This story reminded me of something that happened at our workplace. Just in reverse.

Our company offers some catered lunches to us from time to time. Usually, when someone important is visiting, and they want to make sure everyone is working IN office and not making that a WFH day.

Call it a bribe, but it works, and we are a-okay with it. Because it’s really neat stuff. Lovely, small, toasted sandwiches with various spreads, cuts, cheeses… They’re pretty popular, and a lot of people forgo breakfast to make sure they have “room” for those wonderful little morsels of flavor. 

One of our coworkers is vegan, so of course, some of the sandwiches are strictly vegan, with the box they come in clearly labeled. Given that there’s usually more food than the people can eat and some of the goodies are taken home by the staff, it’s usually no big deal if someone wants to try one of the vegan sandwiches, and our coworker was gladly sharing. And frankly, even as a non-vegan, some of them are mighty tasty.

Some not… but then again, I’m also no big fan of certain meat cuts or cheeses. Tastes are different, and so are the sandwiches.

Last Summer, it was time for a “company lunch” again. Some bigwig came, and we got bribed with those coveted sandwiches to endure him. So far, so known, so good.

Our vegan coworker was a bit late for lunch, not that uncommon; he had a lot of meetings that ran long, and it was usually no big deal. Everyone knew his “box”. Plus, the bright, blue “vegan” sticker told those who didn’t know. 

Provided they can read that, is.

Apparently, our intern couldn’t. When our coworker opened his box, what he was greeted with was a messy pile of sandwiches with a bite taken out of them. Every single one of them. It didn’t take long to find out who did it, and no, he had zero clue why that might be a problem.

Coworker: “You took a bite out of every sandwich there?”

Intern: “Yeah, but it’s no big deal, they all taste horrible anyway.”

Coworker: “And you didn’t think that you might want to pick something from a different box?”

Intern: “How should I know that they’re all just garnish without any meat? You should really complain to the company, they shorted you the meat in those sandwiches! And I had to suffer them.”

Coworker: “Suffer them. Well, you sure wasted no moment to take a bite out of ALL of them! What, pray tell, do you suppose I could eat now?”

Intern: *Flabbergasted.* “Huh? There are almost two boxes of sandwiches left!”

Coworker: *Fighting back his appetite and frustration.* “Yeah. With meat.”

Intern: “Yeah? Indeed? You act like you’d want to have those rabbit-food breads!”

Coworker: “Ever heard of a vegan?”

Intern: “Yeah, sure. There’s also sandwiches with salmon and chicken left, there’s also cheese, and that over there is egg spread if you’re THAT strict…, so why bother with that garbage?”

Nope, it did not occur to him why the people around him were NOT amused. Most of all, our now starving coworker. Because “hey, it won’t kill you to eat meat ONCE!” didn’t exactly sit well with him either.

Or with the rest of us. 

As one might imagine, we chose not to keep him. We felt he was not exactly a good corporate fit. Not just for this episode.

This story reminded me of something that happened during my university time.

We had an old professor who was a bit weird. Grey beard, long hair, looked a bit like an aged hippie who had a bit too much of various “herbal remedies” in his youth, and likely that wasn’t that far from the truth. If you know the look of Richard Stallman, you have a pretty good idea what he looked like. And he had the demeanour to match it. Nice, laid back, never said an unkind word.

He was absolutely brilliant and had an insanely sharp wit, so don’t let that old hippie look deceive you; he could get quite blunt if he noticed you trying to pull a fast one on him or weaseling out of something. He knew how to make you look like the total fool that you were for trying. But overall, a fun guy, great entertainer during his lectures, still getting his point across perfectly, with a wealth of knowledge, and still a curious mind that wanted to see more. 

And that professor is behind me in the queue at the supermarket next to our university. In front of me, a guy not unlike that pr*ck in the story mentioned above.

Customer: “That’s DOCTOR [Name]!”

Clerk: “Sorry, doctor [Name], here is—”

Customer: “It says so clearly on the card.

Clerk: “Yes, sir. My apologies for not noticing it. Here is—”

Customer: “—I wish you would pay attention to the details.

Clerk: “I will try my best, sir, if you would now—”

Customer: “—I didn’t spend years to achieve what you never shall just to be insulted like that.

