(I am working my delivery route and stop at a red light before turning right. The guy ahead of me makes the turn and stops at the end of the line of cars. I check to make sure the coast is clear, make the turn, and come to a complete stop well before the guy’s bumper. Suddenly the guy in front of me looks back, looks me dead in the eyes, and shifts into reverse, guns the motor, surges backward, and rams my front bumper. Of course, he gets out screaming and yelling about his neck and about how he’s going to sue me for every penny I’m worth for ramming him.)

Me: *totally calm* “That’s not what happened, and you know it.”

Man: “Oh, yeah? And who’s going to believe that I put my car in reverse to hit YOU?”

(I just smiled calmly. The police arrive, and statements are given. The whole time the guy is ranting and raving about how he’s sustained an injury from my reckless driving. I remain calm throughout the entire thing, even going back to the car to retrieve a small item to hand to the cops.)

Man: “HEY! What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Are you seriously trying to bribe the f****** COPS?!”

Me: “Not at all. I was simply handing them the memory card to my dash cam.”

(The driver went dead white. Long and the short of it? He got in trouble for fraud and several other driving charges…)

(I work at the photo counter of a major retailer. This happens almost every day.)

Me: “Hello, how can I help you today?”

Customer: “I was wondering how big is an 8 x 10 photo?”

Me: *holding up fingers to approximate size* “About this big.”

Customer: “So, how big is that?”

Me: “It’s 8 inches by 10 inches.”

Customer: “So, will that fit in a 4 x 6 frame?”

Back in December, my hotel was sold out due to families traveling for the holidays. My hotel resides right beside a major freeway, and it was backed up; I’m talking about cars in one spot for more than four hours. People were standing beside their cars to have a smoke or walk their pets, and some even “relieved” themselves. I live ten minutes away from work but had to leave every day an hour early due to the awful traffic.

I got to work and we had three rooms left to sell. I went to clock in and print out the evening reports in case of system failure. Within the first ten minutes, we were sold out, and I had to face the twenty or so more families in my lobby who did not book in advance to turn them away. It took about thirty minutes, but once I passed out my list of local hotels and motels in the area, many of them were happy. I gladly put up a “Sold Out” sign.

A couple who got one of our last rooms came back down to the front desk. The wife was obviously drunk. I could smell her breath on the other side of the counter. The husband was taking pictures of the floor, the ceiling, and the doors — weird, but whatever. My coworker, a new person, asked them if everything was okay with the room. Meanwhile, I had gone to the back to shuffle some paperwork, but I could overhear everything.

Wife: “How old is this place?”

Coworker: “I’m not sure, but I think it’s ten years or older.”

Wife: “Well, it certainly looks like it.”

Husband: “We stayed at [Other Hotel] in [Other City And State] last night, and it was much nicer and cheaper than this place.”

My coworker was obviously trying to do her work and avoid them.

Coworker: “I’m glad you guys had a good stay with [Other Hotel].”

Wife: *Demanding* “Well, due to how crappy this place is, you had better give us a discount. Give us the rate we paid last night.”

Coworker: “I can’t do that, but I can take about $10 off.”

The couple was not happy with that answer.

Husband: “This is the crappiest hotel we’ve ever stayed in. You’d better believe I’m sending these pictures to your corporate office.”

This went on for another ten minutes before they asked to speak to a manager. There were none on duty, so my coworker came to get me. She usually can handle herself pretty well, but when she came to the back office, I could see her frustration and her eagerness to slap them both in the face. I went out to deal with the couple.

Wife: “She promised us a discount because our room isn’t good.”

Me: “What seems to be the problem with the room?”

The wife told me about her stay the previous night.

Wife: “I don’t feel clean in here. I don’t feel safe, and I’m totally uncomfortable. And I stay in hotels all the time. I’ve never had any issues. How are you gonna compensate us?”

Red flag! Meanwhile, someone who had ignored the “Sold Out” sign on the door came in, desperate for a room.

The wife now turned from complaining about the hotel to complaining about me and the other staff members.

