I used to work at a small furniture store (family-owned, single store). I hated that job with a fiery passion, but I got several stories out of it. We used to have two computers at the front counter for the manager and me to use to assist customers. There was also one in the middle of the floor for salespeople to look up product information and get into the invoice system if needed.

One day, after I’d been there for a couple of months, I came in and one of the salesmen flagged me down.

Salesman: “Have you seen this error before?”

I’d recently graduated college with the intent of going into IT/tech, so I was frequently tasked with being tech support, as well. I went to look at the computer, and it was an error that I hadn’t seen before (With the knowledge that I have now, the computer had fallen off the domain. At the time, I didn’t know what it meant.)

Me: “No. Did you call [Owner’s Husband]?”

Salesman: “Yeah, he says he’s on his way.”

The owner’s husband supposedly had his own IT business, but I have doubts about how much he actually knew. He came in and went to the computer, poked around for a minute, and then called me over.

Owner’s Husband: “Do you know what this error means?”

Me: “Uh, no. That’s why I had [Salesman] call you.”

Owner’s Husband: “Oh. Well, no one can sign in.”

Me: “Right, that’s the problem. We need to fix that.”

Owner’s Husband: “Don’t worry about it. Just give them your password so they can sign onto your computer when you’re not here. [Salesman] and the delivery guys usually get here before you and need to get the schedules.”

I stared at him because, even with my limited knowledge and experience at that point, I knew that was stupid.

Me: “Um, no, I don’t want to do that; that’s a potential security issue.”

Owner’s Husband: “It’s fine. Just write it down, and that way they can get on the computer when you’re not here.”

He then got up and left. They never fixed it in all the time I was there, and I was forced to deal with that store for another year and change. And yes, I finally threw up my hands and wrote down my password because I didn’t give a f***. I actually got to a point where I was tempted to do something that may or may not have been not-quite-malicious and then claim ignorance because since I’d been forced to write down my password, who’s to say if it really had been me or one of the other staff?

But then, a camera got put in to supposedly “watch the store”. Between the fact that it was a crappy camera with limited range and that it was set up on a shelf literally pointing at me, I called BS. And the camera was only set up because [Owner’s Husband] wanted to watch how much work I was doing because I kept asking for them to give me the raises they’d promised me, and he wanted to say I didn’t deserve them.

I really should have reported them to Labor & Industries, but when I got a new job, I was so relieved that I ran out of there like my a** was on fire.

I related a particular story to my then-twelve-year-old daughter to illustrate a point that I thought she would appreciate. A few months later, on her birthday, my mom called to wish her a happy birthday. After they were done talking, my daughter handed the phone to me so we could chat.

Mom: “I was telling [Daughter] about [same story]. She said she really liked that and hadn’t heard it before.”

Me: “But I told her that a couple of months ago…”

Mom: “Well, remember: you’re her mom, and she’s a teenager now, so you’re stupid.”

She instantly changed my demeanor from mild indignation to laughter. Now that I’m not a teenager anymore: thanks, Mom!

My daughters are in Girl Scouts so, naturally, we’ve staffed a decent amount of Girl Scout cookie booths to fund different activities our troop does. In our area, cookie booths last two hours each and are coordinated both with the businesses we’re in front of and with other troops. We set up outside grocery stores and other high-traffic areas to sell the cookies for six dollars a box. The girls get to practice social skills (including accepting when people say no), practice math, and gain confidence.

Near the end of one cookie booth, a man approached our sales table.

Daughters: “Hello! Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”

Man: “I don’t want to buy any, but can I donate cookies?”

Older Daughter: “Yes, we donate cookies to deployed troops.”

Man: “And can I pay with a credit card?”

Younger Daughter: “Yes, our mom has a chip reader on her tablet.”

Man: “Wonderful. Fifty, then.”

My daughter rounded up as we’d gotten a few “keep the change” dollars here and there.

Younger Daughter: “Nine boxes! Thank you!”

Older Daughter: “My godmother is in the Navy, and when she was deployed, she loved having Girl Scout cookies and Boy Scout popcorn to remind her of home. Thank you!”

Man: “No, I want to donate fifty boxes.”

Younger Daughter: “Fifty boxes?!”

