I’m the author of this story. Just before I started, the company got the ball rolling on a computer replacement/upgrade for all employees, so everyone was getting a new device. Because my location had the space, all the equipment was delivered and stored at the office I worked out of. This meant I got the joyous task of loading computers/equipment whenever we were scheduled to replace stuff at one of the other locations.

My office was in [Town #1], and I lived in [Town #2] about twenty miles north of the office. In this particular instance, we were going to the office down in [Town #3], which was about twenty-eight miles south of the office. So, the night before the [Town #3] visit, I was messaging with my senior tech.

Me: “I was planning on taking all the stuff for [Town #3] home with me so that I don’t have to fight traffic going north to get everything and then fight stuff going south to get to the office.”

Senior Tech: “As long as you don’t leave it in your car overnight.”

Me: “Um, why?”

Senior Tech: “Because stuff will get stolen. If you take it home tonight, you’ll need to bring it into your apartment.”

I’m not denying that thievery is a thing, but we didn’t have that big of an issue in my complex. And she would take stuff home frequently that I knew was staying in her car.

Me: “Um, but I live on the fourth floor, the elevator at my apartment is down, and I live alone. It’ll take me five times as long to load and unload my car.”

Senior Tech: “Then you’ll just need to come and get it tomorrow.”

Me: “If I do that, I will definitely be late because I can’t get into [my office] before 7:30 at the earliest, and it’ll take me at least an hour to load, maybe more depending on how many trips I need to take. Then there will be traffic getting south, and who knows how long that’ll take.”

Senior Tech: “We need to be at [Town #3] by 8:30, so figure it out.”

I stopped talking to her at that point because she never seemed to understand my attempts to provide logic to situations.

I ended up loading everything in my car and just parking in a spot I could see directly from my apartment. No surprise, nothing came anywhere near my car.

I sometimes wonder about that company and if they’re still that illogical.

Related:
Something’s Not Connecting, And It’s Not From A Lack Of Cables

We have a small LGBT section in our bookstore. A show about a gay teen romance (“Heartstopper”) is exploding in popularity on Netflix at the moment, so we’re cashing in by stocking the series of graphic novels the show is based on. They’re selling quite well, but as to be expected, there is always that one customer…

Customer: “Do you know what these books are about?! The ladies at my church told me you were selling these, but I simply had to see it for myself!”

Me: *Not giving a f**** “The ladies at your church have good taste! It’s a great book series!”

Customer: “No! It’s about [gay slurs], and what is worse, it’s made to look like a comic so it can turn children gay! You need to remove them, now!”

I call the manager over, who tries to speak to the woman in a calming and polite manner. The customer is still loud enough for me to hear, however.

Customer: “No! You will be removing these books, and if you have any concern for America, you will burn them!”

My manager speaks.

Customer: “Unacceptable! I will be letting everyone at the church know how much disrespect you show for the Lord and for America!”

The customer storms out, and the manager lets me know she needs a moment. I finish my morning and I go to lunch. I come back and find the manager in a flurry of activity, stocking books in our prime advertising spot near the entrance.

Me: “What are you doing?”

Manager: “That customer told me to take the Heartstopper books down, so I did. She never said anything about putting them back up somewhere else.”

I notice that our “newer” LGBT book section has now doubled in size, with a much wider selection of books in it than before. 

Manager: “So, I’m stocking every single LGBT book I can find! This place will be a f****** Pride parade in book form by the time I’m done!”

Every copy of “Heartstopper” we have is now on the shelf, along with the graphic novels dedicated to canonically LGBT superheroes. Books about Harvey Milk and a gay history of the USA share space with studies of gay art in ancient cultures.

By the next week, [Manager] has ordered in even more titles, and even though we can’t keep the new-and-improved LGBT section by the entrance for much longer, it still finds a new area in a prime spot and manages to keep it at its improved size.

A few weeks later, the manager tells me in passing:

Manager: “If they complain again, I will tell them that every complaint gets an extra shelf space added to the LGBT section.”

I have since left the store, but the section is still there and healthy every time I go in to browse the books.

Also, that customer made me look into — and buy — every volume of “Heartstopper”! Thanks for the recommendation, lady!

I teach children at a sports club, and we get a new member, age six. Her name has been changed.

Me: “Hello, nice to meet you. My name is [My Name], and you are?”

Anne Marie: “My name is Anne Marie.”

Me: *Checking the list* “Isn’t there supposed to be a line between Anne and Marie?”

Anne Marie: “No, people always think that, but it’s not. They also often call me Anne, but my name is Anne Marie!”

Me: “You are absolutely right.”

She has two lessons a week: one with me and my co-teacher and one with [Teacher]. I spot her a couple of weeks later, after her lesson with [Teacher].

Me: “Hey, Anne Marie, how’s it going?”

Anne Marie: “Fine… I guess…”

Me: “That doesn’t sound too cheerful. Is everything all right?”

Anne Marie: “[Teacher] keeps on calling me Anne.”

