Tonight started like normal. I get to work at 11 PM for my night audit shift. There’s six or seven people sitting and drinking around our big table in the breakfast lounge. The leaving shift tells me that they’ve been there for several hours. No big deal, just hope they don’t get too loud as we have guests that sleep on the first floor.

I go about starting my shift. A woman comes downstairs and greets the lobby guests, everyone gets up and starts hugging, etc. I try not to listen to guests’ conversations, but it was hard not to overhear the woman from upstairs loudly say to one of the others, “Did you get your cranberry juice?”

My ears perk up. All of our breakfast items and beverages are locked away and/or turned off outside of breakfast hours. We sometimes get guests who will ask to grab a milk from the fridge on the counter in the back of the lounge, and we have to tell them no, sorry, it’s only for breakfast (unless it’s a parent wanting it for their child, then I will allow it).

The fridge is locked outside of breakfast anyway, so it’s not like the guests could get in there and grab one without asking. We also have a juice dispenser in the back of the lounge that is off outside of breakfast. You have to turn it on from the inside, so we don’t usually have a problem with it. Except for tonight.

Lobby Guest: “There is no cranberry juice.”

Juice Girl: “Yeah, there is.” *She gestures to the machine.* “I figured out how to open it last year.”

Mind you, I’m standing at the desk this entire time. These people are all aware of my presence. I start walking out from behind the desk.

Me: “Hey! Let’s not—”

I come around and see her slamming the door shut on the machine.

Me: “—Ma’am. Please stop.”

Lobby Guest: “Hey, you’ve been caught.”

Juice Girl: *Filling up a large cup of cranberry juice, not hearing me for some reason.*

Me: “Ma’am! Please!”

Juice Girl: *Turns around.* “Oh! I’m sorry!”

Me: *Internally.* “No, you’re not.”

Me: *Externally.* “Ma’am, the juice dispenser is only available during breakfast hours. That’s why it’s turned off. Please don’t do that again.”

Juice Girl: “Well, it’s a good thing it’s our last night. Don’t worry, I got my juice, I’ll turn it off.”

I just stood there and stared at her, letting everyone walk away. The entitlement you must have to walk into a place and start acting like you own it. It’s astounding. And infuriating.

It’s not like I can take away the woman’s juice or make her dump it out, because she said “sorry!” I just had to accept it, and later clean up the juice she spilled on the floor as she exited the lobby. Sigh.

My aunt was taking me home after a post-surgery doctor’s appointment. We get to her, new to her, car. She unlocks the door with the key fob and opens her door.

I try my door. It’s still locked. 

She tries the fob again. My door is still locked. 

I tell her to press the unlock button on the door.

She presses the window button instead.

Me: “No. Above it.”

Again, she presses the window button.

Me: “No. The one ABOVE it.”

Aunt: “No, I have to do it from this!”

She tries the fob again. My door is still locked.

With a sigh, I walk to the driver’s side and press the door button on the door, and then I go back to the passenger side.

Et voilà. My door opens.

Aunt: “How did you do that?”

Me: “It’s a button that unlocks the door.”

I tell her, trying not to make her feel stupid.

To be fair, I probably should have mentioned the symbol of the unlocked lock on the button, but I’m not 100% certain she would have found it, even if I had.

I need to get something from the shop, but I’m running late. As I walk up, I see an employee come out to close the door.

Me: “Aw, I’m too late.”

Employee: “Yes, I’m sorry, but we’re closing.”

His manager calls out from inside.

Manager: “[Employee], be a star and help him out.”

I’m conflicted. On the one hand, I do need the item that I came out for. On the other hand, I’ve read enough NAR stories. The pained look of the employee at his manager’s comment does it, though. I make eye contact with the manager.

Me: “No. You’re closed.”

We got a new office manager who loooooved meetings. He seemed to think that the clearest indicator of success and a good work ethic is to always… be… in… bloody… MEETINGS!

[New Office Manager] likes a daily all-hands meeting in the morning, even though we have nothing new to add daily. He liked weekly closing meetings on Friday afternoons when everyone just wanted to close deadlines before the weekend. He even scheduled a meeting to discuss the need for more meetings.

Another office manager [Regular Office Manager], same level on the promotion ladder, rarely attends these meetings, if ever, much to the chagrin of the new office manager. This annoys [New Office Manager] so much that he plans a meeting with [Regular Office Manager] to discuss this.

They held their “meeting” in the office corner, not a closed meeting room, so I overheard the following:

New Office Manager: “Your calendar seems sparse. Are you having enough meetings?”

Regular Office Manager: “Oh, so you do have access to my work calendar.”

New Office Manager: “Of course I do!”

Regular Office Manager: “I assumed you didn’t, since I had to cancel two meetings to have this discussion with you about how I’m not holding enough meetings…”

I think I snort-laughed too loudly, as they both stopped to look in my direction. I quickly darted to the coffee station to let them finish.

Later that day, [Regular Office Manager]’s calendar was suddenly full of meetings, several a day, and most coinciding with [New Office Manager]’s useless daily/weekly all-hands meetings.

Every new meeting was the same: “Me Time – Do Not Disturb.”

When I was sixteen, new at the job, and still believed in the goodness of people, it took one retail experience to shake me out of it. One lady paid with a tenner (£10 note), but claimed she paid with twenty. I ended up thinking I was the one who made the mistake and handed her a tenner back after she confronted me.

I did tell my manager about it just in case, and after giving the description of the lady, I heard that she tried this on a regular basis.

As despicable as that lady was, she did teach me a valuable lesson (other than customers in general just suck). From then onwards, on that job and every other job I’ve had, I keep the money on the counter or in my hand. 

A couple of years later, I’m working at a café on the beach in peak summer season, so we’re very busy. The customer paid with a twenty, and I held it in my hand behind my wallet as I always do. After receiving change:

Customer: “Hey! I paid with a fifty!”

Imagine the smug look on my face when I turn around my hand to show him that I am still holding his £20 note and say in the most Disney sing-song voice:

Me: “Oh no, you diiiiidn’t!”

Customer: “Oh, I… uh… must have…”

Me: “Funny, I don’t think I’ve seen a fifty in years. I don’t even have a space in my drawer for it they’re used so rarely. Maybe next time you try that, don’t demand a note that’s mainly used for money laundering, eh? Best not be greedy.”

Customer: “I… uh… hmm.” *Slinks away silently.*