Client: “Listen, you f***ers, our website is all fuzzy. I don’t know what you’ve done, but it is totally f****** fuzzy.”

Me: “I think you might have problems with your Internet connection. What you’re seeing is some of the images progressively downloading, and—”

Client: “Don’t give me any of that nerdy, numpty, nancy-boy mumbo jumbo. All of the pictures look like s***. If you don’t believe me, go on the site and you’ll f****** see.”

Me: “No, you’re confused. You see, if the images—”

Client: “Listen, f***er, I’ve got better things to do than…”

A long, long pause follows.

Client: “Oh, wait, you’ve fixed it.”

I’m a professional chef, and I have been for a few years. In Australia, apprentice chefs are trained in a sort of college where we learn about 150 recipes. Many of the recipes are provided to the students in bulky, finicky booklets that you wouldn’t really want to take anywhere with you, so I started writing some of the recipes in a separate notebook along with some other recipes I’d learned from coworkers or family members. I created a sort of pseudo-cookbook, and I would often bring this book into the kitchen so I would remember ingredient quantities and cooking times. Eventually, I would leave the book in the kitchen pretty much around the clock.

I soon found out that some of the other chefs in the kitchen were using my cookbook to check official recipes for the restaurant we worked for (as typically the head chef would have to tell them and this got annoying for everyone). This restaurant was a part of a popular sports club in the area, so consistency was extremely important to management. Therefore, having a written record of the new recipes or changes to long-time recipes was very important.

As it turned out, management had stopped making changes to the official club recipe book a few months before I even started, so my book had become the de facto official recipe book. For a while, this was no issue to me, and I kept adding new recipes to it throughout the next few years.

However, after my third year working there, I finished my studies and became fully qualified as a chef, so I suddenly became more expensive to keep on as a staff member. Therefore, management started looking for any reason to replace me with a new apprentice.

Eventually, they found someone to replace me and gave a half-a**ed reason for firing me and told me:

Management: “Take all your things and leave. You can no longer offer what we are looking for.”

So, I took everything I owned — including the notebook with all the club’s recipes — and left.

For a few days, not a whole lot happened, but slowly, the club’s reviews started complaining about bland food, dry cakes, inconsistent classic recipes, and every other food-related thing you could think of. At one point, there were fifty negative reviews in a single day. For our town, that was a massive amount in one day. It felt pretty d*** good since I felt they deserved it and left me unemployed on short notice. However, I was quickly offered a new job by a smaller restaurant whose owner knew me from the sports club kitchen.

After about a week, I received multiple calls. I answered one, and it was one of the higher managers from the sports club.

Manager: “Could you return the recipe book? The kitchen needs it back.”

I laughed but replied firmly:

Me: “It’s my book full of my recipes, so it isn’t going anywhere near you. I’ll remind you that you told me I ‘could no longer offer what you were looking for.’”

The manager clearly began to panic; he offered to give me my job back and “just let bygones be bygones”. I already had a new job, so I completely brushed off this offer and ignored him. I hung up pretty soon after that.

I started putting the recipes from my book on the new restaurant’s menu, and it began to attract a few regular customers of the sports club, so I quickly found myself with more and more responsibility and command within the kitchen. It got to the point where about a third of the menu was from my book.

This slow trickle of sports club regulars picked up speed after about three months and led to several high-level managers from the club deciding to visit the restaurant I’d helped build. They basically demanded I give them my cookbook, claiming it would be much more beneficial for the community if they had it. My head chef laughed in their faces and told them to piss off.

It’s been about two years. My head chef and I have a very positive relationship, and the customer base we have at the restaurant is better than ever.

We didn’t take every customer from the big club, but it was enough damage to their profits to scare a few investors away, and it caused a decent bit of damage to one of the higher managers’ reputations. Furthermore, the recipe issues and negative reviews led to the majority of the kitchen quitting. According to one of my old colleagues, they cited the lack of support and organisation from upper management as the final reasons everyone was quitting, and this led to an even larger dip in the quality of the restaurant food.

I also get paid significantly more at this restaurant than I did at the sports club.

I’m buying some whiskey as a gift from a liquor store when a dishevelled-looking man runs in and starts screaming at everyone in the store.

Crazy Man: “You’re all going to Hell! God has never made alcohol! His Creation does not make any alcohol! It’s all processed and made by fallen men who want to drag us all into Hellfire!”

