Your Number One Is Not Their Number One Priority

, , , | | Working | June 25, 2019

(I’m in my office, taking a toilet break. I’m just sitting there, doing my business, when I hear the janitor come in. It’s a small washroom with only two stalls, so it’s not long before she reaches mine. She pushes on the door and sees it’s in use, so I assume that’s it. Less than twenty seconds later, she shakes the door, muttering something angrily.)

Me: “Sorry, I’m in here!”

Janitor: *shakes the door again*

Me: “Just a moment, I’m still going.”

(I hear more angry muttering. I get about five seconds of respite… and then she sticks her hand under the door with a rag, trying to clean the floor despite the stall still being in use.)

Me: *quickly pulling my legs back* “Yeesh, okay!”

(I was not done, but I quickly finished up anyway and left. The janitor pushed in the moment I was out. She kept glaring as me as I washed and dried my hands. I get that she was probably on a schedule to get the washrooms cleaned, but can’t you give someone a minute? Or at least ask nicely?)

So Scary He Lost Three Years

, , , , , , | | Right | June 25, 2019

(I’m working at a haunted house selling the tickets up front. The manager puts me in charge because he has to make a change run. A young woman who looks like she could be twenty or so and her child who looks like he might be five years old are next in line. We have a rule that no child under seven is allowed inside. Signs are put on the door entrance and on the ticket desk that say this. She puts her money on the table and asks for two tickets.)

Me: “Ma’am, we cannot allow children under the age of seven to enter the haunted house.”

Customer: “He’s fine; don’t worry about it.”

Me: “No, that’s the rule: nobody under seven.”

Customer: “FINE, HE’S SEVEN!”

(It’s already been a long day and I really don’t want to get into it, so I just give her the tickets after taking her money. She snatches the tickets and drags her son into the attraction. The walk in the haunted house usually takes about five minutes. After about two minutes, I hear a child scream and cry very loudly in the house. Shortly after, I see the same lady carrying her son out through the entrance, rushing towards me.)

Customer: “What the f*** is wrong with you people?! You made my f****** kid cry in there! I want my money back, and I’m going to sue this godd*** place for traumatizing a four-year-old!”

(Her ignorance has broken through my tolerance level.)

Me: “Lady, I told you nobody under seven years old! You even said he was seven! If anything, I can call CPS on you for dragging a four-year-old in there!”

Customer: “Stupid b****! How dare you talk to me like that?! Where is your manager? I bet your tone will change once I tell them you’re threatening me!”

Me: “My manager is not here. Right now, I’m in charge. I’m not going to argue on an issue that is clearly your fault. Get out, or I can get security to drag you out!”

(After a few minutes of calling me names and screeching about how she was going to bring her baby-daddy to “f*** me up,” our security guard finally came out of the office after watching the cameras and proceeded to escort her out.)

The Lannisters Always Pay Their Student Debts

, , , , , | | Working | June 25, 2019

(The spousal consolidation student loan I have with my wife has been sold to a new student loan company, as happens often with loans. I get the paperwork and immediately notice a mistake. Someone has swapped my father’s name for my wife’s name and listed him as cosigner. We all share the same last name, which is being used by both of us at every point in this conversation.)

Representative: “Hello, this is [Representative]. How can I help you?”

Me: “Yes, I noticed that, at some point when my student loan was transferred to your company, someone seems to have mistaken my father’s name, John [Same Last Name] for my spouse’s name, Mary [Same Last Name]. So, you are listing my father as my spouse and cosigner for this loan. As this is a spousal consolidation student loan, only my wife has ever been a cosigner this loan, and every other loan for that matter, so this is an error on your part.”

Representative: “So, what is your father’s name?”

Me: “John [Same Last Name].”

Representative: “No, I need your father’s name, not your spouse’s name.”

Me: “That is my father’s name. I am married to Mary [Same Last Name]. My father is John. That is the problem.”

Representative: “Okay, you’re not married to John?”

Me: “No, that is my father.”

Representative: “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Are you divorced from John?”

Me: “No, again, that is my father. I am married to Mary.”

Representative: *with great confusion in her voice* “So, you’re married to both John… and Mary?” *insinuating a polygamist marriage*

(I’m getting frustrated, so I start to talk slowly and deliberately.)