Older Daughter: “$300?!”

Man: “Yes. Good job with the multiplying!”

Me: “That’s very generous sir, so much that I want to be sure: you want to donate $300 worth of cookies?”

Man: “Yes, just like I said.”

Me: “In that case, I’ll ask you to bear with me. The donation section is only set up in one-dollar increments. I’m going to have to increase it manually for a bit until I get to $300.”

The man checked his watch as I furiously tapped the screen.

Man: “Almost done? The other troop was able to do this much faster.”

I paused very slightly in my tapping as I processed what he said, but I finally got to the total. He slid his card, wished us a good night, and walked off as we thanked him again. I turned to my daughters.

Me: “Did you catch that? ‘The other troop’? He donated fifty boxes already and just did it again.”

I don’t know how many times the man went around donating so much, but I’m glad my daughters’ booth was one of the ones he stopped at. They both reached their sales goals and a bit more by the end of that cookie season!

Related:
And That’s How The Kindness Cookie Crumbles, Part 5
And That’s How The Kindness Cookie Crumbles, Part 4
And That’s How The Kindness Cookie Crumbles, Part 3
And That’s How The Kindness Cookie Crumbles, Part 2
And That’s How The Kindness Cookie Crumbles

Our store has a membership card that allows access to quite significant discounts. Customers can fill out the application form online, but older customers tend to fill it out physically in-store. There is an optional diversity section for market research that asks questions about sex, gender, ethnicity, orientation, religion, etc. A reminder, that section is entirely optional; you can leave it all blank if you like.

An older male customer approaches me with his completed form.

Customer: “I filled out your form, but that diversity section needs some work.”

Me: “Oh, how so?”

Customer: “Well, I’m white! I ain’t got no ethnicity!”

Me: “I… see?”

Customer: “And why y’all gotta confuse us by asking for our pronouns and s***?”

Me: “Well, when we send out emails or letters, we’d prefer to know how to address our customers.”

Customer: “But I’m straight! I don’t have any pronouns!” 

Oh, boy…

When I was in college, I went on a date with a guy that didn’t go well. I told him I wasn’t interested in seeing him again, deleted his number, and moved on.

About six months later, I got a random text.

Bad Date: “Hey! How’s it going?”

Me: “Fine, but uh, who is this?”

Bad Date: “Oh, haha, it’s [Bad Date].”

Admittedly, I should have just stopped responding, but I was bored at work (I worked at an arcade in a mall and it was a dead time), and part of me was curious about what made him start texting me again out of the blue.

Me: “Oh. Uh, how are you?”

Bad Date: “Good. Listen, I’m wondering if I can ask you a favor?”

Me: “Um, no.”

Bad Date: “So, the thing is, my mom’s in the hospital, and my truck’s out of gas. And they’re saying they don’t think she’ll make it through the night, so I really want to go to see her.”

Me: “I’m sorry, that’s really unfortunate, but no. I’m at work. Can you take a cab?”

Bad Date: “Oh, I have no money. Come on. Can’t you help me out?”

Me: “I’m at work, so no. What about your cousin? Or a neighbor?”

Bad Date: “Cousin’s out of town and none of my neighbors are available. Please help me out?”

Me: “I didn’t even drive tonight, so no. And also, I’m at work.”

Bad Date: “Well, what if I get a ride to you? Can you give me a ride to the hospital then?”

Me: “Still no because I’m still at work. If you can get to me, then you should be able to get to the hospital.”

Bad Date: “Well, I was going to walk to you.”

Me: “Then walk to the hospital. I’m at work.”

Bad Date: “Oh, come on. I really want to see my mom. Can’t you help me out?”

I did stop responding then because I had a customer come up and need assistance. I also blocked his number as soon as I had a second.

Ten years later, I’m pretty sure he had other plans in mind, but why he’d use a sick mom to get me to him, I’ll never understand. Plus, with the way he was shooting down all my other options, he had to realize that I wouldn’t believe him, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

I did have a little laugh a few months later when he walked in with his cousin and a few friends. He saw me and immediately left the arcade. I pretended I hadn’t seen him because I was actually busy at the time, but I really wanted to ask him how his mom was.