(Some friends at work and I had recently discussed what we’re getting for our significant others for the holidays — I explained that as we’re onto our eighth Christmas together, my boyfriend and I stopped exchanging gifts a while back. About a week later I’m talking to one of them about the same topic; he hates the holidays but it’s his girlfriend’s favorite time of the year.)

Coworker: “She changed her mind about what she wants again. We were talking about it and I told her, ‘You know, [My Name] and [Boyfriend] don’t get each other anything and they’re perfectly happy!'”

Me: *laughing* “NO!”

Coworker: “Yeah, she got hella mad.”

Me: “I could’ve told you that would happen.”

Coworker: “I should’ve known better. So then I asked her to pay for my next tattoo as her present to me and she said ‘Sure! What are you getting?’ And I told her… The Grinch. She was like, ‘F*** you!'”

Me: *laughing*

Coworker: “So THEN she starts going on about how someday she’ll teach me to love the holidays as much as she does. So I told her ‘Well, if that happens, they just can ink over him so his heart grows three sizes, right?’ And she yelled ‘F*** YOU!’ again.”

Me: “You didn’t handle this very well.”

Coworker: “I really didn’t. Now she’s getting jewelry for Christmas.”

Me: “Until she changes her mind again?”

Coworker: “YES. THANK YOU.”

(My best friend at work recently found out his father is in very poor health and doesn’t have much time left. He’s been processing the news and figuring out how to approach the situation; they haven’t seen each other in years and live about a thousand miles apart. He’s also been the type to always look out for himself; he doesn’t like having to rely on anyone else. We don’t have the same positions at our workplace. I make more than him as well as having a second job that tires me out, but pays an almost embarrassing amount for the hours I put in.)

Me: “I’m not trying to tell you what to do because I can’t do that, and also nobody can because you’re a grown man and stubborn as hell but… You should go see your dad.”

Friend: “I know… I don’t have much time off banked, though.”

Me: “Yeah… I know you’d talked to [Manager] about what’s going on, so I may have asked if we can transfer or donate PTO like at some workplaces, because I have a ton and never use it. There isn’t a way to do that, but he said if you ask he can put in a couple fake training days for you to help you cover.” *meaning: submit paperwork so the company pays him like he went to school even though he didn’t*

Friend: “Wow, that’s really cool of him. I still don’t know if I’d be able to swing it, though. It’s a lot of money.”

Me: “Don’t let that stop you; I’ll cover whatever you need. You’ll regret it forever if you don’t go and I don’t want that for you. Just let me know.”

Friend: “Oh, sweetheart. I really appreciate that, but we both know I won’t take you up on it. I gotta have my pride. I’ll figure something out; I always do.”

Me: “Of course. But hon, we ALSO both know I get paid a STUPID amount of money.”

Friend: *laughs* “Yeah, you do.”

Me: “So I gotta put it out there. Just in case.”

(He’s started planning the trip.)

(It’s just after school has let out for the summer. My AC isn’t working well, and my car has developed a weird rattle, so I take it to the service center.)

Service Guy: “We’ve found the problem, and we’ll have to order a part. It’ll be a few days. Is that okay?”

Me: “Yeah, no problem.”

(A few days later:)

Service Guy: “To put the part in, we had to disassemble part of your car, and we broke a part. We’re ordering a replacement, but it’ll be another few days. We’re very sorry about the inconvenience.”

Me: “Okay.”

Service Guy: “Do you need a loaner?”

Me: “No, my parents have a van I can borrow for a few days. That’s fine.”

(A week later, I call them.)

Me: “Hi, I’m calling to check on my car. I was told it would be a few days, and that was a week ago. What’s going on?”

Service Guy: “We placed the order, but it seems the part hasn’t arrived yet. Let me look into that and call you back.” *later* “Ma’am, for some reason, the warehouse in Denver shipped the part to Kansas City. It’s on its way now, but it’ll take a couple days to get here.”

Me: “…”

(A few days later:)

Service Guy: “Ma’am, I’m calling with an update on your car.”

Me: “Is it ready?”

Service Guy: “No, ma’am, there was another problem shipping the part. Instead of sending it here, it was sent back to the warehouse in Denver.”

Me: “You’re kidding me.”

Service Guy: “No, ma’am.”

(A week or so later:)

Me: “Hi, I’m calling to check on my car.”

Service Guy: “You’re not going to believe this, but the part was shipped to Kansas City again.”

Me: “Seriously?”

(This time, Kansas City managed to send the part to Amarillo. My car was in the shop for what should have been a two-day fix for over a month.)

(One of my cashiers, a Jewish man, is helping me ring up a customer and get her on the road with her car. She’s a regular and known to have a difficult personality, to put it mildly, but she likes me. She’s white, and I’m an Asian woman. We’re in the California Bay Area – a fairly diverse and extremely liberal pocket. My cashier notices her address is in a town that’s over an hour from our dealership.)

Cashier: “That’s a great place to live! I used to live in [Town nearby].”

Customer: “Oh, nice! So you know your way around.”

Cashier: “I do. You come pretty far, don’t you? Isn’t there another dealership in [City adjacent to her town]?”

Customer: “Yeah, but they don’t have [My Name]. I love her! She’s why I keep coming here. I’ve tried three other dealerships but they don’t have anyone like her. I just wish you were closer to me.”

Cashier: “[My Name], have you ever been to [Town]? I think you’d like it.”

Customer: “Oh, yeah! It’s great; you would love it! It’s so nice. It’s all white people; there’s really no—”

(She suddenly realizes who she’s talking to and clams up, going a little green. My cashier, much more gracious than me, continues the conversation as though she hadn’t just wedged her foot in her mouth while ushering her out the door. The moment she’s out of earshot.)

Me: “WOW.”

Cashier: “DID THAT REALLY JUST HAPPEN?!”

(In our service department, the technicians write the stories for the repair orders describing the work they performed on the cars. As a service advisor, I make a habit to check over the stories and clarify details and/or fix typos as needed. One technician recently had a talking-to from the managers for not being comprehensive enough in his tech stories; he’s certainly shaped up. Today I get a repair order back from him for a basic service. His story starts well, but then it just suddenly all falls apart at the end.)

Story: “Performed oil and filter change. Drained oil and replaced oil filter. Torqued both oil filter and drain plug to specifications. Performed oil change reminder interval reset procedure. Topped off oil to spec oil oil dip siick.”

(I checked with him to make sure he hadn’t had a seizure or anything. Apparently he got distracted talking to someone while he was typing. I understand a little better now why he doesn’t usually multitask.)