I used to manage a high-volume single-location restaurant in the Bay Area. I was an assistant manager there, front of house. We had a chef at the time who was extremely hard-headed, even by chef standards. He made mistakes all the time, but always had an excuse and never wanted any criticism.

I was in charge of ordering for the front of house and bar, and he was in charge of ordering for the kitchen. We ordered a lot of things from the same supplier, so we could see each other’s items in the order before it got finalized.

One day, I’m going through the order to see if I missed any of what I needed. I noticed there are twenty cases of red onions (we don’t carry red onions, but frequently order small quantities of things for private events with specific menu items). I assume he meant twenty red onions. So, I called him up to clarify before changing it.

Me: “Hey, good evening, I think you added too many onions to the order, it should be—”

Chef: “—Why are you telling me what I need? You don’t know what I need, I know what I need, leave it alone and don’t call me on my day off.” *Click.*

He’s off Sunday and Monday; this is Sunday. I leave it alone, and the order auto-submits for next-day delivery. Since deliveries come in on Monday morning, the person who signs for it is usually a prep cook, not anyone in a decision-making role. So, I know that the twenty cases will very likely be accepted, since the kitchen staff knows not to bother the chef on his days off.

I roll in around 1 PM to close, and there are twenty cases of onions just packed anywhere there’s room. Each case, for context, is about 2′ by 1′ by 1′. It’s ridiculous. I say nothing and continue running the shift. 

My GM was p***ed when he found out we had twenty cases of an ingredient we don’t carry, when in fact my intuition was correct, and we needed about twenty onions for a private event later that week. 

Chef never said a word about it to me, but he’s not the chef there anymore, which is for the best.

I am at a family reunion in San Francisco when the hostess notices that we are running low on alcohol. She asks her son to go to the store and grab some more. Five of us went with him for lack of anything better to do. He was the oldest at thirty, and I was the youngest, having turned twenty-one three months ago.

As we pull up, it hits me that I don’t have my license with me. I wasn’t the driver, so I didn’t think to grab it. We’re a ways away from the house, so I feel bad having ruined the trip, as we will have to go back, get my ID, then come back to the store again.

I don’t say anything to the others. The whole time we are in the store, I’m frantically trying to figure out what to do. Leave to go sit in the car? Suspicious. Pretend not to be part of the group? The cashier saw us enter together. I keep my mouth firmly shut and don’t touch anything. The rest of my cousins and second cousins grab what’s on the list, hoping he just won’t ask when we get to the front. 

When it’s time to check out, the cashier runs his eyes over all of us.

Cashier: “Alright, I’m going to need to see ID for all of you.”

Everyone else starts pulling out their licenses. The cashier then gestures to the thirty-year-old and me.

Cashier: “Not you two. You’re good.”

On the one hand, I was happy that I hadn’t made the whole trip a wasted experience and kept my mouth shut. On the other hand, I was less than flattered that I apparently was pulling off forty-one at twenty-one.

Online, I sold a collection of unfired/usable clay, which included twenty-two packets in special colors and three larger packets of plain colors. The description included each of the colors and the approximate weight of each packet, and that some of them were dried out/crumbly.

I charged approximately 35% of what you’d pay in the store for the same packets, and some of the colors were out of production permanently. 

I included a recommended tutorial by the clay brand for how to revitalize dry clay. The bottom of the post description included that refunds would only be available if the item was damaged/lost in shipping, and returns for any other reason required every single part of the listing to be returned in the same condition it had been sent in and in the same amounts by weight.

I had some rarer colors for the brand in the lot, so I just knew someone might try to buy the lot, steal a couple pieces out of it, then get a refund for the rest they didn’t want. It sells fast. Two weeks after tracking said it arrived at the buyer’s house…

Buyer: “The box arrived damaged/ripped up. I think some items fell out. I want a refund.”

Me: “Please send me a photo of the box and what parts of the package arrived so I can begin an insurance claim with the shipping company. You will receive a refund after I am able to get the payment from insurance. If you are no longer interested in keeping the item as-is, I will send you a shipping label to return the rest. Just let me know if you’d like that.”

The buyer doesn’t respond. Three weeks later…

Buyer: “My husband was using the clay, and he said some of it is too dry/crumbly. I want a partial refund for bad quality.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that. As it has been at your home for over a month since the day I shipped it to you, I cannot guarantee how the clay may have changed in that time. Please also refer to my item description, which explained that some of the pieces are crumbly, and here’s a link to the tutorial to revitalize them.”

She doesn’t reply. Another week passes.

Buyer: “My husband fired some of it, and it exploded. I want a refund!”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that your husband’s project didn’t go as planned. I am not responsible for normal user error. Please check out this tutorial for how to make sure you end up with no air bubbles in your clay.”

She doesn’t reply for three weeks. I foolishly think this nonsense is over.

Buyer: “Just give me a refund! I don’t want it anymore.”

Me: *Internally groaning.* “My shop policy explained that all parts of my listing must be returned in the same condition it was sent. Will this be possible?”

Buyer: “Yes, I didn’t even take any of the clay out of the box! So I know it will be exactly the same.”

Me: “Sorry, but I’m confused. You told me that your husband determined the clay was too dry to work with and that he also fired some of it. Can you explain how you or your husband could have done those things without removing them from the box?”

The Buyer stops communicating and starts a mercantile dispute, which effectively places my account and money in lockdown. A quick look at our chat logs and the website sided with me on suspicious buyer behavior. My account suspension was lifted, and my funds were declared officially to be my own. I was blocked by the support staff from being able to refund the buyer. 

Always write detailed refund/return policies; the website staff told me that because there was “one circumstance” in which I could take returns (returned in exact same condition as sold or refund if damaged in transit), it saved my case vs if I had said no refunds/returns. If I hadn’t included that, it is possible, though unlikely, that they could have decided to make me take the return of permanently altered/unusable fired clay fragments. Always include the fine print!

Twice now I have worked the holiday season at the big meat and cheese gift shop. The one that ships packages. All over the store are signs, at eye level, stating that “you must order by December 15th for delivery by Christmas Eve.” On Christmas Eve, I had this conversation repeatedly:

Customer: “Will my hamper get there in time for Christmas?”

Me: “Not unless you’re a close, personal friend of Santa Claus.”

Reading this story reminded me of a time when I was on the customer end of such a situation.

It’s a few days after Christmas when I am finishing up my shopping at a local discount store near closing time, and I see a staff member walking out the front door with a shopping cart full of wrapping paper. He sees me looking at him.

Staff Member: “These are slightly damaged so we can’t sell them. I’m taking them to the dumpster. You can grab as many as you want. The only thing I need to do is empty the cart.”

So, I grab an armful! I would have taken more, but he finished throwing them in the dumpster before I could drop off my first armload at my car. I didn’t care enough to actually go dumpster diving, though he probably wouldn’t have cared if I did that, either.

That was nine years ago, and I still haven’t used up all the wrapping paper I got that night!