[Coworker #1] has the ability to just suddenly focus on a task with the level of intensity usually reserved for the special interest of someone with ADHD. The rest of us don’t know how she does it, but she can take the driest, most boring piece of work — which even she agrees is boring — and then just pore through it at a micro-level without any pause or distraction. Rumour has it the fire alarm once went off and she didn’t notice.

Meanwhile, [Coworker #2] is a typical Entitled Jerk.

Coworker #2: “I can’t believe the [Sandwich Shop] staff across the road. Did you know they tried to refuse to let me have [fancy cheese] in their ham special? The counter girl tried to tell me some nonsense about it no longer being part of the special. I order that sandwich every day! I know it’s allowed! I bet she was hoping to just pocket the extra, too—”

Me: “But, the sandwich specials only allow for the normal cheeses. The [fancy cheese] has always been extra; it says so right on the billboard.”

Coworker #2: “No, it does not! Anyway, I didn’t let her get away with it. I told the manager about her. I marched right up to him and told him what she was doing, and I told him, ‘The customer is always right,’ and then he—”

Coworker #1: “…about what they wish to purchase.”

Coworker #2: “What?”

[Coworker #1] does not look up from the document she is reading at any point.

Coworker #1: “The customer is never wrong about what they wish to purchase. Jeff Toister was referring to supply and demand and ensuring that businesses were supplying products that were in demand, not salesperson behaviour. The cheese was available, so the social obligation was met. Price is not applicable.”

Coworker #2: “Well, I—”

Coworker #1: “Please shut up now. You’re wrong, you’re a b****, and no one cares.”

Coworker #2: “You can’t speak to me like that! That’s a hostile work environment, and—”

Coworker #1: *Turning a page* “No one will ever believe you.”

At this, [Coworker #2] explodes. People in other offices poke their heads in to see who is yelling and see [Coworker #2] red-faced and raving while I watch with bug eyes and [Coworker #1] ignores [Coworker #2] entirely.

Our manager comes in.

Manager: “All right, all right, stop this right now. What’s going on here? [Coworker #1]?”

Coworker #1: *Still reading* “Mmm?”

Manager: “[Coworker #1]! What’s going on?”

Coworker #1: *Looking up* “Oh, sorry, what? I don’t think I was paying attention. [My Name], you and [Coworker #2] were talking about something?”

Me: “…I have no idea. [Coworker #2] asked [Coworker #1] something, and I got distracted for a second, and then she was yelling.”

Coworker #1: “Oh. Sorry, [Coworker #2], I wasn’t listening. What did you say?”

[Coworker #2] got reprimanded. [Coworker #1] got thanked for finishing a critical legal review early. And I am now very afraid of her.

My husband and I have a daughter who is almost three, and I’m about six months pregnant with our son. On a frigid, snow-bound January day, my husband’s parents are getting ready to leave for a week-long trip. Because of the weather, my husband, who will be going over each day to check in at the house, asks if they can just make sure to feed their two cats and the chickens early so that he doesn’t have to make the trek while the weather is still treacherous. They agree, but after they get to the airport, my mother-in-law calls.

Mother-In-Law: “The chickens are fine, and so is [Cat #1], but [Cat #2] got out. Can you please go over when you get the chance and make sure he gets inside for the night?”

[Husband] says sure, he’ll wait a few hours and go then so that the plows have a chance to come by.

When he gets there, [Cat #2] is waiting by the door to be let in — and then promptly darts back outside after eating his dinner. [Husband] tries to go after him, and he slips on some ice. Thankfully, he doesn’t hit his head, but he does land hard on his butt, and he gets a sore wrist. After waiting a bit to see if [Cat #2] will come straight back, he returns home and catches me up on what happened.

Husband: “I figure I’ll wait until after [Daughter] goes to bed, and then I’ll head back and try one more time to get [Cat #2] inside for the night.”

Me: “Do you want me to go instead?”

Husband: “No, it’s still so slick and cold out there. I’d be worried about you and/or [Son] getting injured.”

[Daughter] goes to bed around 8:30 pm, and at 9:30 pm, [Husband] braves the frigid night one more time. Around 10:00 pm, my phone rings.

Husband: “Honey, [Cat #2] is inside and safe, but I managed to lock myself out, and my car keys are on the kitchen table inside. Can you come get me?”

Me: “Oh, s***. Okay, I guess I’ll wake [Daughter] up and bundle her into the car with me… WAIT! Can you call [Neighbor] and see if he can come over?”

Thankfully, [Neighbor] answers his phone and says he’ll come right by so that [Daughter] isn’t alone in the house. When he gets there, I express my thanks and get to my car as quickly as I can without slipping.

When I get to my in-laws’ house, [Husband] uses my spare to get back into the house and get his main key fob, we double-check that the cats are accounted for, and then we head home. After thanking [Neighbor] for his time, I see that it’s basically 11:00 pm and look at [Husband].

Me: “Can that please be the last adventure for the night?”

He agreed — but I was barely surprised when he came down with a sore throat and headache the next day.

I work for a worldwide prestigious chauffeured black car company — a twenty-four-seven, 365-day business that works in many countries.

A lady calls in, very upset. 

Caller: “My driver is ten minutes late!”

I get it. You schedule a pickup for a certain time for a reason; they should be there on time. We monitor traffic and weather conditions so we aren’t late. I call their local dispatch office.

Dispatch: “Oh, yeah, that guy.”

Me: “What happened?” 

Dispatch: “Yeah… he got hit in an accident. He should be okay, but the injuries are quite bad. We sent another driver to pick her up, and he’s about five minutes out.”

I start to explain this to the lady, but she interrupts.

Caller: “I don’t see how that’s my problem! I pay for a car to be on time!”

Me: “Well, your initial chauffeur was hit by a semi-truck and had to be transported to the hospital, and he is in a very grave state. I hope he makes it through — being a single father and all.” 

I have no idea if he was a single father or was hit by a semi, but she instantly shut up and accepted the resolution of another car picking her up. Ethically dubious? Maybe, but work with wealthy clients long enough, and you learn tricks to deal with how self-absorbed they are.

Customer: “I want to return this.”

Me: “Can I see the receipt, please?”

Customer: “I don’t have it anymore.”

Me: “We haven’t sold this item since last year. Normally, without a receipt, I can only give you store credit, but since this item is no longer one that we sell, I can’t even do that, I’m afraid.”

Customer: “Just give me the store credit based on how much you’d resell it for, then!”

Me: “That would just be a penny, sir.”

Customer: “Why are you refusing me customer service?!”

Me: “The return policy is within thirty days and requires you to have a receipt. Those are the terms of customer service.”

Customer: “You’re just paid to say that!”

Me: “As a matter of fact, I am paid to say that. That’s how jobs work.”

Related:
Well, We’re Not Here For Fun!

My childhood cat was very food-motivated and very vocal about wanting her next meal.

At one point, my mom told me to be prepared to come down for the cat’s final days because she’d stopped demanding food. We both figured that once she lost interest in eating, it was probably the beginning of the end for her. Mom continued to keep a close eye on her, and though her health did not seem to be declining, she still did not have her usual enthusiasm for being fed.

Eventually, my mom called me and told me to disregard her previous portents of doom. Between laughs, she told me how they’d emptied the bag of food they had upstairs, gone down to the basement to get the next bag, and discovered the hole she’d gnawed in the side of it. And once her secret stash of food disappeared, she immediately returned to loudly begging.

That cat went on to live until the ripe old age of eighteen. And she remained vocal about her desire for food until the very end.