Okay. Let’s play.

Me: “Ma’am, I’m so sorry that our hotel is not up to your standards. I do not want you to have to stay in a hotel that is going to make you uncomfortable or uneasy.”

I turned to my maintenance guy and asked him to please escort the couple and their luggage downstairs.

With that, I turned back to the wife.

Me: “Ma’am, I’m going to do something even better for you. I’m going to cancel your room with no penalty. Have a good night.”

I gestured to the desperate man who had walked in to give me a moment. My maintenance guy had come back down and whispered that the room was clean and could be resold. I booked the desperate man and gave him $10 off because why not?!

I didn’t give the unhappy couple a chance to protest anything. They walked past the front desk looking pitiful and sad. I knew that their behinds would be sitting in traffic in the cold unable to find a hotel room for A VERY LONG TIME. What were they going to say? Why would you WANT to stay in a hotel that is so crappy… unless you were intentionally looking for a free room?

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(The morning after a major snowstorm, most of our first shift staff have difficulty getting in to work. I’m an hour late, and only the second one in. Knowing this might happen, our manager made sure to issue instructions to the staff that all workers are expected to work late if their replacement is delayed by the snow. When I arrive, the third shift staff, who are notorious for shirking anything they see as extra work, are seated at the nurses’ station, waiting to hand off the keys to the med carts. I can see that more than a dozen call lights are going off, meaning that residents are likely lying in pools of their own waste and waiting to be changed.)

Third Shifter #1: “About d*** time you got here. We’ve been waiting to give you the keys so we can clock out.”

Me: “You’re still on the clock? Have you been answering call lights?”

Third Shifter #2: “H***, no. After 6 am, they’re not our problem.”

Me: “So you’ve just left them lying there for the last hour?”

Third Shifter #1: “Yes. Ain’t my problem. You just count the narcotics and sign the book so we can clock out.”

Me: “Can you stay on the clock for a while longer and help me until more of the first shift staff arrives?”

Third Shifter #2: “Ain’t gonna happen. We stayed late enough already, and we’re going home.”

(I count the narcotics, sign the logbook, and accept the keys to the med carts. Knowing that I’m in for a rough day, I start answering call lights. Thankfully, I get a call from our manager, saying that she’s using her truck to pick up stranded coworkers, so help is on the way. As I exit a resident’s room carrying a bag of soiled linens and over-soaked adult diapers, I see the third shift staff sitting in the dining room, drinking coffee and laughing.)

Me: “Hey, guys, did you decide to stay and help? Room 34 has been waiting the longest, and room—”

Third Shifter #1: “I told you no. We’re off the clock now. But the buses ain’t runnin’ because of the snow, so we’re stuck here until they plow.”

Me: “So you’re going to sit there and listen to the bed alarms going off?”

Third Shifter #2: “F*** you.”

(A grueling half-hour later, the manager arrives with three other caregivers. The manager, usually a well-dressed professional, is wearing scrubs and sneakers, and proceeds to claim responsibility for changing and dressing an entire hall of residents.)

Manager: “[My Name], why are [Third Shifters #1 and #2] sitting there drinking coffee?”

(I explain the situation with as much patience as I can muster, but the frustration in my voice when I relay the ‘ain’t my problem’ moment is palpable.)

Manager: “[Third Shifter #1 and #2]! if you’re not working, you’re not allowed to hang out here. Clock in or walk out the door.”

Third Shifter #1: “But the buses ain’t runnin’, and there’s two feet of snow. Where are we supposed to go?”

Manager: “Ain’t my problem.”

(I am helping a new associate fill out some new hire paperwork. I double check their paperwork.)

Me: “So, I see here on your taxes that someone claims you as a dependent.”

New Associate: “No, no one claims me as an dependent.”

Me: “Okay, then you will have to change ‘Dependent’ to ‘Single, Head of Household’ so the IRS knows you will be filing your own taxes.”

New Associate: “Do I have to? Every time I claim myself on my taxes, I end up owing money.”

Me: “…Yes. Otherwise, that would be tax fraud…”