(After years of working and toiling, I finally get my dream job. I settle in and really enjoy my work. However, despite being my dream job and carrying an awful lot of responsibility, most in my place of business consider the job to be an entry-level position. It’s something I’m painfully made aware of when there’s management changes, and I meet my new boss for the first time.)

Boss: “So, tell me about your career goals. What would you describe as your dream job?”

Me: “This. Right here. What I’m doing now.”

Boss: “Look. You don’t have to kiss up to me. You’re not going to get fired. Just tell me what you’d like to be doing in a few years.”

Me: “Well, in a few years, I’d like to still be here. This is the job I’ve always aspired to do. I’ve been doing it a few years now; I’ve gotten to know everyone in our market. I like it here quite fine!”

Boss: “I don’t think you understand this. No one dreams of doing this job.”

Me: “Well, I did, and I worked very hard to get here. Are you finding my work unsatisfactory?”

Boss: “No, no. I’ve read your file, and you go above and beyond at every opportunity.”

Me: “Then why are you trying to get rid of me?”

Boss: “Let me try another approach. Do you keep an eye on our competitors?”

Me: “Of course.”

Boss: “Out of everyone in our field, which would say does our business the best?”

Me: “Us, of course. That’s why I wanted to work here.”

Boss: “Come on. You can tell me. Out of all our competitors, isn’t there one that’s caught your eye?”

Me: “Well, if you’re pushing, I like some of the things that [Competitor] is doing.”

Boss: “YES! OK! Now we’re on to something! I want you to send an application to [Competitor]!”

Me: “What?”

Boss: “Don’t worry, [My Name]. I’m here to help everyone get out of these dead end, entry-level positions and on to their dream jobs! We’ll get you working at [Competitor] in no time!”

Me: “But…”

Boss: “No buts! We’ve determined that it’s your dream to work at [Competitor], and I’ll help you achieve that dream!”

(I still haven’t applied to our competitor, as the new boss hasn’t quite figured out his new job yet, and relies on little ol’ me, in my dead end, entry-level position, to fill him in.)

(I work as a programmer for industrial machines in a huge company in Germany. I am responsible for the program of a new kind of cleaning machine, which also has a security door that has to be opened and closed by pushing a button. Before opening a safety interlock needs to be opened. It takes about two seconds before the door ultimately starts opening.)

Project Manager: “Hey, [My Name]. That machine needs to be quicker. Why does it always takes two seconds before the door opens?”

Me: “Uhm… because the safety interlock has to be opened first. That takes two seconds.”

Project Manager: “Couldn’t you remove that safety interlock? Then we would save those seconds?”

Me: “No, sorry. For safety reasons I can’t do that.”

Project Manager: “Okay… What about you open that safety interlock two seconds before that button is pushed. Then the door would open exactly when the button is pushed.”

Me: “… No.”

(A customer has brought in an old game system and games to trade. Her games are all really old and common games in unplayable conditions She puts the system on the counter in an old shoe box with its own tangled cords.)

Me: “Let me sure everything we need is here so I can see if we can take it and test it out.”

(I reach into the box to grab the system, but once I lift it out of the box spiders crawl out of it and scurry up my arm.)

Me: “Sorry, we won’t able to accept the system, but we might be able to take the controllers.”

(I coyly replace the system in the box, only to find that there’s only more spiders on the controllers, which are now on the counter, and were to be squashed by employees throughout the day.)

Me: “You get a few dollars for the controllers and games if you’d like to do it.”

Customer: *appalled* “We can get much more at yard sale.”

Me: “Go for it.”

(She leaves, and I shudder thinking of the poor souls who will have the misfortune of purchasing a spider infested game system, with broken games, at a yard sale.)

(I work at a supermarket service desk. I have just clocked in when a customer comes up and I greet her and ask what I could do for her, per usual.)

Customer: “Yes, I’ve lost my sunglasses. Has anyone turned them in?”

Me: “Let me check for you, ma’am. What do they look like?”

Customer: *irrationally irate and screams* “SUNGLASSES!”

Me: “Yes, but what do they look like? Like, the color of the frames, or if they’re name brand?”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t know! You don’t know if they’re back there? They’re like a tortoise-shell color, like the brown and black design!”

Me: “Okay. Let me check for you.”

(I check my drawer below my register and only see some reading glasses and a pair of children’s sunglasses.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but they don’t seem to be here.”

Customer: “Well, I left them in the restroom and they’re not THERE!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. They’re not here at the moment, but if you’d like I can take your name and num—”

Customer: “So you KNOW they’re not back there?”

Me: “Yes. There are no sunglasses that fit your description back here, but if you’d—”

Customer: “So. YOU KNOW!? You have that authority? Who are you? Who are you?! What’s your name?”

Me: “I am [My Name], but yes, I’ve looked in any area your glasses may be and they’re not here.”

Customer: “And you KNOW this?”

Me: “Yes. If you’d like I can take your information down and we can call you if they are turned in. Sometimes items aren’t turned in until someone has finished shopping and—”

Customer: “I know that! Do I seem stupid?”

(She then walked off without giving me her information.)

(We have a regular customer who is a WW II veteran, at least 90-years-old, and lives alone. He prides himself on being cantankerous. I always make an effort to be nice to him so that he’ll have no excuse for throwing his food on the belt, insulting us, etc. I’m a young woman, and I wear a LGBT-rainbow bracelet to work.)

Me: *while ringing up items* “Good morning, sir. How are you today?”

Customer: “You’re nice to me. Most people aren’t, you know.”

Me: “Well, you served our country. That seems a pretty good reason to be nice to you. Alrighty, sir, your total today is $13.95.”

Customer: “Good. I’ve got enough left over to take you out to lunch.”

Me: “You’ll have to check with my girlfriend on that.”

Customer: *as he pulls out money* “Are you lookin’? Don’t look!”

(This is a regular thing with him. I just smile and look away, holding out my hand for the money. My bracelet is in plain sight.)

Customer: “I don’t like a suspicious woman!”

Me: *deliberately, but lightly* “Neither does my girlfriend. Good thing I’ve been faithful to her the whole two years we’ve been together.”

(Customer finishes handing me the money.  I ring him up, then give him the change and the receipt. My bagger is stifling laughter.)

Customer: “You know I’m only gonna get worse if you let me.”

Me: “I’ll let my girlfriend know, but I think you’re pretty harmless.”

Customer: “And I think you’re pretty, especially when you smile.”

Me: “Thank you. I’ll have to tell my girlfriend that! You have a good day, sir.”

Customer: “Don’t tell me what to do!” *grins and scooters off*

Bagger: “I don’t think he gets it.”

Me: “He treated me exactly the same as he would if I’d mentioned a boyfriend. Who knows, maybe he’s an LGBT ally!”