Me: “No… again… John is my father. At no point have I ever been married to my own father. For the entire length of this loan, I have only been married to one person: Mary.”

Representative: “Okay, I think I understand now. However, in order to change your spouse’s name, I need documentation that you have never been married to John and only married to Mary.”

(I pause for a second while trying to figure out how in the world to do this.)

Me: “So, what kind of documentation do I need to send you to prove that I have never been part of a legally recognized incestuous homosexual polygamist marriage?”

(Long pause…)

Representative: “I’m not sure; I will have to call you back after I speak to the manager in the special issues department. Can I call you later today at [my phone number]?”

(After two months and numerous calls, I finally convinced them that I was not married to my own father and wife at the same time. It’s scary that I owe these people money.)

Whatever Language You’re Speaking, Mom Doesn’t

, , , , , | | Related | June 25, 2019

(I am a software developer with quite a few years of experience, despite having just gotten out of university. I had a student job in this field during most of my studying years. I try to stay humble, but I do say I can really program, and I know that even though if you already learned a programming language, you can learn others pretty quickly, but you aren’t automatically just an expert in every language. My father is also a programmer, but in Java. I’m more in C++ and web scripting languages like Javascript. I am visiting my parents and talking about my work, mentioning that I just hit a tough part using a quite new but interesting and promising framework in JS. My mother has about zero understanding of programming languages.)

Mother: “Oh, let your father help you!”

Father: “Yeah, after lunch! And maybe your company should pay me, then; my time is limited!”

(I think he is joking)

Me: “Thanks for the offer, but it’s quite elaborate and needs a lot of time just to understand it. And he works in other languages than I do!”

Mother: “Nah, your father can do everything! You know he studied it.”

Me: “Mom, yes, but …”

Mother: “And he even helped you in college!”

(Not true!)

Me: *evading* “Yeah, let’s talk later.”

(I’m hoping they will forget it afterward. After lunch:)

Mother: “Go get your laptop!”

Me: “What? Why?”

Mother: “Show your father your work! Now be a good girl. He can help and you can get the fame at work.”

Me: “Mom, that’s not how this works!”

Mother: “Go get it.”

(I just go along with it and get my laptop, though I make sure they won’t see any sensitive information. I am afraid that otherwise this will escalate and I am already drained.)

Me: *showing the code, knowing neither of them will understand a single bit* “So, this is the framework. It’s based on JS, but using this new thing, TypeScript. I’m still new in it, but it’s really cool. This editor…”

Father: *interrupting* “Run it!”

Me: “Erm, sure.”

(I click “build.” At this point, my mother leaves, thinking Father will magically solve it.)

Me: “Let me open the browser — it’s web-based, but I can test it locally. So, here, those parts are all done. I want it to send specific requests and… [more jargon, probably boring to readers].”

Father: *interrupting again* “Where is your server code?”

Me: *patient* “There is none; this app is only in the browser.”

(My father takes the laptop, though I keep next to it all the time. He opens the code again, scrolls through it, opens it in another editor, scrolls through again, opens the browser, closes it, then goes back to the code. Finally, he gives me my laptop back.)

Father: “Hm, I don’t see your problem here. Probably nothing, really. Just keep trying to find it in the server code.”

(There is none, but riiiight.)

Father: “I have more important things to do. You’ll figure it out. I never used this language.”

Mother: *from another room* “See? He could help! I told you!”

Me: *a bit smug* “Not really. He doesn’t even know the problem. I will figure it out eventually.”

Mother: *not believing me, coming in* “[Father]? Try to help her! You have to help her!”

Father: “I don’t know the framework. The language is easy, but the problem is simple enough; she can do it.”

Me: *packing away everything* “I’ll just go.”

(I did figure it out. It was a bit of a hassle at the time and needed workarounds. I was hurt though they thought a) I can’t fend for myself, b) I can’t tell problem severities, and c) my college education and work experience was not much value compared to my father’s.)

Getting Rid Of That Ingredient Is No Small Potatoes

, , , , , , , | | Right | June 25, 2019

(I overhear this conversation at a salad bar after grabbing some food during my lunch break.)

Customer: “Oh, and can I get no potato in that?”

Employee: “I’m sorry, no potato?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Employee: “In your potato salad?”

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