I was a fifty-five-year-old lady delivery driver. I had been doing it for four years or so at the time. This happened over ten years ago, so some of the particulars are a bit fuzzy, but I clearly remember that it was a horrible night — probably the worst night I had ever had.

The teenagers making pizzas were messing up. We were shorthanded. Addresses and phone numbers were wrong. I had to do a couple of redeliveries due to the wrong pizza toppings. The phone kept ringing, and no one was answering, so I had to delay delivering to answer the phone. It was busy, and they had trouble keeping up. It was just a truly bad night.

It was getting close to closing, and I had one delivery left. I was so looking forward to going home and chilling, and I was ready to forget that night.

There were three or four pizzas on the order, and it was going to an address I had never been to before. I hate new customers; you never know how nice or s***ty they might be. I got to the house in less than four minutes; thankfully, it was close to the shop. There were a bunch of cars in the driveway and parked in front of the house. Cool, party!

I went into the open garage since that’s where the party was. I put on my customer service smile, and then I heard:

Voice: “HEY! [MY NAME]! How you doing?”

OMFG! I recognized Mr. Favorite Regular, and he was waving me over with a beer in his hand.

Mr. Favorite Regular: “Hey, everyone, this is [My Name], the best driver from [Pizza Place]! -Here, have a beer!”

Now, this was not the first beer I had been offered when delivering, but it was the first beer I ever accepted. I got to meet Mr. Favorite Regular’s brother and all their friends and family, and all of them welcomed me like my butt was made of gold. I guzzled that beer like a man lost in the desert for three days guzzles water. There was joking, hugging, and backslapping, another beer appeared in my hand, and there was lots and lots of laughter.

It was absolutely FUN-DERFUL, but alas, I had to get back to the shop, and I was worried I might get stopped by our local officers with beer on my breath, so I said my goodbyes, hugged Mr. Favorite Regular and some of my new friends, and headed back to my car.

I had parked on the side of the street in front of the driveway, but my car was GONE! Oh, s***! I had left the keys in the car, and some suckface had stolen it!

Then, I looked back toward the party, and they were all standing in front of the garage laughing their a**es off!

Why? Someone had snuck out of the party and moved my car a block down the road. These f***ers thought they were hilarious.

And they were right! I laughed my golden a** off all the way to my car as I gave them the double bird they so richly deserved.

Best. Night. Ever!

A customer came into the store stating that she had gotten a call that her order was in. I was the one doing the calling, and her name didn’t sound familiar, but I checked anyway. It wasn’t there. I also looked back at my desk to see if I had dropped it on the way to take them up front. Not there. I looked in our system for the order, and it wasn’t there, either. So, I had to ask if she had maybe ordered from a different location or different store entirely.

Customer: “No, that’s impossible. I only shop here.”

Me: “Okay. You said you got a call. What was the name of the person who left the message?”

Customer: “Well, I didn’t get the call myself. They called my husband.”

Me: “Can I call your husband?”

Customer: “Okay.”

I call and identify myself as being from [Location #1] to ask if he recalls getting a call about an order.

Customer’s Husband: “Sure, I remember that. But I ordered it from [Location #2].”

Me: “Thank you.”

I hang up. I advise the customer that her husband says he ordered it from [Location #2], so it should be there.

Customer: “Oh, that’s right. We were shopping there last week.”

Cue face-palm.

As with most Asian families, my family believes that having a white-collar job is above anything. This is very evident with a couple of relatives who force their children to go to medical school. Any career other than a doctor is a sin in their eyes.

My mother was open-minded about my choice of career. The only condition she had was that I should have at least a bachelor’s degree before getting a job. So, I started working in the IT industry after college graduation. I had decent pay, I was able to learn and experiment at my own pace, and I even got an opportunity to work abroad. I was happy with my career.

Things weren’t easy at first, as with all jobs. I struggled to settle down with the workload and the new city. I reached out to my family to help me find a job near my home. My entitled relatives got hold of this piece of news during a family gathering.

