(It’s near the end of the school year, and I’m about to go on a three-week hiatus for surgery to replace torn ligaments in my knee. It’s the kind of surgery that keeps you down for a good while and unable to walk. I take an extra week off before surgery so I can spend time doing things I wouldn’t be able to do for a while and to get things in order before my surgery. My managers know this, as I told them when my last day was as soon as I found out when my surgery was scheduled.)

(Two months out:)

Manager: “When’s your last day?”

Me: “May 2nd, because my surgery’s May 9th.”

Manager: “Okay, cool.”

(One month out:)

Manager: “When’s your last day?”

Me: “My surgery’s May 9th, but my last day’s May 2nd.”

Manager: “Right. Gotcha.”

(Two weeks out:)

Manager: “When’s your last day?”

Me: “May 2nd. Surgery’s May 9th. I’ll write it down for you.”

Manager: “Alright, cool. Thanks!”

(The week of May 2nd arrives. I’m at home, and it’s May 3rd. I get a text from my other manager.)

Manager #2: “When’s your surgery?”

Me: “May 9th. Yesterday was my last day, but I’ll be there for the screening tonight.”

Manager #2: “Okay. Thanks.”

(Later that night, I am at the theater before the screening.)

Coworker: “Yeah, poor [Manager #2] spent the entire day fixing the schedule, because [Manager] completely screwed it up.”

Me: “Wow, really? How so?”

Coworker: “Well, first of all, he had you working this coming week.”

Me: “Seriously?!”

Coworker: “Yep. Scheduled you to work Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Wednesday.”

Me: “Wednesday’s the day of my surgery…”

(I work as a volunteer job at a retirement home. The people living here usually aren’t problematic, but visitors can be. I am helping the cafeteria with another volunteer, a quiet bear-type who looks like he’s only there to find his WWE membership card. It’s busy and every table is packed; I’m running around trying to get residents seated on tables that only have one or two other residents. I see a table coming free, so I go to the entrance where an elderly couple is making their way over to said table, to guide them there. Two guys who are obviously not visiting anyone take the table. This happens often, as our prices are way lower than a cafe, so people take advantage.)

Me: “Sir, could you please leave the table? We give residents priority.”

Customer #1: “No, they should have been faster.”

Me: “Sir, these people are well over 80 and 90 years old, respectively. I’m asking you to leave the table.”

Customer #2: “Well, we were here earlier; go dump them somewhere else and bring us two coffees.”

(I’m too shocked to form a reply, but then I hear chairs scraping and see my man-bear coworker helping the couple to take a seat.)

Customer #2: “Hey, what the h*** are you doing? We were here first; get them out of here and get us our coffee!”

(My coworker walks over to the pair, and places his hands on the back of their necks.)

Coworker: “You two are not here to visit residents, are too cheap to go to a café, and are very rude to my coworker and our residents. She asked you to leave, and now I’m telling you: leave, or I’ll make you.”

Customer #1: “Go ahead and try; I’ll call your manager and have you fired.”

Coworker: *begins lifting both men from their seats* “Well, too bad I value our residents over a volunteer job.”

(He drags them to the exit where he drops them — literally. The two get back up, but by now a couple of nurses, volunteers, and half our visitors are up and looking at them.)

Customer #2: “I’m going to call the cops on you guys! I’ll have this whole place closed down!”

(My coworker went back to the counter, took off his jacket, and asked me what the couple ordered. Then, he paid for their order and made me a coffee to get over the experience. He was later called in by the director, lightly scolded for getting physical, then commended for protecting the residents. He’s still working with us, and he’s really cool.)

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(I work for an Internet tech support center. Due to security and billing, once an account has been registered, it can’t be changed.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Tech Support]. What can I do to assist you today?”

Customer: “I need to change the email address I registered on the account.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I do not have the ability to do that for you. You can, however, set up a sub-account to use instead.”

Customer: “You don’t understand. I really need to change the email address.”

Me: “Well, sir, I can give you to another department who might be able to help, but in order to change that, it will essentially disconnect and reconnect your service. This may result in a charge due to your contract. I can show you how to set up a sub-account though.”

Customer: *sighs* “I really have to change my account. My wife is going to kill me.”

Me: “Can I have the email address so I may access your account?”

(There’s a long pause before the customer speaks again.)

Customer: “Ourpaininthea**@***.com. I was really frustrated when I was registering.”

(At this point, I nearly have to mute my phone to keep the customer from hearing my laughter.)

Customer: “My wife uses this to talk to all of her bridge club friends. She will kill me if she has to give this out.”

Me: “Well, sir, you can set up a sub-account just for your wife and she can have whatever email address she wants. You get ten of them for free, so you would never even have to use the main account if you don’t want to.”

Customer: “Really? Can you show me? You may have just saved my marriage.”

Me: *still trying not to laugh* “No problem, sir…”

(I am in Germany on a school trip. I have never been before, nor do I speak German. I am currently with two of my friends talking about going out to dinner on the train platform.)

(A middle-aged man hurries up to me.)

Man: “Guten tag!”

Me: “…guten tag.”

Man: *over enunciating* “Do. You. Speak. English?”

Me: “…yeah?”

Man: “Oh, thank god. Everyone’s so unhelpful around here! How do I get from [rattles off a number of places in quick succession].”

Me: “I’m sorry…”

Man: *cutting me off angrily* “I thought you said you spoke English!”

Me: “I do. I just don’t know any of those places.”

Man: “Why the h*** not?!”

Me:” I’m from Oregon…”

Related:
The Oregon Fail, Part 2
The Oregon Fail

(I’m stocking a shelf. I notice a customer with her five-year-old daughter. They both look like they’ve been through a hard time.)

Little Girl: “Mama, I’m hungry.”

(The mother looks near tears.)

Mother: “I know baby; I’m sorry. Mommy only has $5, so we have to find food that will stretch until next week when mommy gets paid.”

Little Girl: “Okay.”

(I see a another customer with a baby in a cart walk up to the woman.)

Another Customer: “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear you. I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but I’d like to help you.”

(The other customer holds out a $20 bill. The mother starts to cry.)

Mother: “You don’t even know me, and you’re trying to help me. My husband walked out. I work a minimum wage job, and it’s just been so hard. You’re the first person who has shown me such kindness in a long time, and you’re a stranger to me.”

Another Customer: “I’m someone who thinks the world would work a bit better if people paid it forward a little more. I might not know you, but I know you’ve been dealt a bad hand. When’s the last time you ate? I’m sure you’re making sure your daughter eats, but when’s the last time you did?”

Mother: “How did you—”

Another Customer “Because you’re a mother.”

Mother: “I… thank you so much! This will really help. Are you sure?”

Another Customer: “I’m positive. You know you can get some of the stuff here ‘2 for 1’, so that can help.”

Mother: “Thank you… thank you so much! I’ll find a way to pay you back.”

Another Customer: “There’s no need to do that. I hope things get better for you, and when they do, you can pay it forward.”

Mother: “Thank you so much.”

(I’m called to the front, so I don’t see the rest of the exchange. The mother and daughter come through my lane with a cart full of food.)

Little Girl: “Mommy, was that lady an angel?”

Mother: “Yes baby, she was.”

(Their total comes to just under the 25 dollars the mother had. I relate the story to my manager. When the other customer comes up with her daughter, my manager has a gift card for $20 waiting for her. That customer comes in every month or so, and we all refer to her as the angel.)