I’m having my lunch break, and I decide to watch a YouTube video. To not bother anyone else, I use the headset that’s connected to my work laptop. (We may use our laptops for personal use, as well.) The laptop is also used to patch through calls, but I’ve put the setting on “lunch break”. If someone wants to call me through the system, they can see that it says “lunch break”. My “public” schedule also says “lunch break”.

Suddenly, I get a call patched through. This has never happened before, and since it’s an automatic system, I get it thrown into my lap and I can’t decline it.

Me: “Eh… hello? This is [My Name]?”

Coworker: “Ah, [My Name], I have a client who wants to change their appointment. It’s [address] and—”

Me: “Whoa, whoa, one moment. You’re going way too fast. I’m sorry, but I’m on my lunch break and I’m not logged in.”

I quickly log in to look for someone who can help my coworker.

Coworker: *A bit grumpily* “Then why did you pick up?”

Me: “I didn’t. I was watching a video and the system connected us automatically. But I was set on ‘lunch break’, so…”

Coworker: “Well, I don’t know anything about that! I was told to call someone from [department].”

You can only see our numbers if you look into our call system. You see the name, a little dot that shows availability (yellow for inactive), and the availability/status: available, do not disturb, lunch, etc.

So, she first looked up our department (which has our public schedule connected to it), found my name (with my schedule), and called me, ignoring both the blocked, clearly labeled “lunch break” status and the yellow dot indicating that I was inactive. 

Me: “Eh, well, I see that [Coworker #2] is still available. You could try her or maybe send a chat message to check if she is available.”

Coworker: “Fine, fine, goodbye.”

She sounds grumpy, but she’s new and maybe the client has been unpleasant. I decide to just let it go. And, just in case, I decide to watch the video on my phone, closing my laptop. 

When I log in after the break, I find this email.

Coworker: “I don’t know who you think you are, but you were very rude to me. I was told I need to call [department] with rescheduling and that’s what I did. I didn’t know you were watching a video. How was I supposed to know you were on your lunch break? You shouldn’t have picked up the phone if you were on break.”

I forwarded the email to my manager. They talked to [Coworker] and told her that “lunch break” in both the schedule and in the call system means someone is having their lunch break.

I heard from other coworkers that [Coworker] complained that she now has to go “on an investigation” to find out if someone is “kind enough” to do their job. Since it was only hearsay, the manager couldn’t do anything about that, but he did promise to keep an eye and an ear open. 

[Coworker] is still working with us, but she hasn’t called me ever again.

I have a minor deformation of my jaw. Although it sticks out to me like a huge sign every time I see a mirror or picture, in reality, it’s a very, very minor thing. Consequences are purely cosmetic. There are people living with much worse deformations that cause them real health dangers and even pain. I’ve just got a slightly prominent chin. Mostly, I pretend it’s not even there.

I’m at work, about a half-hour before I clock out, and it’s been a pretty decent day all in all. Then, along comes a rude couple.

The husband is a typical business jerk: he thinks he shouldn’t have to wait in line, demands attention immediately, thinks his job is the most important and can’t wait, etc.

But it is his wife that gets to me.

Entitled Wife: “Well, why don’t you sell this resume paper in five-sheet packs? We only need five sheets! We don’t need fifty! You should sell five-sheet packs; that’s what we need!”

After her husband walks off to get something, she sidles over to me, and in a hushed voice, she says:

Entitled Wife: “May I ask you a question?”

Me: “Okay?”

Entitled Wife: *Moves up closer* “Well… I say this, you see, because my husband is a doctor, and my son was born with the same…” *does a sort of weird grimace and gestures to her chin* “…condition as you, and I was wondering, have you seen a specialist about it?”

I give her a “WTF?!” expression, and I respond after a moment of stunned silence.

Me: “Yes?”

I mean an orthodontist, who admittedly probably did quite a bit to tone down my deformation with some clever teeth-moving. I’ve never seen a plastic surgeon because of a lack of money.

Entitled Wife: *Peering at me over her glasses* “And…?”

Me: *Stammering* “And… and I’m fine?”

Honestly, I am getting angry now that the shock is over.

Entitled Wife: “Oh… Okay. You’re sure?”

Me: *Disgusted half-laughter of WTF-ness* “Yes. I’m sure.”

Entitled Wife: *Sympathetic gaze* “Because you know, some people with this condition aren’t aware. It might seem rough, but there is a solution for these problems.”

Me: *Through my teeth* “I’m fine. Really.”

Entitled Wife: *With a brittle smile* “Well… okay.”

And she drifts away.

Lady, what the f*** is wrong with you?! It’s bad enough to go up to a total stranger and ask if they’ve bothered to see a professional about their ugly face, but to then follow up with wanting to know what the doctor said?! That’s none of your business! And her fake-motherly-concern nonsense just made me angrier. Don’t go trying to pretend like your cattiness is some kind of concern.