Me: “Did you tell her it’s Anne Marie?”

Anne Marie: “Yes, but she won’t listen!”

Me: “I’ll tell her for you. Don’t worry.”

I go to [Teacher].

Me: “Hey, [Teacher], I saw Anne Marie…”

Teacher: “Who?”

Me: “Anne Marie, the new girl.”

Teacher: “I have no Anne Marie in my class.” *Checks the list* “No, no Anne Marie… I do have an Anne.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s Anne Marie. I just wanted to let you know her name is Anne Marie, not Anne.”

Teacher: “No, it’s Anne. See? There’s no hyphen, so Marie is her middle name.”

Me: “You’d think that, but she told me her name is Anne Marie, not Anne. I’d like to think she knows her own name.”

Teacher: “Well, I ain’t got time for special treatment. Otherwise, all kids will want to be called by their middle names, as well!”

Yeah, the response stings, but the teacher is higher licensed, so what she says is final. (It doesn’t matter that I’ve been teaching for over twenty years and she started teaching three years ago…)

So, I go to my co-teacher, who’s been teaching for over sixty years and is equally licensed to [Teacher].

Co-Teacher: “Oh, yes, [Teacher] is a very stubborn know-it-all. I have an idea; just leave it to me.”

At our next lesson together, [Co-Teacher] decides to start the lesson. He does a roll call (without the names) and then starts the lesson.

Co-Teacher: “Anne, you start!”

I want to correct [Co-Teacher], but then…

Co-Teacher: “Anne Marie, what are you doing?”

Anne Marie looks confused.

Co-Teacher: “I called for Anne, didn’t I? And your name is not Anne but Anne Marie.”

Anne Marie: “But there is no one named Anne in the group.”

Co-Teacher: “Correct! So, that means no one starts until their name is called.”

Once in a while, during the lessons, he calls Anne Marie “Anne” on purpose and then gently repeats that Anne is not her name, so she doesn’t have to listen to Anne, just Anne Marie. Halfway, I join, as well.

Anne Marie: “Why is [Co-Teacher] calling for Anne if there is no Anne?”

Me: “He’s trying to tell you that you don’t have to listen to any other name but your own… unless there is an emergency. Is there an emergency?”

Anne Marie: “No.”

Co-Teacher: “Anne, you are up!”

Anne Marie looks at me.

Me: “Is that your name?”

Anne Marie: “No.”

Me: “Then I guess you don’t have to listen.”

Anne Marie: “But he’s the teacher!”

Me: “Which means he should know better. Using the right name is just basic respect.”

Co-Teacher: “Anne, come on!”

Anne Marie looks doubtful. 

Me: “Well?”

Anne Marie: “So… I don’t have to listen if he calls me Anne?”

Me: “Exactly!”

Co-Teacher: “Come on, Anne! We’re waiting!”

With the biggest grin she can muster, Anne Marie says:

Anne Marie: “I’m not Anne!”

Co-Teacher: “Oh? And what is your name, then?”

Anne Marie: “My name is Anne Marie!”

[Co-Teacher] tries to lure her out a few more times, but she understands the message. Now, the big test will be the next lesson, with [Teacher].

After the lesson:

Teacher: “What’s with Anne? She’s not listening at all anymore! She even said that Anne is not her name! I don’t know what to do anymore. I must go talk to her parents about this behavior!”

Me: “Really? We have no issue with her whatsoever.”

Teacher: “How is that possible?!”

Me: “Well… try using her name next time.”

Teacher: “But I am!”

Me: “Try using ‘Anne Marie’.”

Teacher: “But—”

Me: “Her name is Anne Marie.”

[Teacher] turned away, grumbling. The next time Anne Marie had a lesson from [Teacher], she left with the biggest grin ever. And yes, [Teacher] finally started using her real name.

I am waitstaff during the height of the Atkins diet craze. A woman comes in and asks:

Customer: “Which of your steaks has the least amount of carbs?”

Me: “None of them have any carbs.”

Customer: “Yes, I know that, but which one has the least carbs?”

Me: “None of them have any carbs, so all would equally have the least.”

This goes back and forth for long enough that my manager notices and intervenes.

Manager: “Actually, the [most expensive steak] has the least carbs.”

Customer: *To me* “Now was that so hard?”

They order said steak. Later, my manager tells me:

Manager: “In situations like this, just charge them the most while still satisfying their request. That’s called the idiot tax.”

While I’m giving a pretty in-depth demo of how to use a word processing program, a customer pooh-poohs using a mouse.

Customer: “No mouse. I only want to use the keyboard. I’m an author, you see.”

This isn’t immediately a problem until I explain how to use the arrow keys to move around. 

Customer: *With disdain* “I won’t buy a computer with arrow keys. I’m an author, you see.”

Without skipping a beat, I lead her over to an identical model computer and keyboard.

Me: “Then you should get this one with ‘directional pointers’ instead.

Customer: “Yes. I’ll take that one.”