I am serving two ladies at lunch at a casual dining establishment.

Customer #1: “I’ll have the beef stew.”

Customer #2: “I don’t eat meat; what do you recommend?

Me: “Our most popular vegetarian dish is a mixture of grilled vegetables in an herbed tomato sauce, served on a European-style homemade noodle, topped with feta cheese.”

Customer #2: “Hmm, I don’t know about the noodles. Can I have it with rice noodles?”

Me: “Certainly!”

I get them served. When I check on them, she is quite unhappy.

Customer #2: “It’s not very tasty. I think I would rather have a bowl of that.”

She gestures at her companion’s dish.

Me: “But, ma’am, that is a beef stew… I thought you didn’t eat meat?”

Customer #2: “I don’t eat meat, but I eat beef.”

Sucks when your vegetables on rice noodles just don’t have the same flavour as a beefy stew served with buttery potatoes!

My husband and I are just tucking into our supper one evening when the phone rings. The caller ID says it’s a government department, so I figure I had better answer it. The caller mumbles something about doing a survey regarding cannabis. I try to keep an open mind because various disabilities could cause someone to speak very slowly and slur their words, but she genuinely sounds like she’s stoned out of her gourd.

Caller: “Do you have ten minutes to answer our survey questions?”

Me: “I’m in the middle of my supper.”

Caller: “Can I call back in an hour?”

Me: “Sure.”

It was a very well-spoken young man who called back later, so I’m wondering if she really was impaired and, the calls being monitored, was pulled from the phones.

On a side note, one of the questions the young man asked was whether I had ever been a passenger in a vehicle operated by someone under the influence of cannabis. I told him that, as I had grown up in the 1970s, there was a very good chance of that.

I work in a legal office. I have had dealings with a client who, to put it generously, is a bit of an odd duck. This client has severe anxiety, and it tends to manifest through unhealthy obsessions with her property. Unfortunately, she is also loaded. She got a huge settlement in her divorce with her rich ex-husband and has more than enough money to fund her obsession.

Each time I have dealt with her, I have spent hours on the phone with her just trying to get basic information from her amongst a deluge of demands for reassurance, crying fits, and verbal diarrhea.

The most recent time she called me up looking for help with a property matter, I was genuinely swamped with work and couldn’t take her on. She asked me to recommend another lawyer, so I did.

The lawyer I recommended her to is an elderly gentleman who very much enjoys the sound of his own voice and makes it very hard to get a word in edgewise. I try very hard not to call him directly because I can never get him off the phone in less than an hour.

It’s a lawyer-client match made in heaven. I have visions of them asleep in their chairs, hands still gripping the phone, because neither of them was willing to end the conversation.

I am currently apartment hunting, but it has been a long and time-consuming project trying to find something within my budget. I only have two requirements: it must allow my cat, and it must have a balcony I can grow food on. I don’t think that’s insane criteria, but in my city, it sometimes seems like it is.

I found one unit that was slightly above my budget. It was tiny and ugly, and it would mean almost an extra hour on the bus to visit my girlfriend or my doctors, and I knew the layout would make me want to scream within weeks. But it allowed cats, and the ad had several pictures of a balcony large enough to support enough of a garden to make gardening worth it, so I figured I could make it work. I fired off the email I had tailored to introduce myself and explain what I was looking for, and after a couple of days of chasing them down, I finally set up a time to view it.

The day arrives. From the outside, the building is in a nice quiet area, close to stores, and would even have something that could be considered a half-decent view. I’m starting to feel better about potentially living here — excited, even. I meet the landlady, and we head upstairs to the apartment.

She unlocks the door, and the first thing I notice is… there’s no balcony.

I stare at her.

Me: “There’s no balcony.”

Landlady: “That’s correct.”

Me: “I specifically told you I was looking for a balcony.”

Landlady: “Well, I never said there was a balcony!”

I turned around and walked out without another word. I still have no idea what the h*** she thought was going to happen.

I’m also baffled by the builder that would bother putting balconies on a building, but only for half the units.

I work in a very large hospital at one of the entrances, asking visitors and patients the health crisis screening questions and ensuring they are allowed to come inside. I have this interaction with a kind gentleman.

Visitor: “Hi, I have an appointment to visit [Patient] at 3:00 today.”

Me: “Okay, great! Let me call up to the unit to confirm.”

I call, and a staff member responds.

Me: “Hi there. I’m one of the screeners from [entrance], and I just have [Visitor] here to visit [Patient].

Staff Member: “Oh…” *Sighs* “Okay, well, he is lucky, because there’s only one person up here right now, but please tell him that he needs to make an appointment next time he wants to come.”

Me: “He does have an appointment, actually! He just told me he is booked in for 3:00 today.”

Staff: *Pauses* “Please hold.”

After being put on hold for a few minutes, they return to the phone.

Staff: “Okay, so, it’s all right if he comes up, but please educate the visitor that he needs to make an appointment next time he wants to come.”

Me: “Yes, but he already did make an appointment.”

Staff: *Pauses* “Thank you!”

Me: *To the visitor* “I am sorry about that, sir! I’m not sure what is going on up there.”

Visitor: “No problem. I’ve been here every single day for the last two weeks, and I always make an appointment for the next day when I leave.”

As much as I was annoyed, I also understand the extreme amounts of stress — putting it lightly — that healthcare workers are currently under. It’s not an easy time for anyone right now, and a little patience and understanding will go a long way.