I was picking up some groceries in a local supermarket when I happened to pass the display of rotisserie chickens, which smelled wonderful. Since it was approaching dinner time and I felt quite hungry at the smell, I grabbed one.

At the checkout counter, the checker commented on how good the chicken smelled. The check stands in this store are arranged so the customer cannot get to the bags while in line, so usually, the checker does the bagging. I paid for my groceries, loaded my cart, wheeled it to my car, and unloaded all the bags into the trunk.

When I got home, I reached for the bag with the hot chicken in it, meaning to take it in and eat right away. I couldn’t find it amongst all the bags of groceries. So, I loaded them all into the house and looked again — still no luck. Baffled, it occurred to me that sometimes items slide out of those plastic grocery bags, so I went through the trunk — which had a number of things in it permanently — to see if the slick black plastic container of chicken had eluded me so far. Still, no luck finding it.

Thinking about it, I vaguely recalled the checker placing the chicken where it wouldn’t easily have been visible by me while I was paying. I had assumed that he had bagged it, but I really hadn’t been watching.

I actually checked my receipt to see whether he had simply not rung up the chicken, but he had. It had now been about twenty minutes since I’d left the store, and I certainly did not want a chicken that might have been sitting out, cooling all that time, so I called the store to ask for a reimbursement.

The service clerk answered, I explained what happened, and — presto! — she put me on hold before I could request reimbursement. I waited a full nine minutes before giving up, hanging up, and making myself a canned bean sandwich to assuage my hunger.

After that impromptu dinner, I called the service desk back and, before I could say anything, the clerk asked me whether I was the one missing the chicken. She must have had both caller ID and a good memory for phone numbers! When I said yes, she immediately put me on hold — and I hung up immediately.

The next afternoon, I walked into the supermarket with my receipt and got my refund. I bought a different kind of chicken because I wanted no chance of getting the one that had been sitting out the day before!

We have not been home long when my wife realises that we left one of our daughter’s toys at the pub where we had lunch. I call the pub to ask if it has been handed in.

Manager: “Good afternoon, [Pub]. [Manager] speaking.”

Me: “Good afternoon, my name is [My Name]. We had lunch at your pub about half an hour ago and we think that we left a toy butterfly behind. We were sitting at table twenty. Is it still there?”

Manager: “A toy what?”

Me: “Butterfly.”

Manager: “I’ll just call the bar now.” *Into radio* “Can someone check table twenty and see if there’s a toy butterfly there?”

Bar: “One minute.”

I realise that I can hear their radio loud and clear. 

Bar: “There’s a load of [Fornicating Fecal Matter] here. I can’t see it.”

This rankles me, as I work in the pub trade and in general, this is highly unprofessional. I am also careful to clean up after myself, as I know what it’s like to deal with what seems like an insurmountable mountain of mess.

Manager: “Sorry, it hasn’t been handed in behind the bar.”

Me: “Thank you for looking. By the way, with regards to the [Fecal Matter], there was a family at the table beside us, as well.”

Manager: “Oh… Sorry about that.”

I disconnected the call. It seemed clear that the only reason they were sorry is that they got caught. Publicans, if your staff are prone to vulgarity on the job, at least have the courtesy to put the customer on hold. I don’t need to hear that Fecal Matter.

I am in a swim-lane, which is where you swim in an anti-clockwise rectangle. Unfortunately, it can cause you to bump into others if you go at different speeds. A rather large guy accidentally whacks me with his arm in the middle as I go past. I try to think nothing of it but later see him shouting.

Male Swimmer: “She bloody well shouldn’t say that!”

I see a girl holding onto a woman my age, probably her mother, as they look the same.

Male Swimmer: “You should keep that bloody child under control!”

The woman is just holding onto her girl. After a few minutes of talking to the lifeguards, the woman and her child get out and go to a male lifeguard.

Mother: “Listen, my daughter’s autistic; she didn’t know she was doing anything wrong.”

Me: *Approaching* “Excuse me, that man bumped into me, as well.”

The mother explains to me that her daughter felt the man accidentally touch her waist. He seems to have taken the wrong impression and was harassing them while they swam.

Lifeguard: “Listen, I think we should talk privately.”

He, the mother and the girl — now that she’s not in the water, I can see that she is actually a woman — go to a kiddie pool sectioned off from the main pool. After a few minutes, they get in. The mother begins talking to me while her daughter swims, giggling.

Me: “He comes here every week and hates it when people go near him.”

Mother: “Then why does he go in the swim-lane?”

Me: “I don’t know. He pushed me earlier, as well. I don’t like him.”

Some minutes later, when we are all at the other end of the pool and the other side, he goes up the steps and shouts loudly.

Male Swimmer: “You should keep that girl under control!”

I have worked at a movie theatre for the last few years. In that time, there have been fairly obscurely-named releases, but nothing that I would say was TOO difficult. We have a large LED screen on the wall behind our ticket box, displaying the movies playing and corresponding session times. Due to the large number of movies playing at this time, occasionally there are two “pages” of sessions, meaning that the sign will change every thirty seconds.

Me: “Hi! How are you?”

Customer: “I’m great, thanks. I’d like to see the movie above your head.”

I turn to look at the screen.

