I recently got married and am changing my last name through the Social Security Administration. They’re not taking in-office appointments due to the health crisis, and I can’t get the local branch to ever answer their phone, so I’m purely going off their website instructions and the county website details for married name changes.

I locate the correct form on the SSA website, fill it out, and mail it overnight to the local branch with my original birth certificate, marriage license, etc. Before I send it, I triple-check the form, what I’m including, and their website instructions.

A few weeks go by, and I receive a packet in the mail with all of my original documents back — no other notifications, no original form, no SSA card, etc.

I ask my recently married friend about her experience, and she says the timelines line up; she received her original documents back, and then a few weeks later, her card came.

So, I wait a few more weeks. And then a few more. By now, I’m getting worried, so I try to call the office again, but the line goes through silence, hold music, and ringing, and then eventually cuts off every time.

I finally get through after nearly thirty minutes on hold, and I hear someone say, “Hello?” and then immediately hang up. The next time, I don’t even hear a voice, just the distinct sound of a receiver being picked up and then put back down, ending the call.

After ONE MORE try, I get a human on the phone! I give him my birth and married names and he finds my original form.

Agent: “Oh, yes, we received your form and documents, but we didn’t know what to do with them. We thought maybe it was for your taxes.”

Me: “You mean the official name change form that I printed off your website and mailed along with my birth certificate, passport, and marriage license per the instructions of the Social Security Administration?”

Agent: “Yes. So, what did you want to do with it?”

Me: “Change my last name?”

Agent: “To what?”

Me: “To the name on the form I filled out?”

I got my new SSA card in the mail two weeks later.

I work at an indoor shooting range. The way it’s set up is that there’s the overall store building, and then there’s a secondary, totally enclosed structure inside which comprises the shooting bays. The three walls forward of the direction where guns are pointed are reinforced to heck. The back wall, where guns are never pointed or handled on the threat of being immediately kicked out, is a thick, highly insulated wall with windows, connecting the bays to the shop. It allows us to have a clear view of what’s going on inside while muffling the noise. To get in and out, you have to go through one of two small airlocks.

I’m manning the range counter one day, checking people in and out, and watching the security cameras inside.

I’m in the middle of the safety spiel for new customers.

Me: “Eye and ear protection stay on at all times. You put it on out here and keep it on until you’re back out here. If you need to adjust it for any reason, you have to come back outside first. You’re going to be in [bay] today, through there. We have a two-door system for our sound barrier out here. When you’re going through, make sure one door is completely closed before you open the other one…”

Inevitably, someone will thoughtlessly rush through the airlock, opening the second door while the first is still swinging shut. If we’re unlucky, a shot goes off before it closes. Those customers get a single warning not to do it again. The worst, however, is when a group is laughing and bantering as they come out together, not even thinking while they try to hold the doors open for each other so they can keep talking as they casually amble their way through. When that happens, as it does today, and gunshots are ringing off behind them, and they’re wearing hearing protection, I get to do this:

Me: “SHUT THE DOOR! SHUT THE DOOR NOW!”

The customers are startled to hear a mom/drill-sergeant-like scream above the muffled noise through their headphones. They look at me in confusion for a second and then amble through more hurriedly when I keep screeching at them, still confused but recognizing that a store attendant this angry at them is a bad thing.

I glare at them in silence once the airlock is closed until they take their headphones off.

Me: “ALWAYS close one door COMPLETELY, BEFORE opening the other!”

Customers: “Okay, sor—”

Me: “That is our sound barrier! No one out here is wearing hearing protection! Every gunshot that goes off while those doors are open goes directly to our eardrums!”

Customers: *Meekly* “All right. We apologize.”

I relax while they put their things down.

Me: “What lane were you on?”

I check them out with a perfectly pleasant customer-service voice and a neutral, calm expression, something I’ve found makes customers feel even more uncomfortable after getting yelled at. These ones meekly apologize once more after we’re done, and since they’re being gracious about it, I thank them. My manager wanders over from the other side of the large store.

