Has A Creepy Ring To It

, , , , , | Working | January 19, 2018

(I have been in contact with a local artist and jewelry maker to make a pair of custom wedding rings. We met in person a while ago to go over what I wanted, at which time she told me she would need to eventually take my engagement ring to make tracings, due to its unique shape. We then spend the next few weeks emailing back and forth to try to coordinate meeting up again, but due to the fact that she lives 45 minutes from where I work and over an hour from where I live, this is proving to be difficult. Finally, we get to this point…)

Artist: *in email* “Okay, why don’t you just mail me the ring? My address is [address].”

Me: *in email* “I don’t know that I’m comfortable mailing you my ring. I’m worried it might get lost or stolen. Can I just drive up after work on [date] and give it to you?

Artist: *in email* “Sure! Just leave it in my mailbox.”

(I decide this would be all right, so on the day I promised, I drive up to her house. When I get there, I see she is actually home and outside in her front yard, close to the street, so I approach her.)

Me: “Hi, [Artist]!”

Artist: *not recognizing me* “Hi… Can I help you?”

Me: “I’m here to drop off my ring. I wasn’t expecting you to be home.”

Artist: *suddenly clicking* “Oh! [My Name]! I didn’t recognize you. Sure, let me take that.”

(A few weeks go by, and she emails me again to say the rings are done and that she will be in [Town where I work] on a day that week. We arrange to meet in a café at a specific time. I walk to the café and get there a few minutes early. I quickly spot her, but she is sitting with who I assume is another client, talking. The tables are very small, so instead of trying to butt my way in to their meeting, since I am early, anyway, I grab a table right next to theirs and wait for her to be done. I make eye contact with her just as I’m sitting down, so I assume she has seen me and will be done soon. I order tea, and the time we were supposed to meet passes. Finally, I overhear this part of their conversation.)

Artist: “Yeah, she should be here any minute.”

(I freeze, realizing that she didn’t recognize me when we made eye contact, and hasn’t seen me despite me being at the table right next to them. I am about to get up and say something to her when she continues…)

Artist: “She’s so funny. We only met once in person, and then she just showed up out at my house, completely unannounced, expecting I would know who she was!”

Client: “Oh, that’s… kind of creepy.”

(I can’t believe what I am hearing! She is talking about me to a complete stranger and making me out to be a creep! I have no idea what I should do at this point… If this stranger already thinks that I’m a creep, what will she think if I stand up and reveal I have been sitting right behind them and eavesdropping this whole time? I keep sipping my tea and consider just leaving, until…)

Artist: “[My Name]?!”

(I looked up and they were both staring at me, so I immediately jumped up and came over to their table. I quickly got through trying on the rings, writing a check, paying for my tea, and leaving, all while trying to be as friendly and not-creepy as possible!)

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When You’re Actively Thinking About Running Someone Over

, , , , , , | Friendly | January 18, 2018

(I’m leaving to pick my partner up from work. Unfortunately, my phone is broken, but I send an email to my partner’s phone saying I’ll meet them outside. I go down the street, and there’s a man standing in the middle of the road. Cars are parked on either side, so I can’t get past. He comes up to me and stands in front of my car.)

Man: “Hey! Cold weather we’re having.”

Me: “Yeah…”

Man: “You know, it’s never been this cold before.” *he starts rambling about the cold* “So, have you always lived in Florida?”

Me: “No, I lived in Colorado before, but I really have to go–”

Man: “Colorado! They’ve got good skiers up there! Everyone’s a skier!”

(He starts talking about some ski accident he once had. Every time I try to talk, he interrupts me and talks faster. Eventually, his ski story is over and I think I’ll finally be released.)

Me: “Wow. Anyway, I should get–”

Man: “Do you follow sports?”

Me: “No, sorry.”

Man: “Well, I love football. The teams I follow used to be…“

(He keeps talking about how his team loyalty changes every time he moves. I cannot get a word in. He moves his arms a lot when he talks, and I’m starting to hope that he pokes himself with the tool he’s holding, just enough to make him leave. Finally, his monologue runs out of steam. He steps to the side and I speed out of there and end up being 20 minutes late.)