Professor: “So we now gotta spend years hearing about it? Get over yourself; it’s just a doctorate.”

Customer: *Now turning on the professor.* “Yeah? Like you could ever achieve one. The way you look, you live in the gutter!”

The otherwise quite mellow professor took a look at the customer and took maybe a breath or two before replying with a near endless stream of achievements, titles, honorary and real doctorates from a few VERY well known universities, a list of patents, research along with the associated papers, and the works.

I have to admit, I barely remember even the more important parts because not only was the delivery quite fast, it was a LOT. After a moment or two, he cracked a small smile and asked:

Professor: “Your turn, my esteemed colleague.

There was no reply.

Later, I told him I didn’t even know all that, that I’m really impressed with it all, and asked why he never talked about it. I mean, there were things like tenure in Cambridge and a few research credits with some important people in the field, where I really would have wanted to know what he did there and what came out of it; that guy had a VERY interesting life! He just shrugged, and he said something I certainly took to heart:

Professor: “Look, that’s all in the past. Sure, it was nice, and I love to remember it all. But talking about it, that’s like parading old slides from past vacations in front of your relatives. Nobody wants to see them but yourself. So I don’t pull that out, unless some little prick like that needs a d**k-measuring contest. What really matters is where you’re here and now, and what’s in your future. So I should envy you, you got a lot more of that than me.”

This story reminds me of last year. Not AS bad as that, but still… 

Last year in the Fall, it was raining. A LOT. For weeks. Literally rain for weeks on end. And the rivers were rising, the levels were too, and eventually, somewhere mid-September, flooding became an issue. The rivers were not able to carry away the waters; they went over their beds, and there were a lot of roads that were impassable. “Fortunately,” only outside of the local main town, which was located on a hill, but imagine a castle on a moat and you have a pretty good idea what it was like.

So, if you lived in the city, you were… well, not exactly fine, but you could get to stores in the city. If you lived outside, well, you were FUBAR.

Same for people working in the city, and the stores in the city, and living outside of it.

I am driving quickly to the store so I can get some groceries before it becomes impossible, driving next to a river that is already prepping to jump outside of its bed and onto the street, and I arrive at the store, which is, to my utter astonishment, still open for business.

Frankly, I didn’t expect it. I expected them to be closed and telling me, “f*** off, idiot, don’t you see that the river is about to come in here?” 

But they were open, and I’m incredibly grateful for that. Since it’s a small mom-n-pop store (but still a franchise of some large national chain), I would expect the owners to be around to keep up a token “needed things” sale going, with the owner and his wife trying to keep the local population stocked with important must-have goods like basic food and water for the days to come, when the flood sweeps away civilization… but no: It’s the normal store. Normal staff. Normal options. Everything available. No limits.

I walk up to the gourmet section, and I know that the person behind the counter is coming from a village nearby.

Me: “Er… You ARE aware that the bridge is already being flooded? Why don’t you get home?”

Employee: “We cannot. The store stays open until normal closing times.”

Me: “Are you nuts? It’s 4 PM now. Come 7 PM, there is NO way you can get out!”

Employee: “I know. Tell the idiots in the capital.”

No kidding. Whether they have to stay is determined in the HQ, which, of course, doesn’t even have the foggiest idea just WHAT kind of Armageddon is going down here.

On cue, the branch manager comes up.

Branch Manager: “Go home!”

Employee: “But, I…?”

Branch Manager: “No buts. I’ll take care of the rest. Go home! You can still make it if you go now. I called the town about the bridge, and if it’s drivable, it’s still good, but they don’t know for how long. Go. Now. I’ll man the section. Nobody is gonna complain, everyone’s already home trying to get their house prepped for the flooding. Anyone who isn’t, well, I don’t care about insane idiots. Go!”

Employee: “But, HQ said—”

Branch Manager: “—F*** these idiots. GO HOME!”

He then turns to me.

Branch Manager: “What can I get you, sir?”

Me: “Er… nothing, I guess… But how do you get out?”

Branch Manager: “I live a few houses from here; the flood doesn’t mean jack to me. Service might be slow since it’s just gonna be my wife and me, but we’ll do our best.”

