I often frequent a specific coffee shop — enough to be recognized by one or two baristas, not enough to be considered a “regular”, and certainly not enough to be recognized by other patrons. I’ve been sitting at a table in the center of the room for at least two hours, and I get up to put my dishes in the bus tub approximately three steps away.

While doing so, I stack the dishes to leave some space. Apparently, this means I work there.

Woman Beside Me: “What’sTheRestroomCode?”

Yes, it’s said so rapidly it barely sounds like separate words. I don’t even realize she’s talking to me until I turn to go back to my table and she steps in front of me, into my personal space, and gets louder.

Woman Beside Me: “EXCUSE ME! WHAT’S THE RESTROOM CODE?!”

I know the restroom code. However, it’s my day off. I have to answer this question at my own job a thousand times a day, even when I’m on break or off the clock entirely, and I don’t want to. Besides, she’s rude.

Me: *Wide-eyed* “I’m not sure?”

Woman Beside Me: *Shocked* “Oh.”

She then stepped around me and snapped the question in exactly the same inflection at the barista behind the counter, while I returned to my table. She interrupted the barista’s answer to say, “WHAT?!” and did not look at me while hurrying off. I shook my head and picked up my book.

Related:
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 47
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 46
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 45
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 44
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 43

I work at an expensive coffee chain. A young man, probably in his early to mid-twenties, comes to the register and orders a small drink and a bag of popcorn, totaling about $8. His card declines. Honestly, this isn’t unusual; our card readers are fickle.

Me: “Oh, sorry about that; our card readers can be picky sometimes. Let’s try again.”

Declined again.

Me: “I’m sorry, it’s coming up as ‘Cannot be read or not accepted’, which just means it isn’t working. It doesn’t tell us why. Did you have another card we could try?”

Customer: “No, this is my only card.”

Me: “Okay, I’m sorry. How would you like to proceed?”

Customer: “Can I try it again?”

Me: “Sure.”

Predictably, it declines again.

Me: “I’m sorry, it’s not working. Did you want to try a different drink or just the popcorn? Do you have a phone to check your balance or anything?”

He starts looking around at everyone behind the counter.

Customer: “This is my only form of payment.”

Me: “Okay. Did you want to try just the drink or just the popcorn?”

Customer: “This is my only form of payment.”

Me: “I understand, and I’m sorry. Do you want to take something off the ticket?”

Customer: “This is my only card; it’s my only form of payment.”

Me: “Yes, sir, I understand. I can’t change the price of anything, so all I can do is remove something.”

We go around a few more times like this.

Customer: “Man, this is my only card… I just got kicked out…”

He stares around at everyone for another few seconds. I just wait because I’m kind of out of things to say. 

Customer: “That’s fine.”

He walked away to a table. Ten seconds later, the lady who had just finished ordering at the other register came back and told me she’d like to buy whatever he was trying to order. I was happy to ring her up and put his name down on the ticket. I’m glad he was able to get his drink and snack in the end, though I wish we could have cut some of the repetitive guilt-tripping out of the middle!

This happened about thirty years ago. I worked at an IT Consulting company for about two years. In October, they lost their primary contract with a large state department that kept most of their 100-plus employees working and generating income.

Suddenly, there were a bunch of consultants out of billable work and on the bench, and the company scrambled to find new gigs for us. Some were able to be placed immediately, while they had more trouble finding work for others with more specialized skills, like me. The company kept us on at full salary and offered us training in other skills, which I took advantage of.

Come December, the holiday party season started. We had a nice lavish party on a weekend in a brand-new luxury hotel that had just opened recently. Obviously, the party had been paid for before the contract loss.

There were the usual drinks and dancing and food, and there were prize giveaways via random numbers. The grand prize was an all-expenses-paid weekend at the hotel. I was attending with my girlfriend, and I happened to have the winning ticket for the grand prize. Sweet!

I went up, and the woman from Human Resources giving out the prizes had a sour look on her face. I didn’t think much about it. My girlfriend and I were stoked about this opportunity for a mini stay-cation.

I came in for work the following Monday and was immediately called into the boss’s office. I was thinking they had finally found a new client for me, but no. They were letting me go due to no work. I wasn’t the only one let go that day. It sucked that it was right before the holidays, and I was slated to go back to California over the holidays to see family.

It looked to me like the Human Resources lady wanted to ask for the prize back since I was no longer going to be an employee, but she didn’t have the guts to ask. (I’d have politely declined.) But at least I knew why she had a sour look on her face at the party when I won.

I took the time off for the holidays, and when I got back, I found a new client on my own within a week. My girlfriend and I used the prize as a way of celebrating my new career as an independent IT consultant.

I am waiting in line at a brewpub that does not serve liquor but has an extensive selection of draft beer. The menu over the bar lists individual beer names and the wall is covered with hundreds of taps. There are no other drinking accouterments to be seen.

The person in front of me steps up to order.

Customer: “Yeah, what kind of tequila do you have? We want to do shots.”

Bartender: “We don’t sell tequila here.”

There is an earth-grinding pause.

Customer: “Why?”

I wish the written word did justice to the utterly baffled vocal fry in which this question was delivered.

Bartender: “We only serve beer.”

Customer: “Beer? Ew!”

I tipped the bartender an extra dollar when my turn finally came around.

I’m going through a TSA checkpoint at my local airport. 

TSA Agent #1: “Please remove any food, electronics, and liquids from your bag and place them directly into the bin.”

In an attempt to save money, I’d packed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to eat at the airport.

Me: “Will my sandwich cause a problem?”

TSA Agent #1: “As long as it is outside of your backpack as it goes through the scanner, it will be fine.”

I follow the instructions and observe that other lines are moving much faster than mine. [TSA Agent #2], who is reviewing the screen, is pulling almost every bag for further review. By the time I get to her, she informs me that my peanut butter sandwich is causing the alarm (despite being removed from my luggage) and that my entire carry-on will need to be checked.

I offer to throw the sandwich away but she insists that now that I’ve entered the checkpoint it needs to be checked — for explosives, I presume?

[TSA Agent #3] is reviewing bags that have been pulled. Almost everyone that was in front of me in line one is now in front of him as he empties their bags and swabs their items to find the offending item (which, for many people, is nonexistent). I can tell he’s starting to get exasperated.

After several minutes, I finally get to him.

Me: “My bag got pulled because of this sandwich. I can just throw it away.”

My sandwich, which was made much earlier in the day, is admittedly looking kind of smooshed and sad. At this point, I’d rather throw it away and buy the overpriced airport food.

He looks at me, looks at my pitiful sandwich, and looks at [TSA Agent #2] who is still sending almost everyone in her line to him for further review. Other agents in nearby lines are not pulling nearly the same number of items for review. He hands me my items back without another glance.

TSA Agent #3: “I’m pretty sure your peanut butter and jelly sandwich is not a threat to national security.”