We have a coworker who is neurodivergent. He’s worked for the store longer than almost anyone else save a few managers, and he is known for keeping the fresh fruit and vegetable sections looking like works of art.

[Coworker] doesn’t interact with the customers too often due to some social anxieties and other factors, so he comes in very early at the same time as the produce shipments and makes sure the displays are perfect (and I do mean perfect) with minimal customer overlap. His shift is usually over only an hour or so after we start letting in customers.

Something happens with [Coworker]’s family, and he has to take two weeks off for it. He’s not too happy with this, as he is comforted greatly by his routine, but we’ve all been encouraging him how great he’s been doing in “trying new things” lately, and he can tell us all about his trip when he gets back.

Coworker: “Oh, no, that’s not what I am worried about. I’m worried about the displays. I have a specific way I make the apple pyramids, and it looks better when the cucumbers are stacked diagonal, not to mention—” 

Manager: “[Coworker], while I know for a fact that no one can do that better than you, we’ll find a way to manage without you, I promise.”

[Coworker] goes on his trip, and while we make our best effort, we can’t make the fruit and vegetable displays look as amazing as he does. It gets to the point where it’s noticed by the customers, and I have a variation of this conversation multiple times.

Customer #1: “Oh, your fruit displays aren’t as neat as they usually are. I know it’s a little thing, but it always makes my day when I can tell someone has made a conscious decision to stack the loose carrots by size. These things go noticed, you know!”

Me: “I’m glad you noticed, and yes, our regular stocker is off for the next two weeks.”

Customer #1: “Oh! Nothing bad, I hope?”

Me: “Not that I am aware, but I do know he’s looking forward to coming back to work to make the displays all pretty again!” 

After the two weeks are up, [Coworker] returns to work, and within a day, the displays are back to the perfect standards he is known for. This time, the regulars have noticed, and in that small window when [Coworker] and the customers are in the store at the same time, variations of the following conversation occur.

Customer #2: “Excuse me. Are you the man who puts out the fruits and vegetables?” 

Coworker: “Uh… yes. I am.”

Customer #2: “You do such a wonderful job! You were missed when you were away! You can tell they did their best in your absence, and I know it’s only a silly little thing, but it really is joyous to see how much care you put into your work! Now that I know it’s you, I simply had to thank you.”

Coworker: “Oh… uh… you’re welcome.”

Rinse and repeat to the point where, the next time I see [Coworker] in the break room:

Coworker: “I had to go away for two weeks because my grandad died. My mum was there, and she told me that I wasn’t going to ever make anyone happy in my life. But since I got back, I’ve been told that I’ve made six complete strangers very happy.”

Me: “Oh, my. I’m sorry about your mum, but I am glad you made some people happy.”

Coworker: “I think I am going to try some new designs with the cabbages tomorrow. That will show them!” 

Our manager has since promoted [Coworker] to the head of the produce department, and he’s developed several regulars who are “fans”. He even hangs around a little longer at the end of his shift instead of leaving immediately to talk to them.

The displays have only gotten better and better.

I was a fifty-five-year-old lady delivery driver. I had been doing it for four years or so at the time. This happened over ten years ago, so some of the particulars are a bit fuzzy, but I clearly remember that it was a horrible night — probably the worst night I had ever had.

The teenagers making pizzas were messing up. We were shorthanded. Addresses and phone numbers were wrong. I had to do a couple of redeliveries due to the wrong pizza toppings. The phone kept ringing, and no one was answering, so I had to delay delivering to answer the phone. It was busy, and they had trouble keeping up. It was just a truly bad night.

It was getting close to closing, and I had one delivery left. I was so looking forward to going home and chilling, and I was ready to forget that night.

There were three or four pizzas on the order, and it was going to an address I had never been to before. I hate new customers; you never know how nice or s***ty they might be. I got to the house in less than four minutes; thankfully, it was close to the shop. There were a bunch of cars in the driveway and parked in front of the house. Cool, party!

I went into the open garage since that’s where the party was. I put on my customer service smile, and then I heard:

Voice: “HEY! [MY NAME]! How you doing?”

