(I work in a pizza shop which delivers to local people and businesses. There is a nursing home nearby which is known — at least to us — for being awful to both patients and our delivery drivers, but it is mainly the patients who call, so we haven’t blacklisted them. Today, we send a driver over with an order for one of the patients. It costs $13.86, and our drivers carry fives and ones but not coins, which is a fairly well-known and obvious practice. We receive the following phone call from the receptionist at the nursing home.)

Receptionist: “Your delivery man came with an order and refuses to give my patient her correct change! The order was $13.86 and he only gave her $6 back! You need to make him give her the rest of the change! This behavior is absolutely unacceptable. You people are aware that this is a nursing home, and I need to stand up for my patient! You tell him—”

(I have been trying to interrupt her for some time now and finally get through.)

Me: “Ma’am, our drivers don’t carry change with them. If he hasn’t gotten too far I can have him check his car for spare change to bring back, but is fourteen cents really worth the trouble?”

Receptionist: “I am appalled! I can’t believe you people would try to take advantage of an old woman like this! I will be speaking to your owners.”

(She then hung up. The driver in question returned a while later and I asked him about the delivery. As it was a nursing home which houses dementia patients, among others, a security code must be entered before the doors can be opened to let someone leave. The driver said that the receptionist refused to enter the code until he gave her another dollar to cover the missing 14 cents. He also said that while she was on the phone with me, he was standing nearby, and witnessed a nurse screaming at a patient in a wheelchair for spilling a glass of water. At the end of the night, we sent an email to several county officials about the nursing home, so here’s hoping they close down or some people get fired.)

(I am visiting my grandmother and grandfather who live in an extremely nice assisted living community. We are “out to dinner” at the on-site restaurant, which is almost entirely staffed by wonderful high school students. A boy probably no older than 15 is serving us.)

Teenage server: “And what can I get for you, ma’am?”

Grandmother: “Well, dear, I would like the shrimp with the –”

(She suddenly stops speaking and releases the longest, loudest passing of gas I’ve ever heard. My uncle can barely contain his laughter, but the young server doesn’t even blink.)

Grandmother: “Excuse me! As I was saying, the shrimp with the collard greens, dear.”

Teenager server: “Absolutely, ma’am, that will be right out for you.” *walks away still without any trace of a snicker or embarrassment*

(Now that’s professionalism! Just goes to show that age and maturity are not always connected!)

(I work at a group home for adults with cognitive disabilities. Part of my job, among other things, is laundry, cleaning, and cooking. Two of our clients are gluten-free. My coworker is making fried chicken for dinner. It is important to note that this coworker is new and not generally liked as he mainly sits around talking to girls on his phone all day or generally being lazy.)

Coworker: “This plate is the gluten chicken, and this is the gluten-free chicken.”

(My coworker heats up the oil on the stove, and then starts putting the gluten chicken in the oil.)

Me: “Oh, you should have put the gluten-free chicken in first. Now you’re going to have to make a whole new pot of oil because this oil is cross-contaminated.”

Coworker: “I know what cross-contamination is! Besides, the flour is gluten-free, so the breadcrumbs will protect it.”

Me: “Are… are you saying you didn’t use gluten-free breadcrumbs for the gluten-free chicken?”

Coworker: “There’s no gluten in breadcrumbs!”

Me: “What are you talking about? Breadcrumbs are made out of bread; of course, they have gluten!” *takes out gluten-free breadcrumbs* “See?”

Coworker: “Whatever! The oil will burn off the gluten, anyway!”

Me: “That’s not how it works at all! If that was true, people who were gluten-free could just eat fried bread!”

Coworker: “Well, they’ll just have to deal because this is all we have. They’ve had my fried chicken before and no one died!”

Me: “Yeah, their stomach just really hurt after. That’s what happens when they eat gluten. You’re lucky no one here is severely celiac because people can die from eating gluten if they’re allergic enough.”

(My coworker mumbled and went back to cooking. Later, he tried to give coffee with sugar to our diabetic client and then got mad that “no one told him” the client couldn’t have that.)

(I’ve just been informed that the system we use for having visitors sign in and out is down over the entire country. Fantastic. So, I turn the sign-in computer around so it’s facing me instead of any visitors and I put a large, brightly-colored sign on it that says, “System is down. Please use the paper to your left to sign in and out. Thank you!”)

Visitor #1: *goes right to turning the sign-in computer around*

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but that computer is down right now. Can you sign in on the paper, please?”

Visitor #1: “Oh!” *looks surprised* “Okay…”

Me: *inner facepalm*

Visitor #2: *stares at the sign* “Oh… Can I not use this, then? How do I sign in?”

Me: *indicates the paper and pen right in front of her*

Visitor #2: “Ugh, that’s too complicated.” *proceeds to take five minutes to write her name, the time, and who she’s visiting*

Visitor #3: *reads the sign and proceeds to sign in with the pen and paper* “Well, isn’t this quaint!”

Me: *smiles* “Thanks.”

Visitor #3: “It wasn’t a compliment.” *stomps off*

Me: *faith in humanity gone… again*

(I work at an assisted living facility. A resident comes shuffling up to my desk and stands there looking expectantly at me.)

Me: “Good morning, [Resident]. [Coworker] has already taken the papers for delivery.”

Resident: “Well, where is she?”

Me: “She’s probably still on the first floor.”

Resident: “Why didn’t she give me my paper?”

Me: “I guess she didn’t see you. Did you see her?”

Resident: “No. I was just upstairs. Why didn’t she drop the paper at my door?”

Me: “I don’t think she’s been up to the second floor yet.”

Resident: “Well, why don’t you know? You should know where she is!”

Me: “I’m sorry? I don’t have any way of knowing where she’s gone. She’s usually very quick at it, though, so you should have your paper soon.”

Resident: “I don’t understand why the h*** she doesn’t leave the paper at the desk.”

Me: “Because you asked for it to be delivered to your room.”

Resident: “No, I wanted it left here. I told you idiots to leave the d*** thing here.”

Me: *knowing full well he didn’t* “Okay, [Resident]. Would you like it left here instead of delivered, then?”

Resident: “Yes! D***, you’re all idiots! Now, where’s my paper today?”

Me: *vein-pop* “[Coworker] is delivering it.”

Resident: “I just told you to leave it at the desk!”

Me: “That’s… that’s not how that works. She already has it for today.”

Resident: *incoherent yelling as he stomps off*

(I guess I’m supposed to be omniscient, know where my coworkers are at all times, be able to magically apparate his paper back to the desk, and also be psychic to know what everyone wants. Also, this lovely man… if we leave his paper at the desk, that day he wants it delivered. If we deliver it, he wants it left at the desk. And every time, I’m an idiot for not knowing he’s changed his mind yet again.)