High school prom is an event all unto itself. My friends and I were not big into the dance as we were all outcasts and didn’t see what the big deal was. We were talking about how we didn’t want to go to prom but we still wanted to do something, so our boyfriends told us to get dressed up and they would take us out. 

My two friends and I got dressed in our “prom” best and waited for the guys to pick us up. Our guys showed up in tuxedo T-shirts with jackets and top hats, looking amazing and silly at the same time. 

They took us to the [Fast Food Chain] one of them worked at. They had one part of the dining room blocked off. The employee’s dad greeted us, also wearing a tux shirt and top hat, and seated us at individual tables with white table cloths, candles, actual china, silver flatware, cloth napkins, and roses in tiny vases. 

We had our “fine dining” experience where we had our courses of burgers and fries brought out to us by the guy’s older brother — in a tux shirt and top hat — with sparkling grape juice being poured like fine wine from an ice wine bucket in the corner.

We had excellent service from the dad and brother who were the utmost professionals the entire time, though we were laughing, giggling, and just cracking up at how beyond sweet and ridiculous this all was.

The boy that thought of everything and somehow talked his family into this magical date night is now married to my friend with three amazing kids. 

He was telling his oldest son about how he came up with it all at BBQ last weekend, which makes me wonder if another girl is going to be swept off her feet?

My manager’s manager is a fairly nice guy. He is bald, always wears argyle cardigans, and has a friendly attitude that earned him the nickname Mr. Rogers. He self-identifies as gay, though you wouldn’t know it if you didn’t see him attending a company meeting with his husband and didn’t notice the pictures of him and his husband that his office was bedecked with.

My coworker in my department self-identifies as a lesbian. She also self-identifies as a “riot grrrr” and dyes her hair bright colors. She’s very loud and proud about her identity as a lesbian, and her cubicle is equally bedecked with pictures of her wife, political cartoons about lesbianism and feminism, and office plants. I get along with her pretty well, though sometimes I have to tune her out when she gets upset and starts ranting while she works. I think it mostly she just rants to calm herself down.

Because I’m one of the few people who doesn’t get into arguments with [Coworker], my cubicle is near hers.

One day, I come into work, and [Coworker]’s cubicle is completely empty. I was expecting to work with her on a client together today, so I find this surprising — and upsetting as I need her portion of the work as well as mine.

I manage to reschedule the client so I can actually have time to either find or remake her work, and I go to management to ask what the heck happened.

“Mr. Rogers’” office is also completely sterile and empty. My manager’s title has been changed; he’s been promoted.

I ask him what happened.

It turns out that a janitor walked in on “’Mr. Rogers” performing a sex act on [Coworker] in the office after hours.

Normally, cheating on your spouse — even with a coworker — is not grounds for dismissal, but the fact that the sexual acts occurred on the premise was determined to be cause for immediate removal, as per the “morals” clause of our contracts.

According to my manager, both “Mr. Rogers” and [Coworker] maintained their innocence, insisting that it wasn’t cheating because they were doing it with someone of a different sex than their spouses.

Last I heard, they were both divorced and had found work again in different accounting firms. “Mr. Rogers” sent the whole office a letter when he was hired by his new place, and my coworker emailed me, though no one else. I guess I made an impression on her?

When I was in high school, I worked at a pool store selling pools, spas, and chemicals. It was owned by a married couple that, to put it nicely, needed couples therapy. They would fight frequently and both had a temper.

One day, they were both at the store in the back warehouse screaming at one another about something or other. In walked a regular customer. This was one of the customers that would come in from time to time just to talk to one of the owners, and not about actual pool-related topics.

I greeted the regular with the usual spiel.

Me: “Hello, how are you today?”

Regular: “I need to talk to [Owner].”

I was kind of panicking, and I resorted to the classic telemarketer-on-the-phone lie.

Me: “I’m sorry, but [Owner] isn’t here right now.”

Regular: “I know he’s here; his truck is out front.”

Now I figured there was no other way of handling this with grace. I put my finger up to my mouth in a shushing motion.

Regular: “What do you mean?”

I kept my finger to my mouth and actually verbally said, “Shuuuush.” The regular customer stopped talking for a moment and heard them screaming at each other from the back warehouse.

Regular: “Oh.”

Me: *Lowering my finger* “Yeah. You’re welcome to go interrupt them if you like, but I’m not paid enough for that.” *Shrugs and chuckles awkwardly*

Regular: “I think I’ll just come back later.”

Me: “Sounds good!”

My husband is the kind of person who will come home with something that includes instructions — a toy, an appliance, an electric tool, anything — open up the box, pull out the manual, and immediately throw it over his shoulder before trying to make sense of the purchase with nothing but his intuition.

I’ve gotten into the habit of collecting the discarded instructions, taking a seat in the room, and reading through them as he starts working on it himself, watching as he struggles to make use of it, and keeping track of the progress through the manual to match how far he’s made it after much trial and error.

Husband: “Why do they make these things so difficult?”

Outcome A, with about 3% likelihood: he renders his new purchase completely unusable by breaking an important part or doing something in the wrong order, requiring him to get a new one at a later date. In the latter case, if I see it happening in time, I’ll try to stop him.

Outcome B, with about 25% likelihood: he manages to make it work. It takes a lot longer than it SHOULD, but he gets there.

Outcome C, the rest of the time: he puts his new purchase down before he ruins anything, and says:

Husband: “Guess I’m going to have to read the manual.”

Whereupon I will hand him the manual, point out where he’s gotten so far, and watch him progress much more smoothly.

My supervisor was sleeping with an associate. Eventually, as most work shenanigans do, theirs burned out and got ugly. [Associate] was at the register next to mine with several people in line waiting to check out when [Supervisor] approached. He stepped between the woman finishing her transaction and the one waiting to start. When the first woman left, [Supervisor] handed [Associate] a piece of paper.

Associate: “What?” *Looks at the paper* “A drug test?!”

Supervisor: *Smiling* “All employees agree to remain drug-free throughout employment. Drug tests may be performed at any time for any reason.”

Associate: “Are you serious?”

Supervisor: “I scheduled you an appointment at [Nearby Clinic] in twenty minutes.”

[Associate] left, took her drug test… and did not come back. [Supervisor] left at the end of his shift and also did not come back. Rumor has it that before [Associate] left for her test, she told Human Resources that [Supervisor] had sold her cocaine and marijuana at a discount for sleeping with him and allowing him to steal things when he went through her register. Security reviewed the tapes and he was consequently fired.