Me: “I’m sorry, there are more than a handful listed. Which one were you referring to?”

Customer: “Oh, for f***’s sake; it just changed. Can’t you just do your job and sell me the d*** ticket?”

Me: “Well, no. I apologise but I’m not a psychic. You have to tell me the name of the movie you wish to see. I’m more than happy to give you a quick description of the films we currently have playing so you can figure out which one it—”

Customer: “NO! I demand to see your manager.”

Me: “Actually, I’m the one in charge right now, and honestly, I don’t see the need for a manager to intervene. All I need to do is sell you your ticket and direct you to one of our theatres.”

Customer: “It’s one of those movies about the miserable lesbians.”

Me: *Stifling laughter* “I’m sorry, we don’t have a movie about miserable lesbians.”

Customer: “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Me: “Well, yes, I would. I’ve worked here for years and run the ticket box and the candy bar section, and if needed, I work on the floor, too. I don’t think that I would have missed a movie about miserable lesbians. Besides, if there was one, I would have taken my girlfriend to see it with me.”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “It’d probably be titled, The Life And Times Of [My Name]. Maybe starring Katherine Moennig or Jodie Foster.”

Customer: “You’re one of them?“

Me: “Look, I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Now, which movie was it you were after?”

Customer: “THE F****** MISERABLE LESBIANS ONE!”

Me: “Wait. Do you mean Les Misérables?”

Customer: “That’s not how you say it! You’re wrong.”

Me: “I assure you, it is. It’s French. It’s based on a French novel written in the 1800s, and the film adaptation still uses the same name.”

Customer: “I know what it’s called. Some of us are more culturally involved than others.”

Me: “Sure. Well, let me just process your ticket and—”

Customer: *while storming out* “No. I don’t want to see some French homosexual s***.”

Me: “Okay. Have a nice day!”

On that note, I think they should make a movie about miserable lesbians. I would happily play the main character.

While looking for a new job, I’m contacted online by what appears to be a recruiter. I phrase it like that because his profile doesn’t actually say that but rather something along the lines of “anonymous start-up”.

The job description he sends me is a PDF without headers or even different font sizes, making it look more like notes, and contains lines like “search for someone with Dutch citizenship.” Wow, just a copy of what he received from the company, apparently.

Still, the job looks potentially interesting, so I send my resume. After some questions like how many years of experience I have — which can be found in my resume — it becomes clear that the recruiter doesn’t speak English very well. It turns out that he’s Indian. Who cares, but it does add a bit of challenge to communications.

The next week, I get a call on my Monday off and he asks if I can come in for an interview the next day. Obviously, I can’t. I tell him that, at the earliest, I might become available that Friday, but I need to check tomorrow — Tuesday.

Come Tuesday at 9:15, I get a call to confirm my 14:00 interview on Friday. Wait, what? I tell him I couldn’t confer with my manager and coworkers yet and he texts me several times that day badgering me for confirmation, which I give at the end of the day.

I’m a bit annoyed with the recruiter, but I’m willing to put up with something for a new job.

The next day, he sends me the appointment details from an email address which is just his name at [Mail Server]. At this point, I decide to look up the company online because it looks sketchy as h***. The company and position seem legit, though, so I move on. He also tells me the budget the company has for this new position. This is… novel, but I’ll take it as good intentions and a bit of cultural difference.

The interview is pleasant enough, but it’s a bit challenging since the manager also turns out to be Indian with a very thick accent and limited English. He mentions that it would be greatly appreciated and sometimes required that I join in with certain third-party meetings since many higher-ups in the company are straight from India and both the language and culture are still difficult for them.

I decide the job is not what I’m looking for because it doesn’t offer enough technical challenges. 

I let the recruiter know this through text and this is where the fun really begins. He mentions that if I took the job, I would soon be promoted to [position X], a title that I have never heard of after fifteen years in the industry.

Out of curiosity and politeness, and slightly intrigued by a higher position, I agree to postpone my decision. There is a catch, though. This is insider information which he is sharing “because I’m his friend” and I shouldn’t discuss it with anyone from the company.

This is the start of two weeks during which I get at least daily calls and texts asking if I have changed my mind. I keep declining because I’m not going to accept a job offer with an unsubstantiated promise from a third party to get promoted to a job for which I have received no description whatsoever and which, frankly, sounds fake to me.

He keeps offering more money, mentioning what a great opportunity it is, etc., and even lets/makes me speak to employees at different locations and HR, but when I ask them about the new position, they just get confused — the language barrier doesn’t help — and the recruiter chastises me that I should keep quiet about it.

Eventually, I’ve had enough and tell the recruiter very definitely, NO! I don’t want to take this position.

At some point, the recruiter had given me the manager’s telephone number, so I decide to text the manager and explain that I rejected the offer because of the technical level of the position, and I also tell the story of what the recruiter has told me, that he wanted me to keep quiet, and that this kind of insistence is considered quite rude in Holland. I send him the full log of my text conversations with the recruiter as proof and clarification.

The manager asks for a brief telephone conversation, during which he explains that is rather confused since he was told I was very interested. We summarize our respective stories and wrap it up.

I’m writing this the next morning, hoping the recruiter isn’t going to contact me anymore, and I really hope the manager took my advice and won’t be using these kinds of recruiters going forward.