Once upon a time, I worked for an event production group that organized a specific convention/event that takes place in multiple states around the United States.

The event took place over three days, so most of us were on-site for five to seven days for prep and tear-down. This meant packing up and hauling out to the next location — some of us by equipment trailer caravan and others via plane.

Prior to this job, I was a Client Relationship Manager for a very large corporation. That job entailed more or less living out of a suitcase for days and weeks at a time, often flying from client location to client location within a matter of days. During my time with this job, I got really, really good at packing everything I would need without having to check luggage or deal with the consequences of losing my luggage. I’d put my toiletries in the laptop bag, I carried a pocket lanyard instead of a wallet, I had mix-and-match suits rolled up in a duffle bag to be ironed in the hotel, and I had shoes that would match everything. Not to brag, but I was something of an efficient machine when it came to packing and being prepared.

For some reason, my coworkers at the event planning group found this efficiency offensive. Traditionally, the team would load up garment bags with their professional event clothing with the equipment caravan so that it would arrive prior to those of us coming by plane. Makes sense!  

So, I carefully packed my trusty duffle bag with a blazer for each day, a clean pair of trousers for each day, and a selection of collared shirts to go with each. I threw in some shorts and T-shirts that would work equally well for lounging, sleeping, or running for take-out, undergarments, and a spare pair of jeans just in case. After all, I was only going to be gone for five days, and most of that time would be at the convention. We didn’t even have twelve hours between when we would leave the event in the evening and when we had to be back on duty.

The next day, we loaded all of the equipment and saved our bags for last. My coworkers each brought out two to three large garment bags, as well as an extra-large suitcase each. It turns out they had brought blazers and trousers for twice the amount of time that we would be gone, along with extra changes of clothes depending on what they would be doing between 10:00 pm and 5:00 am when the event wasn’t running. They also packed large bags for their toiletries and separate bags for their shoes.

I honestly didn’t think much about it — different strokes for different folks, after all — until we got to the event. It turns out my single duffle bag was the talk of the staff. The president of the company sat me down and explained to me how important it was that we look professional at all times. I agreed.

Each day, I showed up freshly bathed, professionally dressed, and well-made-up. In fact, the sample-sized conditioner I brought really agreed with my hair, and several presenters complimented me on my appearance.

And then we came home. I was hastily ushered into the vice president’s office, where she had the president on speakerphone. I then got a stern half-hour talking-to about my disregard for the company.

Me: “Wait. Wasn’t I professionally dressed each day of the event?”

Yes, they both agreed. My clothing was appropriate, and I was well-kempt in every way.

Me: “And did I conduct myself appropriately?”

Yes. There were some communication bumps due to a lack of cell phone service, but everything was resolved to everyone’s satisfaction.

However, I didn’t pack enough. The president of the company spent the whole event terrified that I would show up looking like a slob, so she was distracted from her other duties. Furthermore, it was said that after the event, I went back to the hotel, got dinner delivered, and went to bed rather than going to the bars with the other workers.

I tried to explain that I was simply really good at packing and that I needed every possible minute of our daily seven hours of downtime, but that was the beginning of the end for my employment. Ultimately, it was decided that I wasn’t trustworthy, and my judgment was questioned on absolutely everything. It got to the point that I quit for my own mental health.

Who knew that being resourceful could be a bad thing?

I work as a sound tech for live music events. I am a mixture of friendly and direct, which may be responsible for my ability to ask people to help break down the equipment, and their not only agreeing but roping other people in. This helps everyone leave sooner.

One musician on this night has been more needy and picky than most and seems to think of me as a friend since I did sound for him years ago. This somehow makes the following interaction even funnier.

After he packs up, he looks at the scene: four to seven people are helping me. He then asks me if I need any more help. I have enough, but I can delegate more.

Me: “Oh! Thanks! You can coil some cables if you want!”

He looks down at the cables, disappointed.

Musician: “…”

I start to get back to work.

Musician: “Actually, you know, I have a long drive ahead of me…”

I slapped on a huge, gregarious smile and shooed him off the stage and out of the way, telling him to drive safely.

When he was gone and I was coiling cables, I laughed to myself about him and all the other people who think they can offer me something and I will follow the social conventions of rejecting the offer. The usual is someone going to the store and asking if anyone wants anything. I always want one thing, like apple sauce or a drink, and they usually look a little put-out. But this guy was funnier somehow. Maybe next time, he won’t offer to do something he doesn’t want to do.

I used to work for a valet company that would contract its employees out to venues needing to host a large number of guests with a limited amount of parking.

We typically worked short-staffed because the company would always have more contracts to fill than valets available. This night was no different, with only three of us staffed for a party on a cold January night next to a lake.