I was seething. Thank the gods I got to go home then. (My poor coworker had to take over helping them.) My boss was practically shaking with rage when she came to see if I was okay and told me not to let them get to me.

My coworker hugged me and shouted, “YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!” loud enough for the woman to definitely hear.

One of the public libraries where my canine partner, Baldur, serves as a reading therapy dog is temporarily shutting down some of their programs due to major remodeling. The area where the kids read to us is going to be one of the rooms affected. We are saying goodbye to the librarian after our last session.

Me: “Just let me know when you are able to start the reading program again. We’ll be happy to return.”

Librarian: “Oh, definitely. We really want to see Baldur here again!”

After an unflattering pause…

Librarian: “And you, too, of course!”

Related:
It’s Not Baldur’s Fault He Has No Thumbs!
Swoop And Squat And SCURRY AWAY!

I work for the IRS. My job is to go into potentially dangerous situations to conduct field audits and occasionally to conduct seizures.

Imagine, if you will, the beauty of rural North Dakota. We have a gentleman here who runs an exotic zoo in his fortified complex.

He is nine years delinquent on his taxes. He also files them sporadically and irregularly. The lien was filed. He did not respond. The time has come to pay the piper.

We cannot seize his house, as it is his only residence, but I’ve already arranged for potential buyers to take his exotic animals.

The first problem is that we don’t actually have his address, just a post office box. This isn’t actually an insurmountable problem. We go to the post office in the town closest to him and ask where he actually lives.

They give us fairly precise directions, using a number of local landmarks, for how to get onto his property through the correct access road. They also give us a warning: this man shoots first and asks later.

I call up the big guns: the armed agents of the treasury, the Secret Service. We roll up on his property in a big-ol’ armored truck. Sure enough, shots ring out. He’s probably added firearms charges to his ordeal, but that’s not my problem. I simply record the fact and move on.

It takes some tense communication over a megaphone and text messaging him pictures of our badges, but eventually, he agrees to let us onto his property.

His next demand is that we leave our guns behind. I patiently explain to him that, as he’s armed and his whole clan also looks to be armed, I’m not leaving my guns behind. Imagine a 5’4″ tall woman staring down a 5’10” man with military tattoos and a wildman beard in the crisp clean North Dakota air. Eventually, he agrees to let us inside.

He sits us down at the table, and his wife makes some tea.

Client: “So, what are you here about?”

Me: “I need to see the animals.”

He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head, but he eventually agrees to lead me to the animals. He takes me downstairs to a series of underground cages full of exotic and dangerous animals.

I take pictures of them, I verify their status, and I have the veterinarian I brought along with me do an assessment of each animal’s health. They’re all in reasonable shape but ornery and somewhat underfed. There are no major injuries nor signs of major neglect.

Client: “So, what is this about?”

Me: “We’re taking your animals to pay your back taxes.”

Client: “Hah. You can’t do that. You won’t be able to find buyers before the statute of limitations runs out. We’ve played this game before; you’re just gonna hold them for a couple of months and give them back to me.”

Me: “I already have a buyer.”

Client: “You do not.”

Me: “I do. If you pay us what you owe us now, we won’t seize your animals.”

Client: “I’m calling your bluff.”

Me: “Fine.”

I made the phone call, and then we sat and waited. The animal transports were waiting in the nearest small town, where we had come from. While we waited, we sipped at the tea.

One of the family members called out.

Nephew: “Uncle!”

Client: “Yeah, boy?”

Nephew: “There are more people at the gates. A whole lot of them.”

Client: “What?”

Nephew: “They’ve brought animal transport vehicles. The Treasury people aren’t letting us shoot at ’em. What should we do?”

Me: “Let them in.”

We held the auction right there, in his catacombs, in front of his face, selling his animals one by one. With each sale, he looked more and more dejected. About four animals in, he started crying. By the tenth, it had turned into ugly crying. By the end, all he could do was rock back and forth moaning the names of his animals.

He still owed us a great deal of money, but this was probably all we could recover from him. As a small kindness, I notated in his file to cancel the remaining debt.

Then, we left.

I work as a translator for an insurance company that’s connected with a bank. I also do a little freelance translation on the side through an agency, but it’s very clear in my freelancer profile that I cannot do any work for a bank or an insurance company because of a conflict of interest. Most of the people at the agency who contact me are very respectful of this.

One Friday afternoon, I get a call from an agency person I haven’t spoken with before.

Agency: “Allo. We have this rush document that has just come in. We know that you are fast and good and that you do your freelancing on weekends. Could you have this file done by Monday for us?”

Me: “I’d love to help you out. Who is the translation for?”

Agency: “Let me see… Ah, oui, it is for [Bank].”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s stated right in my freelancer profile that I can’t take any work for any banks or insurance companies because it would be a conflict of interest with my day job.”

Agency: “Ah, bon? Okay, then, chérie, don’t do it for the bank. Do it for me!”

UGH, no, thank you.