(I only live a few minutes away from my work, so I stop there frequently for a bite to eat. The previous night, when I was working, the machine that handles all of the mochas, lattes, etc., was broken, so I keep that in mind when I find a coupon with a deal giving you a free coffee drink when you buy a big sandwich. After I pull up to the speaker and get the greeting…)

Me: “Is your coffee machine working?”

Coworker: “Yes.”

Me: “Okay, I’d like to get [sandwich] and a mint mocha.”

(I get the total, pay at the first window, and go to the second window to get my food. I get my sandwich, but when my second coworker hands me my drink…)

Me: “Uh, I asked for a mint mocha, not a mint shake.”

(My second coworker looks a little confused, and the shift manager comes over to see what the deal is.)

Me: “I asked for a mocha, not a shake.” *holds up the wrong drink*

Manager: “Oh, the machine is broken.”

Me: “I even asked if it was working before I ordered.”

Manager: “I don’t have the smartest people on my shift today.” *walks away*

(I drove home with my correct sandwich and incorrect drink, still a little confused. I went to the survey website and gave my two cents about my experience, but I really couldn’t get too annoyed, as it was a free drink.)

(I’ve come in for a job interview. The manager seems to like me and keeps asking me questions for 20 minutes, even though I don’t have previous experience in the job. The interview is wrapping up, and I feel like it’s gone pretty well.)

Manager: “Well, unfortunately, I’ve received an application from someone with previous experience doing this exact sort of work, and for that reason, he’s more qualified for the position. But if the other person hadn’t applied, I would definitely have hired you; I feel you could perform this job very well.”

Me: *upset, but plastering on a smile as best I can* “Oh. Well, thank you, anyway. Would it be possible for you to keep my resume on file, in case an opening comes up?”

Manager: “Oh, yes, of course.”

Me: “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

(We shake hands, and I get up and head for the door.)

Manager: “You know, if you manage to get experience somewhere else, please do feel free to come back and apply again.”

(I wish I had just smiled and given her a polite promise to do just that, but I was so surprised by her gall that I ended up making an involuntary, “Are you kidding me?” face, instead.)

(I work at a garden festival once a year, on a large grounds with almost no cell-phone reception. To communicate, all workers use walkie-talkies. “Phoning etiquette” states that you’re supposed to say which group of workers you want to contact first — i.e. “Entrance to Office” — and then wait for them to reply before actually starting a conversation, so those who aren’t mentioned know that they don’t have to listen carefully. Two of the chief organisers of the festival share a first name and have jokingly started to just message, “Mary to Mary,” and immediately start talking without waiting for a response. The boss, who we all only know by her last name, is not too happy about it, but it’s not a big problem.)

Walkie-Talkie: *during a slow time* “Mary to Mary, you want to take a smoke break? We just got cookies in the office.”

Boss: *through the walkie-talkie as well* “You do know everyone can hear this, right? It’s not for chitchat!” *laughing*

Mary #1: “You’re supposed to not listen if you’re not mentioned!”

Boss: “Well, too bad! My name is Mary, as well! I’m coming for those cookies!”

(Ten minutes later, I saw her walk by me with a large cookie in her hand. We never found out if her name is really Mary.)

(The sandwich shop I work at allows phone-in orders for pickup, which people usually order under just their first name. Occasionally, that causes some confusion, because when you got multiple orders under the same first name, you have orders under Michael, Michael 2, Michael P., Michael Smith, Mike from (Employment), etc. It isn’t uncommon to accidentally hand the wrong “Michael” bag to the wrong Michael, especially if they have similar orders. I start getting creative when I take phone orders.)

Customer: “…and my name is Michael. When will that be ready?”

Me: “Ooh, sorry, dude. I already have an order for a Michael, and I want to make sure your order doesn’t get confused. Do you like The Lion King?”

Customer: “Haha, yeah?”

Me: “Okay, cool! You want to be Simba? I’ll put you down as Simba. Your order will be ready in fifteen minutes, Simba!”

(Later, my boss walks by my queued-up orders and sees all of the names on the bags.)

Boss: “What is this?“

Me: “What?”

Boss: “Lindsay… Tinkerbell… Michael… Frankenstein… Judy… Spartacus…”

Me: “I didn’t want multiples of the same name in my queue; that way we don’t make mistakes on the order.”

Boss: “Well, how is anyone supposed to know which order is whose?!”

(A customer approaches the counter:)

Customer: “Hakuna Matata! My name is Simba and I ordered a meatball sub for pick-up!”

Me: “’Sup, dude. You getting a drink and chips with that?”

Boss: “AND STOP CALLING THE CUSTOMERS ‘DUDE’!” *stomps off*

(I’ve been working at a grocery store for a few months with a manager who is, frankly, a miserable human being. He’s aggressively rude, blunt in all the wrong ways, and quick to lambaste you for minor mistakes and ride you on them for weeks. And, unfortunately, upper management is terrified of doing anything to him because he’s openly, flamboyantly gay and cries discrimination and homophobia the second someone so much as criticizes him. After finally having enough, I’ve decided to quit and decide to let him — the main reason for it — know exactly what I think about him.)

Manager: “Hey, [My Name], I heard you’re ending your employment with us. That’s a shame. Is there any reason in particular?”

Me: “Well… It’s a coworker issue, mostly.”

(He shoots me this toothy smile like he knows I’m about to say something he can twist. Not wanting to give him even a shadow of a chance of playing this game with me, I cut in.)

Me: “Let me tell you something about myself. I’m in a romantic situation that would make churches in this area try to exorcise us: I’m in a polyamorous relationship with three other people, including a trans-woman and another man. I’m so comfortable in my pansexuality I make you look straight; I’ve just never dared use it as an excuse for abusing people and getting away with it. I’m quitting because you’re an abusive creep of a manager and absolute scum of humanity; it has nothing to do with you being gay, or camp, or whatever. You’re just an a**hole.”

(At that, I flick my name-tag onto the table and toss my company vest off, while he and the rest of the office stand there, too stunned to respond.)

Me: “By the way, last night when he came in, I told your husband I saw you kissing [Coworker] a week ago. I heard you say you wondered why he went to his parents’ and didn’t call you last night; there you go.”

(I left just in time to hear him process what just happened and start freaking out. To his credit, though, a coworker I kept in touch with told me I humbled him pretty badly — even if I ruined his marriage — and he has started taking criticism on how to be a better person.)