My long-term boyfriend proposed to me and, of course, I was over the moon. It was all super romantic and sticky.

Work: “Well, we don’t think you can get a day off.”

Me: “Why? I’m asking six months in advance, and I need a day off. It’s for a wedding, and it’s mine.”

Work: “If you wanted days not previously specified, you must ask a year in advance. Why didn’t you?”

Me: “I didn’t know I was getting married!”

Work: “Why not?”

Me: “My fiance asked me in December, and I told you the day we were back from holidays. I don’t suppose he expected you to be this unreasonable?”

The wedding date was in August.

Work: “Well, next time you ‘want to get married’, tell the guy to tell us a year before.”

Me: “I quit.”

Three hours later, my manager came in and yelled so that everyone could hear: 

Manager: “Oh, no, girl, you don’t! Have what time you need! YOU STUPID FOOLS, IT’S HER WEDDING!”

I loved that manager. I took two weeks to meet the extended family, and it was no trouble.

Over fifteen years later, we’re married, sharing a mortgage, and raising a kid, who’s turning out very nice. This marriage is literally the best idea ever — literally, not figuratively.

A lady is using the self-checkout, and after she has bagged everything and paid, she makes sure to tell the self-checkout employee, the service desk employees, and some cashiers:

Customer: *Nice and loud* “Look how I did your jobs for you!”

The employees just ignore this; they have plenty to keep them occupied. For some reason, this makes the customer mad.

Customer: *Even louder* “I did your jobs for you! Just letting you know!”

We just look at her and then continue doing our jobs. After not getting a reaction from the employees, she stands near the exit and starts shouting as loud as she can while pointing at her cart:

Customer: “I did your jobs for you!”

She is now loud enough to bother other customers, so my manager gets involved.

Manager: “Excuse me, ma’am. Are you all right?”

Customer: “Why isn’t it bothering you that you’re making your customers do your jobs for you?”

Manager: “Because you’re not, ma’am. We all have lots to do, even with the assistance of self-checkout.”

Customer: “I want you to acknowledge that I effectively did work for you for free! It’s shameful!”

Manager: “Okay, well, by my estimation, based on the time stamp on your receipt, you were at the self-checkout for eight minutes.”

My manager gets a calculator out on his phone.

Manager: “So… eight minutes at minimum wage comes to a total of… 98 cents. Here, I’m giving you a raise; take a dollar.”

He takes a dollar from his wallet and hands it out to her.

Manager: “A dollar for your hard work. That’s what other cashier operators are getting without kicking up a fuss.”

She just stared at my manager before gasping in annoyance and storming out.

I got a Ph.D. placement abroad in Switzerland, but because I was starting directly after my Masters, I only got about three weeks’ notice that I had been accepted by the university. Of course, this meant that my choices in flat hunting were limited. I ended up renting a room in a flat with two other people both in their forties.

Things quickly started going downhill — things like being accused of not doing the cleaning when I had, not being allowed to use the kitchen if the main tenant was cooking (he was technically my landlord as I had the contract with him), and having to eat my breakfast while the main tenant was having his morning meetings at the dining table. While not terrible, it did make the whole situation awkward.

Finally, I’ve had enough, and I start flat hunting and find a nice place closer to the centre of the city. Once I have signed the contract, I arrive back at the flat to tell the main tenant I’m leaving with four months’ notice. (It’s May.) He starts speaking before me.

Tenant: “I’ve got a favour I want to ask you. Would you mind if you moved out during August so my daughter who is visiting can stay in your room? Don’t worry; you wouldn’t have to pay any rent for that month.”

I pause in shock for a second.

Me: “Um, no. I’m working over August. I need to use my room.”

Tenant: “Oh, but aren’t you going home for the summer?”

Me: “No, I’m working in the lab over the summer.”

Tenant: “But you’re a student.”

Me: “Yes, I’m a doctoral student. It’s a full-time job. I only get twenty-eight days of holiday, which I imagine is the same as you. I’m not going to put in for all my holiday just because you want your daughter to use the room.”

Tenant: “Oh. Really? Oh, in that case, never mind.”

At that point, I gave him the news that I’d found a new flat and would be moving out.

The next day, I had a thought. I’m young for a Ph.D. student in Switzerland. (I was twenty-two when I first arrived, and all of the other students in the building were three to eight years older than me.) It didn’t help that I have a baby face. I think that somewhere along the line, the “doctoral” part got dropped, and the guy thought I was an undergrad and based his respect on that. The whole situation made me so glad I’d already got a new place.

A guy comes into the restaurant with about twenty little kids.

Me: “Do we have a reservation for a kid’s party?”

Manager: “We absolutely do not.” *Approaching the customer* “Sir, do you have a reservation?”

Customer: “No, but they’re having a party, and it doesn’t look too busy in here.”

Manager: “We require reservations for such a party as we normally ensure we are staffed adequately for—”

Customer: “We’ll just take these three empty tables here. Put them together for me.”

My manager is nice and gives him the back room.

Manager: “We will do our best, but we are understaffed for this, so be patient.”

The guy starts getting annoyed with us when the service and the food aren’t instant. Unsurprisingly, all the seven-or-so-year-olds start running around as they’re getting bored.

Customer: “This really is taking too long. I think all the kids should get a free dessert for making them wait.”

Manager: “Sir, your failure to plan a venue for a children’s party is not going to become our problem.”

Customer: “Ugh. You’re lucky I’m a nice guy.”

His bill came to around $300. I folded it in half as I gave it to him. He signed it, tipped $20, and wrote, “You deserve less, but I am a nice guy.”

He didn’t realize there was already an 18% tip added because of his group size, but I had folded this part of the receipt over so he hadn’t seen it. Thanks for the extra tip!

Related:
A Lack Of Planning On Your Part…, Part 3
A Lack Of Planning On Your Part…, Part 2
A Lack Of Planning On Your Part…

I am a new starter at a coffee chain with a drive-thru. The training manager is showing me how the drive-thru process works. It is 5:00 am, so it is early enough to get through the instructions without too many customers.

A police car drives straight past the speaker and past the ordering window and instead pulls up to the collection window.

Manager: *To a coworker* “Officer D-Bag is back!”

Me: “Officer who?”

Manager: “Our regular cop who comes through the drive-thru all the time around this time. He always drives straight past the speaker and does that.”

Me: “Does what?”

I can see that the officer has put his cash on the window sill without any intention to talk to anyone.

Me: “Oh.”

A coworker opens the window. The officer simply waves his hand out, and then he drives off with his filter coffee. No words are spoken.

Manager: “I get that some people don’t like small talk — h***, I don’t like small talk — but whenever we have engaged with him, he’s made it obvious that he views us with contempt. So we’re always ready for him with his special order.”

Me: “Does he have a special order? It just looked like a filter coffee.”

Manager: “We just make sure it’s the most grind-filled shot we ever pull. Anyway, on to the different types of syrups…”