With the ongoing health crisis, doctors in my state are doing consultations by phone and having their receptionists fax or email the prescriptions to the patient’s preferred pharmacy.

One particular doctor’s surgery seemed to be having trouble with their fax machine. I received about ten copies of the cover page but none of the prescriptions that were meant to be faxed with it.

I called the practise and suggested they tried email, instead. Soon after, I received an email with an attached photograph of a pile of prescriptions.

Yes, instead of scanning or photographing them individually, the receptionist put the prescriptions in a nice, neat stack so that only the top one was readable.

At least they tried, I suppose? A day later we’re still trying to get those same prescriptions. Maybe tomorrow we’ll get lucky?

Related:
A Most Unreceptive Receptionist, Part 3
A Most Unreceptive Receptionist, Part 2
A Most Unreceptive Receptionist

Not sure if this is Not Always Right or Not Always Working. A bit of both, maybe.

I am last-minute shopping for some essentials. I take my purchase from the shelf and make a beeline for the cashier, trying to be in and out ASAP.

The cashier is sort of polite, says hi, and scans my purchase. But the moment she sees the receipt, she smiles like crazy and her tone is suddenly the overly nice one.

Cashier: “I hope you found everything just all right today! On your receipt, there will be a link to a survey.” 

Me: “Nah, thanks. Just give me the receipt; I’m in a hurry.”

I take my purchase — already paid for — and extend my hand for the receipt but the cashier sort of leans back to take it out of my reach.

Cashier: “Oh, it will be just a moment! I’ll explain it to you. I can write my name for you, so you can mention it.”

Me: “Either you give me the receipt now and I’ll just go or you’ll continue this nonsense and I’ll give you the worst review I can think of. What do you say?”

She then sort of threw the receipt at me and I left. And no, I did not leave a bad review for her.

Homeless Guy: “Spare some change?”

Me: “Sorry, I don’t carry cash.”

Homeless Guy: “What about food, then?”

Me: “Well, I was about to go to the sub shop across the street.”

The homeless guy gives a long, complicated order about a specific sandwich.

Me: “I can’t remember all that.”

Instead, I gesture toward the shop.

Homeless Guy: “Are you inviting me?”

I gesture again and he gets up.

We get in there and he repeats the oddly specific order, but even more specific this time.

Homeless Guy: *To me* “Can I get extra meat on that?”

Me: “Sure.”

Homeless Guy: *To the clerk* “Extra meat, too, please.”

Then, he turns back to me.

Homeless Guy: “May I please get a bag of chips?”

Me: “Normally, I’d say yes, but it’s toward the end of the month and I’m on a fixed income, so I only have just enough money to buy two sandwiches.”

Homeless Guy: “No problem. I understand. Thank you so much for the sandwich.”

He gets his sandwich, starts eating the first six inches, and then rewraps the last six inches and goes out the door.

Meanwhile, the clerk is making my sandwich. The homeless guy has already left the shop. After the clerk is done:

Clerk: “I know it’s none of my business, and your heart is in the right place, but the homeless people here eat better than I do. This is his third sandwich today.”

Me: “Him specifically? Three times, today?”

Clerk: “Well… there were a lot of homeless people being fed, and I don’t know if he, specifically, actually had three sandwiches.”

Me: “Okay, then don’t make accusations. I have a couple of good friends who either used to be or are currently homeless.”

He hands me my sandwich.

Clerk: “That’ll be $5.48, unless you want drinks. Do you?”

I think quickly about this. That price is for a single footlong, which means he is not charging me for the homeless guy’s food, so I now have a surplus of money in my account.

Me: “Yes, thank you. I’ll have one of this size.”

And I pointed to the smallest paper cup they had. I wanted to get out of there before he realized he hadn’t charged me for the homeless guy’s sandwich, so I sat at a booth out of his sight and ate my sandwich really quickly, drank my soda, got a free refill, and left.

In retrospect, and after relaying the story to one of the aforementioned formerly homeless friends of mine, I’m wondering if what happened was that I unintentionally guilt-tripped the clerk and he deliberately “forgot” to charge me for the homeless guy’s sandwich.

I recently signed up for cheap Internet service, and when I receive the modem for self-installation, I see that the ethernet cord doesn’t fit the telephone line jack I have at my home. I see in the installation manual that there is a converter that would allow me to not use an ethernet cord which, therefore, is probably the only way I can use the modem at my house.

I call them and realize I am getting what I paid for: not a whole lot.

They can’t find my account for half an hour, and I see they have put the wrong phone number on the sheet that came with the modem. They don’t have my email on file and they can’t find it with my name or address, despite me having a modem at my house with my name and, obviously, my address on the label. Thankfully, I wrote down the confirmation code and it only takes me suggesting it a couple of times before the rep accepts it and is able to find my account.

Then, I spent another hour and a half trying to get the poor gentleman on the phone to understand that the ethernet cable doesn’t fit at my home and that sending another one to me isn’t going to work.

Seriously, after being on the call for an hour and a half, I ask to talk to his manager who then takes half an hour to get on the phone. When he finally does, I am hoping for the best, but he listens to my problem and confidently suggests that he send out another ethernet cord. A part of me dies inside at that moment 

That was yesterday. Today, I am waiting for a call from them because they had an issue with my account and still couldn’t find two IQ points to rub together and get me the converter I needed for my Internet modem. Wish me luck!

I work at a major international coffee chain. I am doing this job only because I need it and living in Vancouver is expensive.

We’re at a regular all-staff meeting.

Management: “We have a new policy to save costs. From now on, when charities come in asking if we can donate food or coffee for their events, we are going to instead offer them volunteers.”

Me: *Over-enthusiastically* “So, we get to volunteer when people ask us for donations?”

Management: “Yeah! We’ll have signup sheets in here so staff can sign up to volunteer when they’re off shift.”

Me: *Still excited* “So, instead of donating food, we get to give them our free time and volunteer on behalf of [Major Company]!”

Management: “Yep. We’re glad you’re so enthusiastic about the changes.”

My coworker whispers to another barista, my friend.

Coworker: “I can’t tell if [My Name] is weirdly excited about her job or if she really hates it.”

Friend: “She definitely hates it. So much, she’s snapped.”