Cashier: “Stan! We told you that if you did this again, we’d call the police! Get out!” 

Crazy Man: *Even louder* “Alcohol is a sin! The Bible tells us all those who drink alcohol are sinners!”

Suddenly, a voice can be heard from the back of the store, in that stereotypical Black woman sassy voice that is so New York City.

Customer From The Back: “B****, Jesus turned water into wine! Get yo crazy a** out of the store and into church!”

Thankfully, Stan complied. My friend loved his sinful gift.

I teach at a small one-building school district. The bookkeeper, who is in charge of all the district’s financial records, is a piece of work.

She sends out the W-2 (an American form for filing your taxes). Two weeks later, she sends an email:

Bookkeeper: “I did the W-2s wrong. Use the updated form I’m sending out.”

Guess who the schmuck was who filed his taxes immediately?

Later:

Me: “Why is my paycheck about half of what it should be?”

Bookkeeper: “Oh, I forgot to withhold something in your last few checks, so I took it all out of this one.”

It never occurred to her that this would be inconvenient for me or that she should warn me. Fortunately, the principal decides that maybe I should gradually pay back the money over several paychecks rather than all at once.

Later:

Me: “Are you still putting money from my paycheck into my annuity? It looks like it stopped.”

Bookkeeper: “Oh, yeah. You needed to sign up again when you switched positions.”

Me: “That was months ago! Why didn’t you say something?”

Bookkeeper: *Huffily* “I was in this office for the entire summer. If you had come in once, I would have talked to you.”

Me: “I taught summer school. I was here literally every day for a month.”

Later, I marry a fellow teacher who starts working in my district. She gets her first pay stub.

Wife: “Wow, this teaching gig sure pays well!”

No, it doesn’t. The bookkeeper accidentally included the school nurse’s salary in my wife’s deposit. Because the money is in our account, we are the ones who have to jump through a bunch of hoops to get it to the nurse.

Later, I change districts, but my wife stays. One day, she calls me in tears. The bank has called us saying the checks we paid our bills with are bouncing. When I find out why, I call the bookkeeper myself. (My wife, who is pregnant at the time, is too upset.)

Me: “I understand that you gave [Wife] a physical paycheck last cycle?”

Bookkeeper: “That is correct. I put it in her mailbox.”

Me: “Well, for the past two years, her paycheck was automatically deposited.”

Bookkeeper: “I had to write a physical check because of [some screw-up on her part, which was the result of another screw-up on her part].”

Me: “Well, she assumed the envelope was just the receipt — like it has been every time. She never opened it and assumed her check had been deposited.”

This is in the early 2000s, before online banking is commonplace.

Bookkeeper: “Well, someone needs to take responsibility for checking those things.”

Me: “Yes, someone does, since it sure as heck ain’t you.”

The district authorized another check, and the bank didn’t penalize us for the overdrafts.

The bookkeeper later retired.

Due to assorted events I won’t bore you with, I inherited a stray puppy. I knew he wasn’t lost and didn’t have an owner looking for him. I was the only one of my immediate friends willing to put in the effort to see he was cared for. He was a rambunctious pup, getting into all the standard sort of trouble you would expect of a puppy, but he got along great with my cats and seemed like he would make a great pet for someone.

Unfortunately, I personally have never been a dog person; dogs are too much of a commitment to care for, and I just like cats more as pets.

My original plan was to take him to the local pound and let them find him a home, but when I called them on the phone, they sounded less than confident that they could rehome him. I couldn’t understand why; he was the perfect adoptable age and seemed like he would be snatched up immediately. Still, I didn’t want to risk them putting him down, so I decided to make my own good-faith effort to find him a home first. I put out a few ads online and almost immediately had a couple with a young girl show up at my house.

The girl simply adored the puppy, chasing him around and playing with him as I spoke to the parents. Unfortunately, the parents I was not as certain about. It seems the girl had declared that she wanted a puppy a day before, so they were here to pick one up without any more thought. 

Me: “I don’t know his medical history; you will need to take him to a vet to get looked at and his shots.”

Woman: “How much would that cost?”

Me: “I’m not really sure. A few hundred maybe?”

Man: “You said he was free!”

Me: “He is, I’m not charging anything for him myself. But I did say that his medical record was unknown; he still needs all the stuff any new puppy requires.”