Me: “Hey, no worries. I was already asking why your workers are still here.”

Branch Manager: *Nods.* “Thank you for understanding.”

I grabbed a few cans of food and dashed for the till where his wife was cashing. As I was leaving, so were most of the workers. I hope they made it home. I at least barely did it with dry feet.

Standing in line in the returns queue, there’s a heated argument going on in front.

Customer: “Why can’t you take it back?”

Clerk: “Because it has been opened, it has been used, it was not broken before use, and it is in no condition to be resold.”

Customer: “I’m NOT moving until you refund it.”

Clerk: “Very well, I get paid by the hour, and unless you plan to stand here longer than—” *Checks clock.* “—five hours, I don’t really mind. Actually, it would mean I have to stay here and can’t work somewhere else so… thank you?”

Customer: *Steaming.* “Then I’ll come back tomorrow right before seven!”

That’s when the store closes.

Clerk: “You may do that, sir, but you may want to know, since our management foresaw that some ass…piring and enterprising customers would try to pull that, our return counter closes at five.” *Smile.* “But I’ll be here ’til seven, so if you want to waste two hours of your time and none of mine…”

Customer: *Close to explosion.* “I’ll call corporate!”

Clerk: *Hands him a card.* “Here’s the number. Next, please!”

It’s a new month, and I know that stores only have a limited amount of change at their disposal, so when I withdrew money at the ATM, I punched in to give me a bunch of 20s and 10s instead of the usual 100s. 100s would be fewer bills, but at the same time harder to break for the stores, because most people aren’t that sensible.

I go and do my monthly shopping, which amounts to a bit over a hundred. I usually pay with five 20s and some smaller bills to hit the total. Clerks are usually pretty happy about it because most people pay with 100s on amounts that wouldn’t even warrant spending ten.

Cue an entitled jerk, with exactly this.

Clerk: That’s €8.”

Jerk: *Puts down a €100 bill.*

Clerk: “Sorry, sir, I don’t have the change anymore to break that one, a bunch of others came in with 100s and my change ran dry; maybe you got a tenner or so?”

Jerk: “Hmph! Why is that my problem? Here’s the €100 bill, and you hand me €92 back, how is this hard?”

Clerk: “Well, mostly because I don’t have €92 in my register.”

Me: “Sorry, but if you let me go ahead, I have groceries for a bit over €100 here, and I pay with 20s and 10s, that should make the clerk able to break your hundred?”

Jerk: “Hmph! Why should I let you go ahead of me with that huge pile of stuff in your cart?”

Me: “Maybe because even if that clerk gets to ring all that up, it’s faster than us now waiting for someone who can magically conjure change for the clerk’s till?”

Jerk: “That’s their problem. Not mine.”

Me: *Pointing over my shoulder at the line.* “Actually, it’s the problem of ALL the people in the line because you’re the [expletive] keeping us all from going ahead.”

Jerk: “What did you call me?”

Me: *Helpful and still insanely saccharine friendly, only a hint louder that everyone in earshot can hear it.* “[Expletive].”

I see in his face that he wants to punch me, but even he knows better. First, we’re standing here with at least half a dozen, closer to a dozen, witnesses, and second, I’m more than a head taller than him and have at least twenty kilos on him. My head is shaved bald; I have quite the beard, and I enjoy wearing leather (hey Metal forever!). Sure, I’m a big softy and haven’t been in a SINGLE fight my entire life… but he doesn’t know that, and I sure as all h*** am not going to inform him right now.

But if looks could kill, I’d drop dead here and now.

Jerk: “Anyway. They have to figure out a way. I’m not moving.”

Me: “Fine. Clerk, mind opening that till over there?”

The clerk looks at me, looks at the second till, then nods, and I step over before the jerk can do anything. He’s steaming visibly as I put my groceries on the conveyor, the clerk scans them, I pay.

Jerk: “Well, NOW you have the money!”

Clerk: *Now with that same saccharine smirk.* “Sorry, sir, I’m serving this line here now. I’ll be right with you as soon as these people have been served. I’m unfortunately the only person on duty right now.”

The jerk loses it and leaves without his goods.

I call that a win.