Manager: “We heard that over there. Everything good?”

Me: “Yup.”

Manager: “Yeah, that was loud. I told [Regular], ‘And that’s why I like having her there.'” *Looks in the bay windows* “Was that those guys on [lane] going in?”

Me: “No, it was…”

I discreetly point to the customers who haven’t quite left yet, organizing their stuff behind him.

Manager: *Whispering and chuckling* “Oh, that was these guys?! We heard you screaming at them clear on the other side — as you should.”

I’m often asked if I like working at a gun range. All I have to say is that if you know anything about working retail, imagine a retail job where your managers love hearing you scream at customers, and customers will NEVER scream at you because they know they’ll get kicked straight to the curb if they don’t follow directions and behave nicely.

And yes, my hearing is still just fine. Safety and health are the number one concerns here. We just also happen to be big on personal responsibility.

I had a work friend who I knew did a lot of volunteering with kids. When I finally invited him to come to my house for dinner one evening, I wasn’t surprised that he hit it off with my kids, to the point that they were begging me to invite him back. He even babysat for me a few times.

I’m glad I invited him over when I did because, after a few visits, he caught me alone to politely tell me that my son likely had ADHD, something he said he knew about both because of volunteering with neurodiverse kids and because he had ADHD himself.

Not long after my son was officially diagnosed with ADHD, my friend and I were attending a fourth of July event. I joked that they had given my son too much sugar since he was more hyper than his usual. At this, my friend got an almost manic grin.

Friend: “Oh, I can fix that. Want me to calm him down some?”

Me: “I’d love to see you try.”

[Friend] stood up and called to my son into the yard.

Friend: “Hey, [Son], I was about to go get myself some liquid medicine. Want me to pour you some?

Son: “Yes!”

Me: “Wait, what are you—”

Friend: “Be right back with our medicine!”

My friend disappeared into the house then, clearly intentionally not explaining himself. After some joking with the folks I was visiting about not being sure how worried I should be right now, I finally tried asking my son.

Me: “What is [Friend] getting you?”

Son: “It’s okay, Mom. [Friend] says it’s good because it helps when I have too much energy.”

That’s when my friend came out carrying a can of soda and poured some into my son’s cup. That’s how I learned that, apparently, caffeine can slightly calm someone with ADHD down, and that, apparently, my friend had already told my son this when babysitting.

That’s also how I learned that my friend was not afraid to go out of his way to set me up to be trolled during a holiday.

Years later, my son still tries to claim he needs a soda to focus sometimes if I won’t let him have one. My friend is unapologetic about this fact.

Customer: “You’re really pretty. Are you sure a pretty girl like you can’t give me a discount?”

I am smiling even though I want to crawl out of my skin and tell him he’s really barking up the wrong tree as I am very happy with my girlfriend.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, there are no discounts, and my boss wouldn’t be happy if I gave you one.”

Customer: *Smile slides off his face* “Well, I know [Owner] and [Manager].”

Me: “So do I, sir, but I still pay for my pastries. Have a nice day.”

He went and paid after that.

I am a fellow customer in a big box store when the sound of a child shatters my peaceful shopping experience.

Child: *Loudly* “I want a game!”

Father: “Do you have any money?”

Child: “No!”

Silence.

Child: *Demanding* “Buy me a game!”

Father: “Do you have any money?”

Child: “No!”

Silence.

Child: *Yelling now* “BUY ME A GAME!”

Father: “Do you have any money?”

Child: “No! STOP SAYING THAT!”

Silence.

Child: “I WANT A GAME! BUY ME A GAME!”

Father: “Do you have any money?”

Child: “STOP SAYING THAT! I WANT A GAME!”

Now, repeat this scenario, at high volume, in a high-pitched, demanding scream… every few seconds.

You can well imagine how the store emptied of people, in that area as the two parents went about their shopping. Neither of them told the child “no” or told him to use his indoor voice. He was simply allowed to lather, rinse, and repeat for the entire time.