There is an upscale restaurant here where you get your food by going to various cooking stations. There are stations for steaks, roast chicken, vegetables, desserts, coffee, etc. You collect what you want and then pay at the end.

The coffee station lists various fancy coffees, including Cafe au Lait for $2.80 and Cafe Latte for $2.95. One is of French origin and the other Italian.

I catch the barista’s attention.

Me: “What’s the difference between these two coffees?”

Barista: “Fifteen cents.”

As I expected.

When it comes to cleaning, I much prefer to leave these matters to my dad. My mom means well, of course, but she is utterly incompetent when it comes to housekeeping and can’t seem to acknowledge it.

She and my dad came over to help me out for a bit, as I was a bit sick after a vaccination. Mom asked if she could use my bathroom while she was here, and, being the polite host I was expected to be, I said yes.

While dad was helping me feel a little better, I noticed she was taking a while in there. After she left, I had to use the bathroom myself. That was when I noticed the smell of cleaning solution. She’d taken it upon herself to clean my toilet while she was in there. Still, I didn’t suspect anything was wrong.

It wasn’t until the next day that I noticed that the smell was as strong as it had been when she visited, when it should’ve disappeared by that point. That’s when I discovered what she did.

She didn’t know what I used to wipe the toilet down after cleaning whenever I did it, so instead of doing the logical thing and asking me — if she had, I would’ve pointed out where my cleaning cloths were — she just assumed the appropriate solution was to use paper towels. And of course, since those can’t be flushed, she just dumped them in my garbage can right next to the toilet and left them there.

To make matters worse, the instructions on the bottle she used clearly said, “Do not breathe in fumes.” Because she just left them there, I ended up inhaling the fumes every time I had to go until I noticed the paper towels and disposed of them in the outdoor garbage can. I ended up feeling sicker than I had been before their visit all because my mother’s well-meaning efforts accidentally poisoned me.

Back before the sickness overtook the land, I ended up with a job doing tech support for phones, tablets, and computers from home. They supplied a computer; I had to provide the Internet connection. The computer constantly failed to connect to the Internet — my personal devices never had any issues — and no troubleshooting or replacement computers could fix the issue for longer than maybe a day. Since tech support took two to four days to get back to me each time I called, and I wasn’t being paid when I wasn’t in the phone queue, AND I had to remain home for tech support, I quit and sent the computer back with their pre-paid label.

A month later, I am told to send the computer back or they will bill me $4,000 for it. I reply to the email with a screenshot of the courier’s tracking page showing it was delivered and signed for by [Person].

A week later, I get another email.

Company: “According to our records, the equipment that was loaned to you by [Company] in support of the contract is still in your possession. As per the loan agreement, the equipment was due in transit within forty-eight hours of end of employment.”

Me: “Your records are incorrect. As I reported in an earlier request for this computer, the computer was returned shortly after I resigned. [Courier] tracking confirms the system was shipped on [date], arrived [five days later] at 11:08 am, and was signed for by [Person]. If you are unable to locate the computer, that is your issue, not mine. I have done everything I need to return all equipment.”

The next day, I get a call from their “asset recovery department.”

Asset Recovery: “If you don’t send the computer back or pay $4,000 within twenty-four hours, we will put it on your credit report and report you for theft.”

I’m already irritated.

Me: “Look, your company is populated with idiots. I sent the computer, I’ve sent the tracking information three different times, and I’ll send it to you again.”

I get the email address for this person and send it again.

Me: “It was shipped, tracked to your warehouse, and signed for by [Person]. What happened after [Person] signed for it is your problem, not mine, and if I hear any more from you other than, ‘Have a nice day,’ I’m sending all my documentation from my experience in this job to my lawyer.”

Asset Recovery: “Can you hold, please?”

Me: “Yes.”

Asset Recovery: “I’ve closed the issue and marked the computer as returned. You won’t hear from us again.”

I actually won my unemployment case against this company based on unconscionable behaviour and constructive dismissal. Because of those issues, in my final three weeks, I maybe worked and got paid for about four hours of work; the rest was spent twiddling my thumbs.

A lot of places have put up plastic barriers in front of pickup counters and cashiers for health reasons.

I’m in line waiting for my tea and muffin. A lady ahead of the line has just gotten her latte and has wandered off to sit at a table. Before someone can pick up their order, she comes back in a huff and yells at the employee that’s handing out the orders.

Customer: “This latte isn’t hot enough! Why can’t you people do anything right?!”

Before the employee could say anything, the lady proceeded to throw her latte at the employee, who was blocked by the barrier. The drink hit the barrier, and the latte splashed all over the place, landing on the floor, display, and customers.

The lady realized what she had done and just ran out of the place, leaving the mess and the now annoyed customers.

The employee apologized for what happened, but the others and I told them it wasn’t their fault. I got my tea and muffin after that, but it does make me think that they should keep the plastic barriers after this is all done.

I work for an orthopaedic surgeon and the number of patients who don’t know their medications or allergies is staggering! This patient just called in and we’re concerned about an infection after her surgery.

Me: “The doctor wants to get you on a general antibiotic to be safe. Can you tell me if you have any allergies?”

Patient: “I think I have a few, but I’m not sure. I will give you a call back.”

This isn’t a problem, and the patient calls back to give me a list of five or so allergies. The medication that the doctor wanted to give her is a derivative of one of her allergies, so we need to know what happens.

Me: “Can you tell me what happens when you take that antibiotic, please?” 

Patient: “I can’t recall anything happening. I don’t think I’m even allergic. Let me ask my husband.”

I wait. The patient’s husband says he doesn’t know, so the patient is going to call a friend and get back to me. This is now the third time we’ve gone over this.

Patient: “I think you can go ahead and send that prescription. I don’t think I’m even allergic to it.”

Me: “So, just to be perfectly clear, you really don’t remember what happened the last time you took this medication?”

Patient: “Well, you know, I think the issue was that my throat started to close up.”

Cue me hitting my head on my desk.