I used to work with a registered nurse who was an Army reservist. She was telling me one day about her most recent attempt to qualify on a military pistol range. It evidently was not a success. The range Non-Commissioned Officer came up to her after she’d finished firing the 9MM.

NCO: “Ma’am, what do you do in the Army?”

Nurse: “I’m a nurse.”

There was a silence while the sergeant turned over in his mind what he might and might not get away with saying to a lieutenant.

NCO: *Finally.* “I guess it’s a good thing you’re fixin’ ’em and not shootin’ ’em.”

I used to be a front-end manager for a large store in my early 20s. Our store has a dress code: certain shades of blue polos, a few light shades of pants, and closed-toed shoes. The store provides a blue vest to wear over our polos, but the rest is up to us to provide. One of the cashiers, a man in his 40s, walked away from his register and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see him holding one of his shoes.

Me: “Hey, what’s up?”

Cashier: “My shoe is falling apart.”

Me: “The sole is coming apart, yeah, I see.”

Cashier: “So…?”

Me: “You can buy a new pair on your break or maybe buy some glue to hold it together for a little while longer?”

Cashier: *Sighs* “Fine.”

He goes back to his register with an exaggerated limp because he’s still only wearing one shoe. His break comes around, and he comes back to me holding a box with new shoes – probably the most expensive ones our store sells.

Me: “Found what you want?”

Cashier: “Yeah.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll check you out at customer service.”

Cashier: “Why?”

Me: “Well, you need to clock back in soon.”

Cashier: “No, I mean, why check me out? You said I could get a new pair.”

Me: “Yeah, I said you could buy a new pair.”

Cashier: *Laughs.* “I’m not paying for new shoes. This is a [Store] issue.”

Me: “No, it’s not.”

Cashier: “So you expect me to use my hard-earned money to buy shoes to work here?”

Me: “I—”

Cashier: *Louder.* “Why does [Store] not care if their employees have proper footwear?”

Me: “I see what you’re doing. Just stop.”

Cashier: “Why would I pay for new shoes when [Store] can just write them off?”

Me: “You wanna talk to the store manager? If he says yes, then he can do it, but I do not have the authority.”

Cashier: “Oh my f****** Christ. Fine!”

He throws the box on the register and walks away. A few minutes later, he returns with a small tube of super glue.

Cashier: “Ring me up.”

Me: “No problem.”

Cashier: “I can’t believe [Store] makes millions of dollars in profits every year, but they can’t provide basic footwear for their employees. F****** insane.”

Me: “Here is your receipt. You can hop on register eight.”

Cashier: “Wow… zero compassion. You are a corporate cuck.”

I reported him to upper management, who talked to him. He told them that I said the store would cover his shoes, and then changed my mind when I saw what he had picked, laughed, and called him poor.

I make a whopping fifteen cents an hour more than the cashiers, so I am not rolling in money either. Upper management ultimately dismissed the entire issue and told me to just try to be nicer to [Cashier] in the future.

Our hotel company/owners have two of the same properties, one in my town and one in the next town over, about twenty minutes down the highway. 

Our guests get cross-pollinated all the time. They don’t look closely at their booking confirmation and show up at the wrong hotel at least once a week. That was the case for a lady who came in tonight to check in.

I can’t find her reservation anywhere, and her confirmation number isn’t pulling anything up.

Me: “May I please see your booking confirmation?”

I see it was for the other hotel, the next town over, AND it was on an advanced purchase rate.

Me: “Ma’am, I will be happy to accommodate you, but you have already prepaid for the room at the other hotel, and you would need to contact them for reimbursement.”

The guest was very nice and understanding and opted to get back on the road and go to the correct hotel. 

Twenty minutes later… I get a call from the other hotel’s front desk. In a super snarky tone, she starts yapping:

Other Hotel’s Front Desk: “You just had a guest at your hotel who you turned away and refused to accommodate; can you tell me why that is? You also told her we would not be able to cancel her reservation without a charge, when that is not the case. For future reference, if you could please refrain from misinforming our guests, we would really appreciate it.”

Now I know that is not the situation the guest presented her with; maybe something got lost in translation, or she misunderstood.

She was so repetitive. I could not get a word in. And she kept hammering that “for future reference.”

At this point, I’m silent, just waiting for her to notice that super special detail where the guest is on an advanced purchase rate. When she finally notices, her entire tone changes.

Other Hotel’s Front Desk: “Oh my gooooood! I’m soooooooooo sorrrryyyyyyyyy! I didn’t seeeee that! I’m sooooooo sorrrrryyyyyy! Woooow.”

I finally chime in.

Me: “Alright, so, for future reference, if you could just try to have all your information lined up before you call and berate me for a mistake I did not make, I would reeeally appreciate it.” *Click.*

I work at a warehouse that stocks for a major grocery store. It’s rural Idaho, so it’s not the most progressive place in the country. It’s Monday morning, and I’m scanning pallets when my coworker strolls up, grinning.

Coworker: “Yo, guess who I saw this weekend?”

Me: “No idea.”

Coworker: “You. Downtown. Holding hands.”

Me: “…Okay?”

Coworker: “With another dude.”

Me: “…oh.”

Coworker: *Louder now.* “Didn’t know we had that going on around here.”

A couple of heads turn from nearby stations.

Me: “It’s not really an announcement, [Coworker].”

Coworker: “Oh, come on. You were real public about it Saturday.”

Me: “Actually, I wasn’t. It was for a few seconds, when—”

Coworker: “—Yeah, well, some of us don’t want that shoved in our faces at work.”

Me: “You brought it up.”

Coworker: “I’m just saying, keep that to yourself here. Ain’t right, all them fa***ts.”

The conveyor hums. A pallet drops somewhere in the distance. Then I hear the sounds of a heavy-booted, large man barreling in. It’s the boss. He marches DIRECTLY up to [Coworker] and doesn’t give him a second to prepare himself as his booming voice starts shouting:

Boss: “The f*** did you just say?! If you can’t handle the Ls, Gs, Bs, Ts, or Qs, then all the letters I got left for ya is GTFO!”

Coworker: “Alright, geez! I was just sayin—”

Boss: “Didn’t you hear me? Grab your stuff.”

Coworker: “Wait, you’re firing me? Over that?!”

Boss: “D*** right I am. You were all set on making a scene this morning, so it looks like you got your wish. Get… out!”

Coworker swears and calls all of us degrading words, but he heads for the exit all the same. The boss turns to everyone, who are all now silently watching this spectacle.

Boss: “We do the job, we treat people right, and we mind our own business. Anyone who can’t manage that can follow him out the door.”

He nods once and heads back toward the office, and for the first time in my life, work feels like somewhere I don’t have to brace myself.

The hospital’s Ophthalmologist was moving to another country. We’re at his leaving meal, all colleagues gathered around, watching as he opens a gift. It’s a painting of him superimposed onto the iris of an eye, commissioned by his team.

It was a lovely painting; the eye was beautiful, and him stood in the middle was really poignant.

Ophthalmologist: “Thank you, all, this is lovely.”

Colleague: “Now do a speech!”

Ophthalmologist: *Looking at the painting, and then back to all of us.* “It’s a good thing I’m not a gynaecologist!”