Tuesday, and she’d work through her list, thinking up all the dinners she’d feed us all week until the next Tuesday. She doesn’t remember who I am most days, but every time we come in here, it’s suddenly Tuesday, and she gets all excited about the dinners she wants to make.”

Me: “Oh… I… I don’t know what to say.” 

Husband: “Nothing to say. I just wanted to say thank you.”

His wife walked past with a list in her hand, smiling and calling her husband over to help her choose a cereal.

Every day for the next year, we’d see them reliving her Tuesdays, happy with her list, until one day we didn’t see them for a while. He came back a few weeks later to tell us that his wife was grocery shopping in Heaven now, and he couldn’t wait to try some of the meals she was cooking up for him one day.

We all loved him for how much he loved her.

I was a cashier at a fast food restaurant on weekends when I was in my teens. It wasn’t much money, but I wanted to work, and they were the only place that would hire me.

Between a Saturday and a Sunday, several of our prices went up — ten cents here, fifty cents there. Nobody told me about it, but I found out quite quickly. My very first customer of the day was a man in his forties.

Me: “Hi, how—”

Customer: “[Burger meal], large chocolate shake.”

Me: “Okay. A [burger meal] and a large chocolate shake comes to [new total].”

Customer: “What? No, it’s [old total].”

Me: “Um… a [Burger meal] and a large chocolate shake, right?”

Customer: “Yeah. How is it more today than it was last week?”

Me: “I… uh… I just put it in, and—”

Customer: *Louder* “Are you trying to rip me off? Do you think I’m f****** stupid?”

Manager: “[My Name]! What is going on?” *Gently* “How can I help you, sir?”

Customer: “This girl is trying to steal from you and me! She said my meal is [new total], but it should be [old total].”

Manager: “I see. I apologize, sir; corporate did raise some of our prices last night. Let me fix that for you. I will give you yesterday’s price, but going forward it will be the new price. Would you like a free apple pie for your inconvenience?”

Customer: “Yes. And train this one to learn to read, too.”

Me: “I was—”

Manager: “Of course, sir. Your meal will be out in a minute. [My Name], come with me.”

I followed him to fill the fries and shake. I was pretty upset by the whole ordeal.

Manager: “We raised some prices. If anyone causes a scene, just call for me and I’ll tell them it was corporate, and I’ll honor the old price for today only.”

Me: “Okay… Why wasn’t I told there were new prices?”

Manager: “We don’t have time to hold your hand. Go take this to the customer and apologize for the confusion.”

I went back to my register and put everything on the tray.

Me: “Here is your order, sir. Have a nice day.”

Customer: *Yelling* “You f***ed up my order! You stupid b****! I—”

A regular elderly gentleman who only ever ordered a senior coffee came up and cracked his cane on the register counter. Everyone around us stopped.

Regular: “If my child ever talked to a young lady like that, I’d have whooped him good and sent him to bed without supper.”

Customer: *Flustered* “I was—”

Regular: “I saw. The whole store saw. On your way, son.”

The man took his tray and sat down. My manager rushed over and grabbed me by the arm.

Manager: “What was that?!”

Regular: “I have daughters, and I’ll be d***ed to Hell before I let anyone treat them like he treated her. Only makes sense to watch the other daughters, too.”

He gave my manager a hard look, and I was released.

Manager: “Oh.” *Pause* “You only get a coffee, right?”

Regular: “I do. It’s gone up, I understand.”

Manager: “[My Name], get the man his coffee. On the house.”

I do not miss those customers, that job, or the managers, but I do miss that old man.

I am waitstaff in a fancy restaurant where the kitchen is uniquely placed in the middle of the dining area, open for all to see.

I am bringing out a steak to a customer, who starts complaining before I’ve even had a chance to put the food down, gesturing toward the kitchen.

Customer: “I’m appalled that someone covered with tattoos is handling my food. With the amount I am paying, you shouldn’t be hiring thugs. This will be reflected in the optional service charge!”

Me: “You’re referring to the fellow who cooked and seasoned your steak?”

Customer: “I am!”