Partner: “Oh, my God! I thought you were in an accident! I was ready to call my mom and have her backtrack through the route.”

Me: *explains*

Partner: “Well, I know someone who’s not getting a Christmas card this year.”

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Offering A Knuckle Sandwich

, , , , , , , | Right | January 18, 2018

(I am a very petite female. I am the customer at a coffee shop I frequent often. The employees are very nice and most of them know me by now. I purchase a sandwich and a drink, set up my laptop, open the sandwich, and begin to work. A few minutes later I go to the restroom, leaving behind my items, only to come out to a man in his mid-40s eating my sandwich, right next to where I have been sitting. I hate confronting people and would have brushed it off, but it is just too weird.)

Me: “Excuse me. Are you eating my sandwich?”

Customer: “No, this is mine.”

Me: “I took a couple bites out of it, and there’s lip-gloss on the bite marks on ‘your’ sandwich.”

Customer: “Get your own! You young people are always taking things away from the more deserving!”

Me: *now confused and embarrassed, as everyone in the shop is staring* “Sir, that’s my sandwich. You can have it. It’s no big deal; it’s just a turkey sandwich. But I’m not the thief, here.”

Employee: “Wait. Sir, did you take this woman’s sandwich?”

Customer: “No. I’ll fight her for it!”

Employee & Me: *at same time* “You want to fight for it?!”

(There is moment of silence as the other customers and employees look back and forth between my five-foot frame and the man’s six-foot frame. The other customer looks around for a moment, then grabs my sandwich and runs out.)

Employee: “Do you want another sandwich?”

Me: “I don’t think I’ll ever eat a turkey sandwich again.”

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There’s No Saving Her From That Grouch

, , , | Right | January 17, 2018

(We have a customer who is always rude, but we treat her with as much respect as any other customer. She always orders a large cappuccino, and despite the fact that it’s not standard to put chocolate on it, she demands angrily for “no chocolate on top” every time. She has also been known to cancel transactions for silly reasons like us asking her name. For some reason, she has taken a particular dislike to me over all of my other coworkers. I have recently been made Coffee Master for the store, and I have the shirt to go along with it. I am wearing it at the time. I am stocking ice and cleaning the cold beverage station when I hear the automatic doors open and look over my shoulder.)

Grouchy Customer: *walks in and looks up*

Me: “Hi! What can I get for you?”

Grouchy Customer: “Hmph!” *walks out*

(The supervisor just about wet herself laughing.)

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Your Preferences Are Not The Toast Of The Town

, , , , , , | Working | January 17, 2018

(My mom and I are at a sandwich shop where multiple workers at different stations make your sandwich. My mom orders, and then I step up to the first station. Neither of us have been to this particular store in a while, but we used to come here fairly regularly and we both end up ordering the same thing we used to get.)

Me: “Can I get a six-inch teriyaki chicken on a flatbread?”

Worker #1: “Sure. Do you want that toasted?”

Me: “No, thanks.”

(She heats up the chicken, then passes the sandwich down to the next worker, who is supposed to put the cooked chicken on it and add vegetables.)

Worker #2: “Toasted?”

Me: “No, it’s not.”

Worker #2: “Toasted?”

Me: *thinking I misheard her in the noisy shop* “Are you asking me if it’s toasted?”

Worker #2: “Yeah.”

Me: “No, it’s not.”

Worker #2: “Do you want it toasted?”

Me: “No, thank you.”

Worker #2: “Are you sure? The flatbreads are better toasted.”

Me: “I’m good, thanks.”

(I order the vegetables, and my mom and I go to the register, where a manager rings us up.)

Manager: “Just so you know, next time, you should toast the flatbread. It helps cook them more; they’re better that way.”

(I don’t respond, but by this point I’m wondering why I’m apparently not allowed to have sandwich preferences. My mom and I pay, sit down, and start to eat our meal.)

Me: “I forgot how good this sandwich is.”

Mom: *jokingly* “How can it be good if it’s not toasted?”

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