We usually would only find out the details of the party when we arrived for the shift, so showing up early was always worth it to help with planning. Tonight seemed simple on the surface: a party of about 100 people. Since people tended to carpool more often than not, that translated to only about fifty to sixty vehicles we’d have to park. For the three of us, it was looking like an easy shift.

Unfortunately, the weather turned very quickly, and before any guests had even arrived, it began pouring down frozen rain with high winds blowing inland from the lake. This meant that we were having trouble with our key storage, and more importantly, our sign indicating where guests should pull in and expect valet. To make things worse, everyone decided to show up at exactly the same time, meaning that one of us had to stay up front to greet the guests in the driveway while the other two rushed as fast as possible to move their cars up to let the next group of cars into the driveway.

The traffic was terrible and there was about a fifteen-minute wait for people just to enter the driveway. This caused people to start becoming impatient, and the two lines of cars started to get out of control.

In the midst of all this, the wind had blown our sign over into the driveway, leaving the bolts that held the sign to the post sticking up. None of us had noticed this since we were too busy just trying to help people get to their party. That is until this one customer approached the valet stand in a particularly sour mood.

Customer: “Your sign punctured my tire, and it went flat while I tried to pull in!”

Me: *Surprised and confused* “How did the sign puncture your tire?”

Customer: “I ran it over cause you left it in the middle of the driveway! You’re buying me a new tire!”

I was still trying to get other guests in around his now-stricken truck as we spoke.

Me: “Why would you run it over, though?”

Another guest now chimed in.

Customer #2: “Yeah, we had to run it over, too; there was nowhere to go.”

Me: “Okay, well, I’m not sure what you want me to do. No one told you to run over the sign so if you want any help, you’ll have to wait until I’m finished helping the other guests.”

Customer: “This is unacceptable! Your sign popped my tire; you have to replace it and call me a tow truck!”

I had now had enough of this guy’s attitude and told him I’d call my manager for advice. Thankfully, my manager is amazing and doesn’t take anyone’s BS. After I explained the situation to him, he stopped me.

Manager: “Wait. So, he ran over the sign, which was his own decision, and thinks it’s our fault that he couldn’t drive around it?”

Me: “Yep.”

Manager: “So, that’s his own problem. Tell him tough luck, he should learn how to drive, and we’re not responsible for what he does before he even gets to you!”

I returned to the customer with this information and told him that in no way would my boss be reimbursing him for his mistake and that he could talk to the venue about it if he wanted to. He did, and my coworkers and I finished with the incoming guests. About twenty minutes later, the guy came out, defeated, mounted his own spare tire, and went home.

I’m still baffled by the choice of multiple people to just run over an object in the road and risk damage to their own cars.

I agreed to bartend for a special event: a fiftieth wedding anniversary. It was a dinner, an open bar, and dancing with a DJ. We agreed to $250 per bartender for five or six hours of work, including prep and cleanup.

At the venue, there was a tip jar already on the bar top, which we decided to use. From experience, even at open bar events, guests like to leave tips for their bartender(s). Throughout the night, guests frequently left gratuities, often indicating they were for crafting their cocktails.

When the party began to wind down, the other bartender and I began breaking the bar down and cleaning up. We even helped clear tables and put away chairs.

At one point, we were both in the kitchen cleaning our supplies, and we left the bar unattended for maybe five minutes. When we came out to count our tips, we discovered that the jar was missing!

I went to ask the party coordinator about the missing jar and met her coming out of the supply room.

Coordinator: “Oh, I just counted the tips! I’ve divided them three ways between the two of you and the DJ.”

I was given $70; the other bartender got $60. We talked to the DJ the next day and he said he received $90 “in a wad of fives”.

I texted the coordinator telling her it was extremely inappropriate to take, count, or distribute bar tips without the consent of the bartenders. At first, she was apologetic and thanked us for all the extra help we gave. She gave us $80 via a mobile app to “make it up”. I said thanks and figured it was over.

Then, she began to text me telling me it was “their tip jar they provided and, therefore, the tips were theirs to do what they wanted with”. She called me petty and greedy, and she said she and her partner had talked to multiple bartenders who had defended their actions. 

I just blocked the coordinator and her partner, after having them send me essay-length texts explaining how unhappy they were with my attitude and that they “didn’t have to tip us in the first place”.

I’m a soapmaker and work on events. I have lovely soaps on display; it’s a feast for the eye and it smells divine. All my soap is vegan, and I have a sign at my booth that says so.

A woman comes and looks at my soaps and starts seething through her teeth.

Woman: “How dare you claim your products are vegan?! Everybody knows cheese is made with milk and the stomach of a calf!”

Me: *Calmly* “It’s soap, not cheese.”

She stormed away full sail, muttering under her breath.

She did read the sign, but she must’ve been unable to smell to mistake my soaps for cheese.