Man: “Why didn’t you do all that already?”

Me: “I’ve had him for less than a week and was hoping to adopt him out quickly. To be frank, I’ve had neither the time nor the desire to spend that much on a puppy I don’t intend to keep. If I had trouble finding him a home, I might have done it, but there are already a few who seem interested in him, so it didn’t seem necessary.”

Woman: “If we keep him inside, he probably doesn’t need shots anyway…”

There was a little more back and forth here, but the net result was the distinct impression that they were saying they would take him to a vet to appease me but had no intention of doing so. They also seemed taken aback that he wasn’t fully house-trained yet, and I was a little worried that they didn’t know what to do about training him.

The mom seemed to have reservations about it, but the dad plowed right thought them, and neither seemed to have given any thought to the actual effort of owning a dog.

I’m not an expert at rehoming animals, but my instincts told me this wouldn’t work out. I probably should have said as much to the parents immediately. However, their daughter clearly adored the pup; I’ve always had a hard time saying no to cute kids, and I didn’t want to make her cry.

Me: *To little girl* “He really seems to like you.”

Girl: “Yeah! Can we take him home?”

Me: “Well, I’d like to give him to you, but dogs need a lot of stuff to take care of them, like a collar and leash, bowls and food, maybe a bed, and a few toys. He wouldn’t be happy without them.”

The girl had already told me they didn’t have a yard since they lived in “a big house with lots of houses in it” so, at the very least, I knew they would need a collar and leash to walk him properly.

Man: “Don’t you have all that stuff?”

Me: “No, I haven’t had him for long. I have a small bag of dog food I could send with you, but other than that I’ve made do with a fenced-in yard and reusing the cats’ stuff for him since I was hoping to rehome him quickly.”

Girl: “You mean we can’t have him?”

Me: “Well, I’ll make you a deal. I can hold him for a few more days while your parents buy him everything he needs and make an appointment with a vet to make sure he is healthy. Then, if you bring me a photo of everything you got for him and proof of the vet visit to show you’re ready for him, you could take him then.”

Girl: “Okay!”

Man: “Why can’t we take him now?”

Woman: *At the same time* “Why a vet visit?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t give him to you until I know he has everything and I have proof that a vet visit is planned.”

Woman: “That costs too much!”

Man: “You said he was free! We can just take him now like you said!”

Me: “I said he was free to a good home. I’m sorry, but that means a home willing to pay to care for him.”

Man: “You promised our girl a dog. You didn’t say any of this other junk. We want the dog!”

Me: “The ‘other junk’ is supposed to be presumed when you get a pet. I can’t give him to you unless I know he will be cared for.”

Girl: “It’s okay, Dad. We can get him tomorrow.”

Man: “No, we’re not waiting or wasting money on a vet.”

Me: “Sir, your daughter is watching. Is this the behavior you want to model to her?”

Man: “Give me that d*** dog!”

Me: *Bending down to the daughter* “You are great with the puppy, and I think he would love you. But I’m really, really, sorry; I can’t let your parents have him when they say they won’t take care of him.”

Girl: “We can’t have him?”

Me: “I’m really sorry, but no. He needs parents that will love him.”

Woman: “How could you do that to her?”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry ,but it’s the two of you who are doing it by not being willing to care for her pet.”

Man: “F*** that. We’ll just take him now.”

Me: “I have your names, your phone number, and your car’s license plate on video — the same video that would record you leaving with a dog I didn’t give you. If you try to take him, the cops will be at your door in an hour.”

Girl: *Now crying* “But he likes me!”

Me: “I’m so sorry. Maybe once your parents are ready to care for a pet, you can get one.”

Woman: “What if we came back with a picture of a leash and all?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but at this point, I’m not confident that he would get the medical care he needs. The answer is no.”

There were some more angry words from the parents, and I personally felt terrible watching the cute girl clinging to her mom trying to hold back tears. I really wanted her to have the puppy, but I couldn’t do it if the parents didn’t plan to care for him. 

Eventually, they left.

Two days later, a slightly older married couple showed up. They already had two dogs, knew exactly what it took to care for them, and had even brought their dogs to meet the pup to make sure they all got along first. They took the puppy home instead.

I’m not sure if I should hope the little girl got a pet eventually or pray that no canine was forced into her parents’ home.