There’s a solar energy company that’s been canvassing my neighborhood quite heavily and I’ve quickly become skeptical of the quality of people they hire. Here are some of the most recent interactions I’ve had.

A middle-aged woman comes to the door, all smiles and full of energy, seemingly well prepared and carrying a satchel and clipboard. Another person stands on the sidewalk a few feet away, watching her. She identifies herself and her company but I only catch part of what she says as I have hearing loss and my dogs are barking. I tell her I’m hard of hearing and can’t understand her, point out the no-soliciting sign that’s at eye level just above my doorbell, and close the storm door and start to shut the interior door. She keeps talking excitedly, perhaps expecting me to hear better through the storm door? I tell her I’m not interested, but she’s still talking as the door latch clicks.

Then, I’m visited by her polar opposite. I see a young man, slouching, looking at the ground and with his hands in the pockets of his baggy khakis as if trying to hold them up, sauntering slowly up the street. He approaches and rings the bell. I open the door and he begins to tiredly introduce himself — he reminds me of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh — I notice he’s wearing a shirt with the logo of the same company as the woman who I’d turned away just a couple of days before. I point to the sign and tell him, “I have a ‘No Soliciting’ sign and would appreciate it if you’d respect it.” Never once removing his hands from his pockets or looking up from his shoes, he nodded slightly and silently walked off up the street to intimidate his next victim with his lack of enthusiasm.

My part of the world gets very cold in the winter, and I recently splurged on a pair of battery-powered gloves. When they’re switched on, they give off a small blue light.  

I am shopping for groceries and groan inwardly when I see my cashier. He’s a nice guy, but he never. Stops. Talking. I’ve learned to just nod and smile and give the occasional, “You got that right!” or “I know!”. Even if I wanted to engage in conversation, he’d never give me a chance to get a word in edgewise, anyway.

Cashier: “Blah blah blah.”

Me: “You bet.”

Cashier: “Blah blah blah.”

Me: “Ain’t that the truth?”

Cashier: “Blah— What’s that?!”

Me: “You said it— Wait, what’s what?”

Cashier: “THAT!”

He points accusingly at the lights on my gloves.

Cashier: “ARE YOU RECORDING ME? IS THAT A CAMERA?”

Me: “No! Those are my gloves. They’re battery-powered.”

He glares at me suspiciously. 

Cashier: “Really? You’re not one of those secret shoppers?”

Me: “No!”

He conducted the rest of my transaction in complete silence.

My husband and I are fairly certain that he has had a case of the current bug, but since it was a very mild case and was earlier than most people were worrying about it, we didn’t get him tested. We are looking at getting antibody tests to make sure that’s what it was before we assume that we can go out and about. I’m calling all the hospitals around to see who offers the test.

Operator: “[City] Hospital, how may I direct your call?”

Me: “Hi, I’m wondering if you offer [illness] antibody testing, and if so, how much does it cost?”

Operator: *Somewhat sarcastically* “Well, as a lowly operator, I’m not sure.”

Me: “Oh, don’t say that. Operators are important, especially at a hospital.”

Operator: “I suppose so. We could be given better information, though, I’ll say that much. But I can transfer you to the hotline, and they’ll be able to answer your questions for you. Just so you know, calls for them seem to come in spurts, so they are either very busy, or very bored. So, just in case they’re very busy, let me give you their phone number, so you can call back instead of waiting on hold forever.”

I grab a pen and paper and she tells me the hotline number. After the area code, five of the seven digits are “seven.”

Me: “Oh, that’s easy enough to remember. When it doubt, stick a seven in!”

She lost it. After a minute, she got control of herself and transferred me. It must have been one of their “very boring” times, because I had a wait of about five seconds. I’m glad I was able to make her day as much as her earlier sarcasm made mine.

I’m busy at work so I decided to order in some pasta from the uptown location of a restaurant I love with an outpost near my apartment downtown. The menus are different but when I see “Penne alla Stolichnaya” on the menu, I assume it’s the same as the “Penne alla Vodka” I get from their downtown restaurant. I check the listing, confirm the ingredients, and place the order.

It arrives ten minutes before I dash into a meeting — my fault, not theirs. I decide to have a few quick bites before my meeting and open it. I take a few bites and notice there is something else in the pasta. I sniff and realize it’s bacon. I don’t eat meat, so I’m annoyed. I go back to the menu and check the ingredients again to see if I made a mistake. It’s not listed. 

I call the restaurant and ask them to confirm it’s bacon. They say, “Uh, yeah, it comes with bacon.” I respond that it’s not listed on the menu and she goes, “So?”

I am a little taken aback that she didn’t care. I tell her they can’t send people food with extra ingredients not listed on the menu, especially considering some could harm people with allergies. She responds, “So… do you want us to replace it? I mean with one without bacon?” 

Starving, I agree, but I end up emailing the delivery service to complain. I get a full refund.

I ended up ordering it again this week but made sure to specify “NO BACON” on the order. But I’m still shocked that they thought there was nothing wrong with adding ingredients not listed on the menu. It’s a high-end place, too!

This happens a while ago before the health crisis starts. I stop by a fast food place for lunch and use a self-service kiosk to place my order. I order a sandwich, bacon and cheese fries, and a drink. I get my receipt and sit down and wait for them to bring to food out.

Food comes, but instead of bacon and cheese fries, it’s just an order of fries with a side of cheese sauce. Thinking this may be my mistake since I placed it at the kiosk, I double-check my receipt and see that I did, in fact, order bacon and cheese. I take the order up to the counter along with my receipt and the convo goes like this.

Me: “Excuse me, I ordered bacon and cheese fries and I only got cheese.”

I show her the receipt.

Employee: “Yes, the cheese is right there.”

She points at the cup of cheese.

Me: “I know that, but I order it with cheese and bacon.”

I show her the receipt again. The employee gets irritated and points to the cheese again.

Employee: “The cheese is right there.”

Now knowing this will just go around in circles, I try a different approach.

Me: “I know the cheese is right there, but if you look at the receipt, it’s supposed to have bacon also. Where is the bacon?”

At this point, the cashier has a blank look on her face and is completely confused.

Me: “Can you get a manager, please?”

She goes off to get the manager, who comes over, and I show him the receipt and explain that I ordered bacon and cheese and only got cheese.

Manager: “The cheese is right there.”

He points to the cheese.

Me: “What do I have to do to get bacon, as well, since I paid for it?”

The manager looks confused, as well, and then looks at the cashier.

Manager: “Just give him an order with bacon and cheese. I don’t feel like dealing with this right now.”