I have a luggage rack on my bike which has encountered a problem. I take it into the shop where I bought it, where they offer a lifetime guarantee.

Me: “I’ve got this issue with my pannier rack which you guys sold me.”

Cashier: “Do you have a receipt?”

Me: “Yes.”

I hand the receipt over.

Me: “So the problem is—”

Cashier: “No worries; we can fix that for you. It’ll be about twenty minutes or so.”

Me: “I mean, that’s great, but the problem is—”

Cashier: “Cool, cool.”

He doesn’t even look at the bike; he just starts wheeling it away.

Me: “Right, but—”

Cashier: “Look. The rack broke, yeah? We’ll take it off and replace it.”

He disappears into the back.

Me: “Oooookay.”

I go out and drink a leisurely coffee. Forty minutes later, I haven’t heard anything, so I go back to the shop and ring the bell on the counter. A different person, I assume the bike mech, emerges from the back, wiping her hands on a rag.

Me: “Uh, hi. I’m here to pick up my bike. It’s a blue Kona?”

Her eyebrows go up.

Mech: “Oh, that was you, huh?”

Me: “Um. Yes. Trouble?”

Mech: “Well, we’re having a little more difficulty than we’d first thought.”

She shoots a look towards the back, where I assume the cashier is hiding.

Mech: “Can I ask, how did you shear off the screws holding the rack to the frame?”

Me: “I swear, I don’t know. I was waiting for a ferry and I just heard a ‘ping!’ sound and the screw heads had come clean off. If it was something I could fix myself, I would have just exchanged the rack and reinstalled it, but I don’t have the tools to get the broken screws out of the holes. I tried to tell the guy, but he wouldn’t listen and said you folks could replace it in twenty minutes.”

The mech pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a long sigh.

Me: “I don’t want to be a pain, but how much longer is this going to take? I can come back tomorrow…”

Mech: “That’d probably be best. Sorry about [Cashier]; he’s the owner’s son and thinks he knows everything. I hate to say this, but if you’ve got a boyfriend or a brother or something, if they bring it in, they’ll have better luck getting him to actually pay attention.”

Me: “My husband hasn’t ridden a bike since he was twelve years old. He wouldn’t have to first clue what to say without a script.”

The mech heaved another sigh, scribbled something down on a piece of paper, and slid it over to me. It was a note that said, “My girlfriend works here; they’re much better,” with the address of another shop. I’ve gone there ever since and never encountered any problems.

This story is part of our Best Of November 2020 roundup!

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I help to organize a book club. During one of our bigger meetings, we decide to get catering and make it a luncheon, and everyone chips in to pay for it. We end up calling and emailing several local restaurants to figure out what they offer and what it would cost, and we end up going with a build-your-own-burrito bar option from a local Mexican restaurant.

A few days after the meeting, I get an email from one of the other restaurants that we didn’t end up selecting, with an attached invoice listing every possible combination that we’d discussed with them in the original correspondence, totaling up to a few hundred dollars worth of food. I reply to the email, pointing out that there must be a mistake, as we never ordered or received any food from them.

There is no response to my reply, but a few days later, I get an exact copy of the original email, complete with invoice. Again, I respond and tell them that they have the wrong email or there is some other mistake, as we haven’t actually done business with them.

Again, no response, and a duplicate of the original email shows up the following Monday. At that point, I call the “help number” listed in the invoice.

Employee: “Hello, this is [Restaurant].”

Me: “Hi. I’m calling about an invoice we’ve been getting sent by mistake. We never ordered any food, so you might be sending us someone else’s invoice.”

Employee: “May I have your name?”

Me: “It’s [My Name], but I don’t—”

Employee: “Your email address is [address]?”

Me: “Yes, but we—”

Employee: “You requested a quote.”

Me: “Yes, but we didn’t actually end up choosing your restaurant. We went with someone else.”

Employee: “But you requested a quote. You have to pay for it.”

Me: “That’s not how quotes work. We asked how much your food would cost, but we never actually placed an order, and we never received any food from you.”

Employee: *Pause* “I see here that you requested a quote.”

