The dry cleaners that I work for raised their prices a few weeks ago. (Well, I call it a dry cleaner, but we do laundry as well.) The owner assured us that our customers would be understanding, and for the most part they have been, but there are always some customers…

I’m processing an order pickup for this man (five shirts) that we’ve cleaned for him.

Me: “That will be [price around $40].”

Customer: “Eight dollars a shirt?!”

Me: “Um, yes.”

Customer: “Eight dollars a shirt?! Really?!”

Me: “Yes. Well, part of that is that these shirts were dry cleaned.”

Customer: “Why would you dry clean these shirts?!”

At this point, my coworker steps in to help.

Coworker: “Probably because of the material. Let me see… yes, this shirt has wooden buttons which would be ruined in our dryer, and this shirt has a net in the back which would also be ruined—”

Customer: “—Why would you dry clean these shirts?!”

Coworker: “Let me go get the manager.”

So, the manager comes to the front.

Manager: “Hello, sir. I understand you are unsatisfied with our prices. I’ll change it to the price it would be for laundry, so that would be [price around $18]. Is that acceptable?”

Customer: “Yes!”

And then he paid… with the hundred-dollar bill he’d been holding in his hand the entire time. I wonder if he knew that we don’t keep large bills in our registers, meaning the manager had to go to the safe to get him change…

It’s 2008, and I am an exchange student from the Netherlands in a small town in Arkansas. I spent five wonderful months there, and I loved my time abroad, but I did get some interesting questions/statements…

Student #1: “You’re from the Netherlands? Ain’t that where Peter Pan’s from?”

She was also asked to point out Arkansas on a map and didn’t know where to find it…

Student #2: “Do they have fridges in Europe? Do they have roads? Do you have cars? Do you have UFOs?”

Student #3: “I’m flying back with you to the Netherlands, and then I’m flying to Amsterdam to smoke weed.”

Student #4: “But if the legal drinking age is sixteen, does that mean you’re drunk all the time?”

Customer: “You’re wearing a necklace?”

Me: *Pulling up my collar.* “Oh, yes. It must have ridden up at the back.”

Customer: “Is it a cross?”

Me: “No, just something personal.”

Customer: *Shoving her large bejewelled cross in my face.* “You should wear it loud and proud, honey!” *Squints eyes.* “Or are you not Christian?”

Me: “I try not to discuss religion at work, ma’am.”

Customer: “So that means you’re not a Christian.”

Me: *Mental sigh.* “I am a Christian, ma’am, I just try not to make a big deal of it at work.”

Customer: “Well then, you’re not a very good Christian, are you?! You need to shout it loud and proud! We’re under attack in this country and we need to show them that we’re out here serving The Lord!”

Me: “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.”

Customer: “…what?”

Me: “Matthew 6:1, ma’am. Will that be cash or card?”

She paid… silently.

I’m picking up my son from school, standing outside with all the other parents. My son is a bit of a forgetful klutz, so as soon as he comes out, I ask:

Me: “You have your gym clothes? Your lunch box? Your insulin?”

Son: “Oh shoot! I forgot my gym clothes!”

He rushes back in to get them, and another mother comes over.

Mother: “Did I hear you say insulin?”

Me: “Yes. [Son] is diabetic.”

Mother: “Oh, that’s not good! You don’t need to put him on that artificial stuff! Insulin is just doctors shilling for Big Pharma. You should just rub lemon balm essential oils into his heels every night.”

Me: “So… that’s the cure for diabetes is it? Lemon balm essential oils? Should we alert the medical community that Susan from Springdale has solved Diabetes! Maybe you could solve Cancer next?”

Mother: “Hmph! Fine. Be like that.”

I suddenly felt very worried about her kids. I mentioned it to the school nurse a few days later, and she just rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t worry, the kids live with their dad every other week and get their vaccinations and checkups with him.”

At our store, we have to ask every customer if they want a bag. It’s policy. I’m working my checkout lane, and here comes a guy who buys the same things every week:

Me: “Do you need a bag?”

Customer: *Grins.* “No, she’s in the car!”

He does this every week. Same dumb joke. Every time, I give him a polite smile, but it’s getting old.

One week, I skipped the bag question entirely, and of course, this is the one time my manager was walking past. He tells me off later.

Manager: “You must ask every customer if they need a bag.”

Fine. Next week comes:

Me: “Do you need a bag?”

Customer: *Same grin.* “No, I left her in the car!”

I lean in, staring deadpan, no smile, no blink, no change in expression, and just let out the loudest, fakest laugh imaginable:

Me: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

I keep eye contact the whole time.

The guy’s grin slowly dies, his face goes red, and he just picks up his stuff without saying another word. 

He’s never made that joke again.