I work in a huge, famous toy store in London. I am assisting customers on the floor near our rather sizeable collection of puzzles.

Customer: “What are these?”

Me: “Those are puzzles.”

Customer: “Are they board games?”

Me: “No, they’re puzzles. You put the pieces together to build up the picture on the box.”

Customer: “I don’t understand.”

I pick up a box to demonstrate.

Me: “The picture on the front of this box has been split into a thousand pieces that connect together. You rebuild the picture by figuring out how the pieces come together. It can be very therapeutic.”

Customer: “So, it’s like sudoku?”

Me: “What? No, sir. Here, one of these boxes isn’t sealed. Let me show you.”

I open the box and show him the plastic bag inside containing all the pieces.

Customer: “So, it is like sudoku! You lied to me.”

Me: “Sir, sudoku is a Japanese number puzzle. This is just a picture puzzle.”

Customer: “Well, I call these sudokus.”

Me: “Do you want one, sir?”

Customer: “Oh, no, thanks. They’re way too difficult for me.”

Me: *Under my breath* “Shocking.”

My first job straight out of high school was being a bookseller for a popular chain bookstore. Our general manager was known for being fussy and very picky. Books had to be arranged just so, staff had to always smile, and if she caught you in the break room, you’d better have a good reason for “wasting time”. Thankfully, she rarely came in. When she did, she was a holy terror.

One evening, before a big meeting was going to be hosted at our store, we were told that we needed to take extra care in cleaning up. I just didn’t expect how much care needed to be taken.

General Manager: “[My Name], I need you to clean the restrooms.”

Me: “I’ve already gone through and cleaned them.”

General Manager: “Did you clean the mirrors?”

Me: “Yep.”

General Manager: “Did you mop behind the toilet and clean the stall doors?”

Me: “Yep. Since I’m finished, I’m going to go ahead and clock out.”

General Manager: “Not so fast! Did you clean the toilet bolts?”

Me: “…The toilet bolts?”

General Manager: “Before you go, you’ll need to clean those. You should probably use a toothbrush to get in the grooves real good.”

At first, I thought she was joking, but nope, she was dead serious. Like a naïve seventeen-year-old, I went back into that bathroom and cleaned the bolts off as well as I could.

I went back to [General Manager], and she said she needed to check my work. She took one look at the bolts and said they were filthy.

General Manager: “You’ll need to clean them again.”

Me: “Umm… I can’t stay late; my ride is outside waiting for me.”

General Manager: “Well then, I guess you’d better get to it.”

Me: “I really can’t stay late.”

General Manager: “Well, get cleaning and then you can leave.”

I eventually found my manager and told him what [General Manager] wanted me to do. He let me go and said that he would handle the [General Manager]. That night, I left at about 11:00 pm; the store closed at 9:00 pm.

We’ve recently changed all of our plastic bags to those carrying the logo of an environmental charity. They cost the same amount as they always have, but now the store donates the cost of the bag to the charity.

Customer: “Do you have any bags that don’t donate to charity?”

Me: “Uh, no, ma’am. But they don’t cost you anything extra; the cost of your bag is donated to the charity on your behalf.”

Customer: “Yes, but I don’t want to donate to that charity. I’d rather give to a charity that helps America.”

Me: “Helping the environment helps the world, ma’am, including the USA.”

Customer: “Yes, but I want to donate to a charity that helps only America. When the environment goes bad, it just floods those poor countries, so I don’t see why we should have to give any money to them.”

Me: *Swallowing the anger that’s building* “Ma’am, climate change means more hurricanes in the southern states, which are definitely part of the USA.”

Customer: “Yes, but that’s because they let all the Mexicans in.”

Me: “Are you implying that Mexicans cause hurricanes?”

Customer: “All I’m saying is that there were a lot fewer of them when there were a lot fewer Mexicans around.”

Me: “Did you get that from a Facebook newsfeed?”

Customer: “Oh, good! You saw it, too!”

The customer eventually accepted the bags when I reminded her that climate change can cause forest fires in California and ruin ski seasons in the winter. As soon as it affected rich white people, she was happy to buy as many as she needed. I needed a breather after her.

Last February, my doorbell rang, which is unusual. I answered the front door and greeted a well-dressed gentleman with a briefcase.

Man: “Have you considered adding solar to your home?”

Me: “Look up.”

He looked up to see some 750 square feet of thirty-two solar panels covering the south-facing roof he was facing.

Man: “I’m sorry. The list of prospects I was given is based on aerial photos from Google Maps and other sites.”

My installation was only a few months old, and obviously, the photos were older.

I’m betting he never again rings a doorbell without looking at the roof first.

I’m a lawyer. My client was a moderately autistic guy who worked as a cashier. He was disabled and his low-paying job was a result of his disability. He was smart enough that, if his autism didn’t impact him so much, he’d probably be doing something more financially rewarding for a living. 

As it was, after interacting with him for a few weeks, it became unfortunately clear why he could only hold onto minimum-wage jobs, and the psychologist we hired to assess him for court purposes agreed.

[Client]’s wife was a medical doctor. They had two children together, one of whom was severely autistic. With her income, she was supporting the whole family financially.

They got divorced. [Client]’s wife got the children in the divorce agreement because [Client] notably lacked life-maintenance skills, and the courts were not impressed with his inability to maintain personal grooming standards, among other issues.

About all we could do was apply for spousal support. Fortunately, we were in a state that did not specify that recipients of spousal support must be female. [Client] met all of the qualifications to receive the support. So, we applied to the court.

Apparently, the judge thought that it was evil to take money from a woman who made $250,000 a year to help support her ex-spouse who only made — and likely could only ever make — about $27,000 per year, especially as she had to care for both of the children. The judge was practically clutching his pearls and spitting in rage.

The judge spent nearly an hour complaining about it and calling my client a pathetic weasel, insulting his manliness and integrity, calling him a sleazeball, and worse. Then, the judge tore into me for supporting my client through this process — also known as doing my g**d*** job.

Finally, the judge admitted that we had filed all of the paperwork properly, and he had no choice but to grant us our request to take this doctor’s hard-earned money.

My client was so traumatized that he engaged in a self-stimulation spiral and would only communicate with me by quoting Law & Order and other legal dramas for the next couple of hours before I could get him calmed down.

The judge remembered my name and was always hostile to me whenever I came before him after that. I eventually changed districts.

I’m still proud of what I accomplished.