That ended up going around and around in circles for another minute, as I tried to get them to hand me to someone else. They eventually put me on hold, and then the call disconnected. Rather than call back and try hammering the point home again, I just ended up flagging the emails as spam. They continued to send exact duplicates of that email for a few weeks before they finally stopped, and I never ended up hearing anything more about it.

I am at the airport about two hours before my flight is to depart. I have been through the security lines and am going to get something to eat. Then, I hear the announcement that my flight has been cancelled and I need to go immediately to a service desk to get on a new flight.

The young man at the service desk is very pleasant, but not, I think, acquainted with the realities of time and travel. My original flight was set to leave at 11:00 am and would get me to my destination at 12:30.

Employee: “We have two options. I think you’ll like the first one.”

Me: “Okay. What is it?”

Employee: “The flight leaves in a half-hour at 9:30 am and it will take you to [State that is west of my destination], then [State farther west], and then [State even farther west], then there will be a layover, and then you will turn around and fly back to destination. You should get in at 8:00 pm.”

I get anxious enough on flights without having to land and take off and land and take off, and the prospect of being on a plane — that isn’t going to Australia — for almost twelve hours is not appetizing.

Me: “What’s option two?”

Employee: “Not as good.”

Me: “Okay, but what is it?”

Employee: *Sighs* “Well, the flight won’t leave until four, so you’ll be stuck here for hours before it leaves.”

Me: “And it will get to my destination at 6:00 pm?”

Employee: “Well, yes, but flight one leaves right now!”

Me: “I’ll go with option two.”

Employee: “But option one—”

Me: “Is in the air for almost twelve hours.”

Employee: “But it’s leaving now!”

Me: “I know you are trying to help, but I would rather wait here for the 4:00 pm flight. It’s comfortable, I can have a leisurely lunch, and I get to my destination two hours earlier. Book me on that flight.”

Employee: *Grumbling* “All right. But you could be leaving now!”

I thanked him, got my new ticket, and had an overpriced but really delicious lunch at one of the restaurants that took a little longer. And my stomach wasn’t in knots. I called my relatives to tell them of the delay and told the story of my negotiations with the service desk.

To my surprise, one of my relatives was actually stunned that I thought waiting a few hours at the airport was preferable to being shoehorned into a tin box for twelve hours and being two hours later. Maybe I am missing something about the joys of being trapped in the air heading to places I didn’t plan to go?

I’m filling forklift tanks at a warehouse. This shipping company is one of our biggest customers, and they get very frequent deliveries. A male worker happens to come out to swap an empty tank while I’m there.

Warehouse Worker: “Wow, a woman? A woman delivering propane? That’s unusual!”

Me: “No, it isn’t. I do this every day.”

Warehouse Worker: “No, it is unusual! In all my years, there has never been a woman delivering propane here.”

Me: “Never?”

Warehouse Worker: “No, never.”

Me: “I have filled these tanks at least once a week for the past two years.”

I’ve been running around all day trying to get all my shopping done. It’s warm and having to wear a mask doesn’t make the warm and humid weather any more bearable.

The last place I have to go is the pharmacy.

I step through the door, tired, sweaty, stressed out, and far too warm beneath my mask. Luckily, I’m the only customer, so I step up to the pharmacist and look into her eyes… and my brain freezes.

Me: “I… I am so sorry, but I totally forgot what the stuff I came here for is called.”

I manage to ramble. She just looks at me a little strangely.

Pharmacist: “Maybe you could just describe what you need it for?”

After some awkward descriptions and lots of genius guesswork from a very calm and patient pharmacist who dealt willingly with my nearly useless brain and interpreted my babbling and awkward explaining just right, as well as a very shameful payment process where I tried to pay with a library card and my ID before finally swiping my card, I’m the proud owner of some over-the-counter painkillers, some Medigel, and an ointment against sunburn. The pharmacist wishes me a good day.

Me: “I really wish you a good day, too! Thank you for putting up with me, and I hope your other customers are less stupid than me.”

The pharmacist smiles at me behind her plastic screen and replies:

Pharmacist: “If they are as nice as you, they can be as confused as they want. It was a pleasure to help you out.”

Dear Lady Pharmacist, queen of encouragement on bad days, you made my day. Thank you for being so patient.

This story is part of our Feel Good roundup for November 2020!

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