Instead of helping me out, they scoffed. My aunt told my younger cousins:

Aunt: “See, this is why you shouldn’t be an engineer. You’re going to struggle and end up with nothing. After all, a doctor is the most respectable job in society.”

I blinked at her. I was shocked that she could just insult my career in front of everyone. I was also disgusted at her because she’s a teacher and I expected her to know better. I didn’t want to make a scene, so I didn’t talk back. But someone else did: my mother.

My mother is a single parent. She was a brilliant student at school and dreamt of being a teacher. But that was all gone when she was married off. She regretted that when she was divorced and struggled to live. She wanted her daughters not to go through the same thing. She sold her jewellery and spent her savings to get us a decent education so that we could get jobs. She was furious when someone insulted our hard work.

She didn’t hold back her anger as she thundered:

Mother: “Are you out of your d*** mind, [Aunt]? You’re a teacher! Can’t you show a bit of dignity when you speak? Don’t you have common sense to think that your daughter couldn’t work in a hospital with electricity, running water, machines, or software if there were no engineers? Even a janitor at the hospital has their value. If you ever insult my daughter or her choices again, you will see the worst of me!”

The room was silent as everyone watched my aunt process what was going on. Nobody had ever seen my mother that mad.

But it did a good thing. [Aunt] never raised a word about her children’s careers or mine after that. Also, two of my cousins got into the engineering stream following the incident!

It’s early morning, and our store is setting up. A customer approaches the door, and when it doesn’t open, he starts banging on it. 

Coworker: “We’re not open yet, sir! Come back at 8:00 am.”

Customer: “I can’t open the door!” 

Coworker: “We’re not open until eight, sir! Come back then!” 

Customer: “Open the door! I need to buy my cigarettes!”

My coworker reminds him one more time to come back at 8:00 am and then walks off to continue his opening duties. At least, he is about to. We all stop at the sound of something hitting the door multiple times and then, finally, glass breaking.

This crazy MF has managed to find a pole that was holding up an ad and used it to ram the glass door. I rush over as he starts using the pole to clear away the shattered glass and casually bends down to enter the store through it.

Customer: “The door was broken.”

Me: “Sir… what the actual f***?! The door was locked, not broken! Locked, because we’re still closed!”

Customer: *Starts walking into the store* “Sell me my cigarettes.” 

Me: “Sir, we will not be selling you any cigarettes! In fact, we will be calling the police because you have willingly damaged the store!”

Customer: “Sell me my cigarettes, or I’ll use you as a punching bag!”

Threat of violence — that’s it. I call the silent alarm, which means someone has been tasked with calling the police. I follow the customer over to the tobacco counter. He is still so ridiculously calm and oblivious to his bad behavior that I am in shock.

Customer: “I’ll take [Brand, [size]. Two packs.”

Me: “Sir, I don’t think you understand. You broke down the door and threatened to assault my staff, and the police are on their way to arrest you. We will not be selling you cigarettes today!”

Customer: “Fine. What about tomorrow?”

He was still totally oblivious to the trouble he was in when the police arrived to escort him out.

At our project kickoff meeting, I ask a client what method of communication he prefers.

Client: “Email is the best way to reach me and ensure that I get your message.”

I send him a project update via email two days later. After getting no response after two days, I query him again via email. He replies, also via email.

Client: “I get too many emails, so just call me here at the office.”

I call him the following week to get his approval on a design, and the receptionist screens my call. I try three more times over the next week, making sure to email with each call. 

On Friday:

Client: “Where are my proofs? We’re on a deadline.”

Me: “I called numerous times, but your receptionist wouldn’t let me speak to you.”

Client: “Yeah, I told her to screen my calls. Just call me on my mobile.”

I call his mobile three times the next week, leaving a message on his (generic) voicemail.

Once again, this brings us to Friday:

Client: “I just ignore my phone’s voicemail. Call my office or email me.”

I begin to do all three, in rotation, over the next week. After failing to reach him, I send him a certified letter to have him sign off on the final product.

He calls me three days later.

Client: “Why are you sending me a letter? It’s 2013, for God’s sake! There are better ways to get a hold of me.”