OMFG! I recognized Mr. Favorite Regular, and he was waving me over with a beer in his hand.

Mr. Favorite Regular: “Hey, everyone, this is [My Name], the best driver from [Pizza Place]! -Here, have a beer!”

Now, this was not the first beer I had been offered when delivering, but it was the first beer I ever accepted. I got to meet Mr. Favorite Regular’s brother and all their friends and family, and all of them welcomed me like my butt was made of gold. I guzzled that beer like a man lost in the desert for three days guzzles water. There was joking, hugging, and backslapping, another beer appeared in my hand, and there was lots and lots of laughter.

It was absolutely FUN-DERFUL, but alas, I had to get back to the shop, and I was worried I might get stopped by our local officers with beer on my breath, so I said my goodbyes, hugged Mr. Favorite Regular and some of my new friends, and headed back to my car.

I had parked on the side of the street in front of the driveway, but my car was GONE! Oh, s***! I had left the keys in the car, and some suckface had stolen it!

Then, I looked back toward the party, and they were all standing in front of the garage laughing their a**es off!

Why? Someone had snuck out of the party and moved my car a block down the road. These f***ers thought they were hilarious.

And they were right! I laughed my golden a** off all the way to my car as I gave them the double bird they so richly deserved.

Best. Night. Ever!

A lady is using the self-checkout, and after she has bagged everything and paid, she makes sure to tell the self-checkout employee, the service desk employees, and some cashiers:

Customer: *Nice and loud* “Look how I did your jobs for you!”

The employees just ignore this; they have plenty to keep them occupied. For some reason, this makes the customer mad.

Customer: *Even louder* “I did your jobs for you! Just letting you know!”

We just look at her and then continue doing our jobs. After not getting a reaction from the employees, she stands near the exit and starts shouting as loud as she can while pointing at her cart:

Customer: “I did your jobs for you!”

She is now loud enough to bother other customers, so my manager gets involved.

Manager: “Excuse me, ma’am. Are you all right?”

Customer: “Why isn’t it bothering you that you’re making your customers do your jobs for you?”

Manager: “Because you’re not, ma’am. We all have lots to do, even with the assistance of self-checkout.”

Customer: “I want you to acknowledge that I effectively did work for you for free! It’s shameful!”

Manager: “Okay, well, by my estimation, based on the time stamp on your receipt, you were at the self-checkout for eight minutes.”

My manager gets a calculator out on his phone.

Manager: “So… eight minutes at minimum wage comes to a total of… 98 cents. Here, I’m giving you a raise; take a dollar.”

He takes a dollar from his wallet and hands it out to her.

Manager: “A dollar for your hard work. That’s what other cashier operators are getting without kicking up a fuss.”

She just stared at my manager before gasping in annoyance and storming out.

A new store manager is going through staff scheduling with the floor managers. It’s his first time managing a store in a small town with just one high school where a lot of people know each other.

Store Manager: “Who is Milton? Why is he only ever scheduled to work the back?”

Checkout Manager: “Milton? Oh, you mean Milk. Yeah, he’s no good on checkout. We tried, but that didn’t work out.”

Store Manager: “Milk?”

Me: “Nickname.”

Store Manager: “Why is his nickname Milk?”

Me: “He got 2% on his final math test in high school, and since then, everyone’s called him Milk.”

Store Manager: “Okay, so no checkout. Got it.”

About a decade ago, I moved from one coast to the other for work. My cell phone provider didn’t have great coverage in my new location, so once my contract was up (after about two months), I switched providers.

All was well until about four months later when I got an email from my previous provider telling me I owed them almost $400. Confused, I called them up.

Representative: “I see here that you ordered a [Smartphone].”

Me: “What? No, I didn’t. My account is closed. It’s been closed for six months.”

Representative: “The item was ordered from your account and shipped to [City in my previous state].”

Me: *Annoyed and in disbelief* “Are you telling me that your company accepted an order from a closed account and shipped it to a state that your own records show I don’t live in anymore?”

There was a long pause.

Representative: “Okay, you don’t need to worry about this. We’ll take care of it.” *Click*

Sure enough, I never heard about it again.