(My mom has anxiety issues when it comes to things going according to plan, and she loses perspective on the feelings of others and becomes incredibly inflexible. When I am 25, I volunteer to bake a flourless chocolate torte for Passover. I am home baking the cake when my mom calls me.)

Mom: “You don’t need to bring the flourless chocolate cake anymore. [Aunt] went out and bought a chocolate layer cake from [Store].”

Me: “Why did she do that? You knew I was making dessert already.”

Mom: “I didn’t know she was going to do that, so I never told her about your cake.”

Me: “Well, it’s too late; I’m already baking it.”

Mom: “No, don’t do it. [Aunt] is bringing her cake. There’s not a lot of people coming and we don’t need two chocolate desserts.”

Me: “I am currently standing over a bowl of batter that is almost ready to be poured into a pan. What exactly am I supposed to with this thing?”

Mom: “Just enjoy it yourself? I don’t know, but you can’t bring that to Passover.”

Me: “This is a fresh homemade dessert. Tell your sister not to bring her cake; she’ll understand.”

Mom: “I can’t tell her that! That would be rude!”

(Why it wasn’t rude to tell me not to bring the dessert I sacrificed study time making is a mystery to me, but I ended up finishing it and bringing it into work. My coworkers loved it. The next Passover, I successfully brought my dessert to share with my family and it was a big hit. My aunt regretted bringing her store-bought cake the previous year because she thought mine was much better and it became the traditional dessert of our family’s Passover seder until I moved away.)

Related:
The Mother Of All Anxieties
The Mother Of All Anxieties, Part 2

(I’m an employee working box office on a busy Friday night. We’ve had two R-rated movies come out and, as you can imagine, a plethora of teenagers are trying to sneak in. I’ve already had to refuse several and report them to my managers as a risk. Our box office is small and there are only three of us.)

Other Employee: “No, you can’t see that movie if everyone doesn’t have ID.”

(The teenagers halt transactions on three cash registers and leave to talk in a huddle and return moments later.)

Customer: “I want tickets for [PG-13 movie].”

Me: “Of course. Do you have a student ID for a discount?”

Customer: “Why do I need ID? It’s PG-13?”

Me: “It is. I’m asking for a student card for a discount. You won’t have to pay as much.”

Customer: “No, I don’t have it.”

Me: “No problem; it’s going to be [total].”

(They pay and somehow end up back in front of me ten minutes later.)

Customer: “I want a refund?”

Me: “Was there a problem, sir?”

Customer: “I don’t want to watch it.”

(This is code for, “I tried to sneak into a different movie and got caught.” I know this because my manager told me.)

Me: *handing him a paper with some highlighted lines for our record* “Not a problem. Can I have you fill out the highlighted section for my record and I’ll get you your refund?”

Customer: “What’s Patrón—” *as in the tequila* “—signature?”

Me: “Pardon?”

(He points to the line.)

Me: “That’s ‘patron.’” *as in a customer*

Customer: “Yeah, what’s that?”

Me: “That’s you, sir.”

(I work as a barista in a grocery store. I get a lot of hard customers, and I’m pretty patient, but this one takes the cake for me. A woman comes up to the pastry case near the other register next to mine. After asking from my register how I can help her, and her not moving, I walk over to the pastry case to help her.)

Me: “Hi! What can I get for you today?”

Customer: “Do you have any more of those dark squares?”

Me: “You mean… a brownie?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, we have that one in the case, and the others we have are frozen right now and thawing.”

Customer: “Hmm, okay. I’ll just take a frozen one; it’s fine.”

Me: *starts to grab a frozen brownie*

Customer: “You know what, I’ll take the one in the case.”

Me: *sets the frozen brownie down and starts to get the one in the case*

Customer: “You know what? I’ll take the frozen one.”

Me: “Okay, no problem.” *opens the pack of frozen brownies*

Customer: “Wait a minute. Are you able to thaw that?”

Me: “Well, I can heat the brownie up, but since it’s frozen, I can’t guarantee it’ll be warm all the way through.”

Customer: “Okay, then let me get the one in the case.”

Me: *sets the frozen brownies down again and goes to grab the one in the case*

Customer: “Wait, never mind. Just give me a frozen one and I’ll deal with it.”

Me: *grabs the frozen brownies again*

Customer: “Yeah, I just don’t know how long that’s been in the case.”

Me: “We put our pastries in every day, so it’s only been in there since this morning.”

Customer: “Oh, okay, let me go ahead and take the one in the case, then.”

Me: “Okay no problem.” *grabs the brownie from pastry case* “Would you like it heated up?”

Customer: “Hmm… no, I’ll just take it home.”

Me: *goes to put the brownie in a bag*

Customer: “You know what? Let me have it warmed.”

Me: “Okay, ma’am.” *puts the brownie in the oven and starts to press the button to warm it*

Customer: “Wait! Actually, I’ll just take it as is.”

Me: *takes the brownie out of the oven, puts it in a bag, and hands it to her*

Customer: “Actually, can you warm it? Sorry.”

