This story takes place a few months after the Nintendo Switch was released. A lady came in with a Switch which was, frankly, melted. It turns out that her son had apparently decided that trying to microwave his brand-new Switch was a brilliant idea.

It was not.

Customer: “I deserve a free replacement! Something should have been done to prevent Switches from being microwaved. Since nothing prevented my son from microwaving the device, it is your fault that this happened!”

Naturally, she could not clarify what precisely should have happened to stop her son from wrecking the device, just that “something” should have stopped him.

I am incredibly thankful that I have a manager who actually has a spine, so when he got called over to deal with her ever-increasing volume as she shouted about how “something” should have been done, he sent her away empty-handed.

While house hunting, my husband and I stay in a hotel. One evening, my husband is passing through the lobby and overhears this gem.

Hotel Clerk: “Ma’am, I understand you made a reservation, but that reservation was for Wednesday. Today is Friday. We don’t have a room for you.”

Woman: “But I tried to make a reservation for Friday and [Third-Party Website] wouldn’t let me! So, I made the reservation for Wednesday instead and opened a ticket with them. So why don’t you have my reservation?!”

Apparently, she was quite incensed and couldn’t figure out why the clerk couldn’t just magically pull up her non-existent reservation. My husband left before hearing more, but I feel for that poor clerk!

Customer: “I’m looking for a white wine I had years ago. It’s popular and I think it’s French.”

My store has a limited selection of French wine and none of it is terribly popular. On a hunch, I skip the French section altogether and show him our second-most-popular Italian wine.

Customer: “Yes! That one! I thought I’d be searching for ages. Thank you.”

I’m still proud of myself for that one.

I’m the author of this story and [Coworker] is at it again. I came into work to see small cellophane bags of chocolate eggs hanging on people’s office doors and on their desks. Notably, there wasn’t one on my desk.

An hour in, [Coworker] appeared.

Coworker: “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t give you any Easter eggs. They’re really only for Christians.”

Me: “Ah, so you’re really representing Christian charity.”

[Coworker] bristled at that.

Coworker: “I just don’t think people like you deserve to celebrate along with us.”

Me: “Okay. Wow. But how about those guys?”

I pointed over at a couple of coworkers munching away on their chocolate.

Coworker: “Of course, they should get chocolate! They have God in their hearts!”

Me: “Mmm, no, they don’t.”

Coworker: “Yes, they do! They pray. They go to church.”

Me: “Well, they go to temple. They’re Buddhist.”

Coworker: “Whatever. At least they follow God’s teachings.”

Me: “They really don’t. They reach for enlightenment; there are no gods in Buddhism.”

Coworker: “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Me: “Okay, well, enjoy your Easter weekend.”

Coworker: “I will!”

She angrily stormed away.

Related:
Music Is Music, My Friend

My family and I went on a big family trip in 2009, when our daughters were twelve and fourteen. We had to change planes in Calgary. As we waited in line in the security area, our younger daughter noticed a lot of huge photographs mounted on the walls around us. Being a bit of a photography buff herself, she pulled out her camera — a fairly expensive one that she’d gotten for her most recent birthday — and took a few pictures.

Security Guard: “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

We all gaped at him in shock, not knowing what he was talking about. We then realized that he was glaring at our daughter.

Daughter: “Taking some pictures.”

Husband: “Is there a problem, sir?”

Security Guard: “Um, yes. Did you not see those signs?”

He pointed to some signs around us that said, “NO PHOTOGRAPHY ALLOWED.” In fairness to him, they were super obvious, and I don’t know how we missed them.

Me: “I’m so sorry. We didn’t see the signs.”

Security Guard: “That’s no excuse.”

He then reached over and grabbed [Daughter]’s camera out of her hands.

Security Guard: “I’m confiscating this.” *Walks away*

Daughter: *In tears* “My… My camera! Mum, what’ll we do?”

We chased after him and found him behind his desk. He glowered at us and held up the camera tauntingly.

Security Guard: “I don’t know what you expected to happen. You’re not getting this back.”

Me: “Please, sir, can’t you let this go? She didn’t mean any harm, and we can delete the photos in front of you.”

Security Guard: “Not good enough. Goodbye.”

Husband: “She’s just a kid. Please?”

I should mention that our younger daughter was and is very tall, and even though she was only twelve at the time, she could easily have been mistaken for someone in her late teens.

Security Guard: “‘Kid,’ sure.”

Something convinced him to look closer at our daughter, though, who was now openly sobbing.

Security Guard: “How old are you?”

Daughter: “T-twelve.”

Security Guard: “Hmph. Fine. You can have this back, but never do that again.”

Daughter: “I won’t. Thank you.”

My “mama bear” instincts threatened to take over at that point — the sight of my kid crying her eyes out has a tendency to do that — but luckily, my husband kept his cool and pulled me away.

Husband: “Come on, love.” *Whispering* “He’s just doing his job.”

Me: “I know. I do wonder what he’ll tell his wife when he gets home today, though. ‘How was your day, honey?’ ‘Awesome! I got to make a twelve-year-old cry!’”