On Sundays, we have a “super Sunday deal” which discounts all footlong subs to $7 if you buy a drink, as well. A customer has purchased a six-inch meatball sub, which costs $5.45. She buys a 600mL bottle of soda for $3.75.

Me:
“That’ll be $9.20 all up, thanks.”

Customer:
“Excuse me, where’s the deal in that?”

Me:
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

Customer:
“Your sign says that if I buy a sub and a drink, the sub will only cost $7! So why is my sub not $7?”

Me:
“That deal only applies to footlong subs and you have ordered a six-inch.”

Customer:
“Can’t you just give me the $7 deal with the six-inch, then?!”

Me:
“But you ordered a six-inch meatball sub. That costs $5.45.”

Customer:
“So what?”

Me:
“So, what you’re telling me is that you want me to charge you $7 for a sub that normally costs $5.45?”

Customer:
*Pauses for a few seconds* “No.”

The customer handed me $9.20 and quickly headed for the door.

(Our company has brought in a new policy to force staff to sign up customers to their loyalty card; we have to meet a specific number each week or face disciplinary action. As a supervisor, I often bring up things I see as issues with my manager.)

Me: *to my manager* “What’s to stop people from adding fake names just to get their quota?”

Manager: “Why do you always do that?”

Me: “Do what?’

Manager: “You always see the worst in things, like last week when I wanted to remove the security code from the door to the staff area and you told me that someone could get in there and steal from the staff lockers.”

Me: “I’m only bringing up things that I can see that could be a problem.”

Manager: “I just can’t believe that you think like that; I don’t think I can trust you.” *walks off*

(Fast forward a few weeks:)

Manager: “Oh, my God, did you hear that there’s been quite a few staff in other stores who have been fired because they were putting in fake names for [loyalty card]? I wonder why no one thought of that in the first place.”

(I am AFAB — assigned female at birth — and go by she/they pronouns. I am spending the day with a genderfluid AFAB friend. We’re on a popular shopping street in Brisbane and are waiting for the lights to change before crossing to the bus station. On the other side of the street, a man is standing on a literal soapbox, quoting Bible verses about sin and how everyone around him will be condemned to Hell.)

Friend: “Gimme your hand.”

(We cross the street hand in hand, and the man grows louder as he sees us pass by.)

Friend: “Hang on.”

(They stopped on the sidewalk and kissed me on the cheek, right in front of the man. Someone actually audibly gasped, and another person tried to hand them a Jesus pamphlet. We walked the rest of the way to the bus hand in hand.)

(In Brisbane, where I live, passenger trains typically have six carriages. Carriages two and five are designated “quiet carriages,” and passengers are requested not to talk loudly or play loud music or electronic devices. I like sitting in these carriages on my way to and from work because I’m very much an introvert and struggle with having a lot of people around me. These little areas of — relative — peace and tranquility make my hour-long commute so much more bearable. This story starts a couple of stops down the line from mine when a lady gets up out of her seat, walks to the door area, and loudly announces:)

Passenger: “Hello, train people!” 

(She then starts to ramble on about getting up and moving, and says something about dancing before playing some music on her phone. She then turns to the nearest person, which happens to be me, and tries to get me up to dance. At this, I simply pull one of my earbuds out of my ear, point to the “quiet carriage” sign on the window, and say:)

Me: “Just so you know, this is a quiet carriage.”

(She looks where I’m pointing, reads the bit about no loud music or talking, turns back to me, and says:)

Passenger: “Oh, do you want me to get off, then?”

(I am a bit taken aback that she hasn’t even made the smallest attempt to apologise for disturbing the carriage, so I say:)

Me: “Actually, if you don’t mind, that’d be great.”

Passenger: “I’ve got so much love in my heart. Do you need a hug?”

(I’m not proud of my reply, but all I want is to do was sit in peace on my way to work.)

Me: “No, I need you to shut up.”

(It did the trick, though, because she packed up her stuff and moved to another carriage.)

My better half booked a two-week cruise for us both. She is fastidious when it comes to paperwork. We board after showing our tickets and are directed to our room.

While we are unpacking, there’s a knock on the door. We open it to see one of the cruise workers and a lady. The lady reminds me of an owl by the way she is peeking around the employee, looking into my room. I shut the door a tad so she can’t peer in, and I am informed that there seems to be an issue with the booking.

The employee asks if I could make my way to the purser’s desk with any paperwork we may have. We get the folder containing the paperwork and I head off with Mrs. Owl to get this sorted.

After ten minutes of listening to Mrs. Owl complain how unprofessional everything is, we get to the front of the line and are asked by the purser for any documentation we may have to help clear up the matter.

I hand her the folder saying, “This is every piece of correspondence between my partner, me, and your company, in chronological order starting with my partner’s first inquiry up until yesterday morning confirming our room number.”

The purser looks to Mrs. Owl. Mrs. Owl hands her a sticky note with a handwritten number on it.

Ten minutes later, I’m back in my room with my feet up drinking an extremely alcoholic cocktail.

Not sure what happened to the Owls.