Me: “You’re in luck! That’s the Chef De Cuisine, and he usually doesn’t do the steaks, so yours is extra special! He’s also the reason why our restaurant has a Michelin star. Shall I take the steak back?”

Customer: “No… I’ll… give it a go.”

He ate every bite. I also made sure he paid the service charge!

My manager and I are working the overnight shift at a twenty-four-seven fast food joint in a neighborhood that doesn’t have the best reputation.

A guy walks in and asks for the cheapest combo we have. I ask for the total, and he’s thirty-seven cents short. I explain this.

Customer: “C’mon, man! It’s the middle of the night. Just let it slide.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, I can’t offer any discounts.” 

Customer: “It’s only a few cents! No one will notice.”

Me: “I’ll be short at the end of my shift, and I’ll get written up.” 

Customer: “So, your write-up is more important than me going hungry?”

Me: “Look, I can get you some fries for [small amount], and I’ll throw in some extra for you, but I can’t sell you [combo] unless you have the full amount.”

My manager walks over as he’s noticed the customer getting agitated. He explains the same things that I have, and the customer gives us a big “F*** you!” and storms out.

Less than half an hour later, the next shift has arrived, and during the overlap, my manager and I get a break. We usually grab some food and go sit in his old car together, which has been parked to the side of the store for as long as I can remember. (He drives a newer and nicer car, but due to reasons too long and boring to list here, he’s been allowed to keep his old car in that parking spot for a few months.)

As we’re eating our dinner and talking, the customer from before spots us, storms over, and dramatically throws himself over the hood of the car.

Customer: “What the f***, man! You trying to kill me?!”

Manager: “What the h*** are you doing?! Go away!”

Customer: “I’m callin’ the police! You tried to kill me!”

Me: “Oh, my God! Is this all because you didn’t get a burger?!” 

The customer — who, at this point, we suspect is high on something — actually calls 911 and claims we tried to run him over. I’m getting a little worried, but my manager tells me to be patient and it’ll all be fine.

Two officers drive in about fifteen minutes later. (We’ve sat in the car finishing our food during this time.) The customer is quick to explain to them what happened. He’s even developed a little limp in the last fifteen minutes.

Then, the officers finally give my manager and me a chance to explain

Manager: “Officer, please, check the engine. I think you’ll find that it will prove that we didn’t hit the customer.”

Officer #1: “I’m not qualified to check an engine to confirm your testimony.” 

Manager: “Please, indulge me.”

My manager pops the hood, opens it, and lets the officer take a look. 

Officer #1: *To the customer* “Okay, sir, I think we’re done here.”

Customer: “What are you talking about?! Just because the engine isn’t running, it doesn’t mean—” 

Officer #1: “Take a look, sir.”

The customer steps forward… and sighs. 

There is no engine.

Manager: “It was taken out months ago to go to a more deserving car. This hunk of junk exists only as a place for me to take my breaks and listen to my music at full volume. We good here?” 

Officer #2: “We’re good. Feel free to go back inside, sir.”

Manager: “But first, I’d like to call the police about a customer who is causing a disturbance and has been known to lie to the police.”

Officer #2: “No need to make that call, sir. We can take it from here.” 

They escorted the customer off the premises. We never saw him again.

One of my kids is allergic to peanuts, tree nuts, sesame seeds, and their oils — oh, and garden peas — but not other legumes.

One school wanted to keep their EpiPens locked in a secure cabinet. Which was locked in a secure walk-in cupboard. Which was accessed via a secure strongroom that was always kept locked. Which opened off the Head’s Study. Which was locked whenever they weren’t in the room.

When I — and other parents of children with EpiPens — went and asked the Head and the Bursar how much the school was worth, they wanted to know why.

Me: “So we know how much to sue you for when one of our kids dies because people can’t find the keys in time.”

Suddenly, every classroom was issued with a secure medications cabinet, which was accessed either by entering a code on the pin-pad or hitting the big, red medical emergency alarm button above the cabinet. (It was beyond the reach of little kids, very loud and scary, and designed to summon help QUICKLY. It couldn’t be switched off without the special key, which was only issued to the Head, the Bursar, and the Secretary.)