Me: “Sure.” *puts the brownie in the oven again*

Customer: “But only a little bit!”

Me: *sets the oven on a low setting and warms the brownie* “Okay, ma’am, here’s your brownie.”

Customer: *pays and walks away*

Coworker: “Wow, I am so glad you had her. I would’ve lost it on her.”

Me: *sighs*

(My boss refuses to believe employees who say they’re injured. We are working together in a small space with several obstacles, and he accidentally bumps me sideways, causing my head to bounce off a steel beam. After I regain consciousness about thirty seconds later, I slowly get to my feet, still dazed and bleeding.)

Me: “Boss, I’m taking the rest of today off and going to a doctor to be checked out.”

Boss: “No, you’re not. Go wash yourself up and slap on a bandage, and then get back in here.”

Me: “Not happening.”

Boss: “You’re being insubordinate. Do what I tell you.” 

(I walk out, wash off the blood from my forehead, bandage it up, and then go straight to HR to report what happened before heading for the doctor’s office. Luckily, it’s only a “mild” concussion. I take three days off and come back to work.)

Boss: “You disobeyed my orders. Sign this writeup.”

(I snatched the writeup from his hands and stalked off to HR again, showing them the unsigned writeup and mentioning a few things like “unsafe work environment” and “OSHA regulations.” The writeup was thrown out and my boss was demoted and transferred.)

(In a previous story submission, Seeing A Dangerous Pattern Emerging Here, I talked about a bathroom installation guy who blamed ME for his bringing the wrong shower liner to install in my master bathroom, but then relented after I changed tactics and told him my husband had actually noticed the issue. The install was so shoddy that afterward, water was pouring into the downstairs walls below my shower. This happens when we call the install company back.)

Husband: “Water is actually puddling on the floor downstairs, the drywall is soggy and crumbling, and the ceiling is saggy! You need to come and fix this now!”

(They send a supervisor out to see what the issue is. I happen to be home for that.)

Me: “The guy who did the install was made aware of the fact that the faucet was leaking before he left. When my husband pointed it out, all your guy did was slap some sealant over the bottom of the faucet and say it was fixed!”

Supervisor: “He what? That part is supposed to stay open, because if the water has nowhere to drain to, it floods back into the walls! I’ll get him in here right away.”

(We schedule an appointment for 3:30 pm the following day. Five rolls around, and no one has called or shown up. My husband calls the number provided, and it’s the same guy who installed our shower in the first place!)

Husband: “You said you were going to be here at 3:30 pm. It’s 5:00 pm now. Where are you?

Construction Guy: “Oh. I’m running late. I’ll be there soon! Don’t worry!”

(We wait. And wait. And wait. 7:00 pm rolls around. My husband calls again.)

Husband: “What is going on? We’ve been waiting for you since 3:30 today. We have things we need to do and haven’t been able to because we’ve had to wait for you. We can’t just sit in the house and wait for you all night!”

Construction Guy: “Ohhh. Well, okay, I’ll be right over!”

Husband: “Right over? As in you’re heading over here right now? You’ll be here within fifteen minutes? Because this is crazy!”

Construction Guy: “Well… no. Not fifteen minutes, but maybe later.”

Husband: “‘Maybe later.’ You know what? I’m calling your boss and asking them to send someone else. Never mind coming here at all. Thanks, anyway.”

(He hangs up and calls the boss. But since it’s after hours, he leaves a voicemail. Apparently, the boss still hears it, because shortly after that we get a call from [Construction Guy].)

Construction Guy: “I can be at your house tomorrow. Maybe like in the evening or something.”

Husband: “So I have to wait all day long for you again? No. You need to make an appointment with me and then stick to it. Can you be here in the morning?”

Construction Guy: “Well… no.”

Husband: “Why not? What time can you be here?”

Construction Guy: “Well, I’m tired! And I had to drive all over the city today, and my boss makes me work too hard and I don’t even want to keep this job anymore!”

(He’s putting on the most pitiful, “poor me” voice he can muster. Bear in mind that when he screwed up the initial install, he did the same thing to me! He told me he was being laid off immediately after our bathroom was done and that he’d be unemployed, and asked if we would just take pity on him and not blame him for his screw-ups. My husband is having none of it.)

Husband: “Listen, your shoddy install job is causing water to leak downstairs and damage my house. Either you tell me what time you can be here tomorrow to fix this, or I’m going to have to call your boss again and let him know you’re refusing to come out. There is water pouring into my walls. This is not a minor issue!”

(I hate the “let me talk to your manager” threat, but this guy was being so ridiculous, I was at a loss for words. Lo and behold, the employee made the appointment, showed up on time, and fixed the issue… but then blamed us for “picking the wrong faucet” for the earlier install. When we asked him why he didn’t TELL us it was wrong for the job instead of just installing it, he had nothing to say. But he DID spend fifteen minutes telling my husband a completely different story about why he hadn’t come out the day before. We would have been perfectly fine rescheduling the appointment if the guy had just called and asked in the first place! So unprofessional.)