Two months after I start a new job, I get a jury summons in the mail. I work in a nail salon owned by a Vietnamese man and I am the only non-Asian technician working at the salon. At this point in my career, I’m not sure if I will be able to explain to him what the jury summons means in regard to missing work and that not showing up for the summons can get you in some legal hot water.

Luckily, when I bring my summons to show him, he seems to understand (to some degree) the importance of it. He even has received some in the mail in the past. He does know, also, that sometimes individuals can actually “get out of” jury duty with certain acceptable exceptions and asks if I’ve tried that route. However:

Me: “Actually, I had a jury summons a few months ago that I had to call and ask to be excused from because I was actively job searching and had almost no money at the time.”

Boss: “Oh. See, when I would go to those, I just say my English is no good and they tell me I can go.”

Me: *Pauses* “Yeah, well, there’s no way I can convincingly use that excuse.”

My boss laughed hysterically.

I attended my jury duty that following Monday and ended up not being selected and therefore not disrupting my work week!

I’m filling in at another location of our office due to staffing issues. It’s out of town, but it’s close enough that I just commute back and forth. I have to drive through a couple of small towns to get there. One of these towns has a known speed trap, where the limit drops fifteen mph in less than half a mile. It’s a Wednesday afternoon. I help with my church’s youth group on Wednesday nights, and I’m trying to get back into my house in time to change and head over there.

I forget about the speed trap until I see those flashing lights in my rearview mirror. I groan and pull into the nearest parking lot. I misjudge the turn off the main road and clip a curb with my back tire. I successfully park and wait. Sure enough, a mean-looking cop gets out of the squad car and knocks on my window. I roll it down.

Cop: “Do you know how fast you were going, young lady?”

Me: “Uh… about forty-five. Sorry. I forgot about the decrease in mileage.”

Cop: “And you clipped the curb when you were turning.”

Me: “Yes.”

Cop: “You been drinking?”

Me: “What? No! I just got off work! I’m running late.”

Cop: “Okay, fine. What are you late to?”

I’ve heard enough stories to know that the truthful answer is going to sound like a lie!

Me: “You won’t believe me.”

Cop: “I might. What are you late to?”

Me: *In a small voice* “Church.”

The cop snorts.

Cop: “Oh, c’mon.”

Me: “I promise it’s true. Look, I attend [Large Church] and I help with the youth group every Wednesday. I don’t have proof on me, but if you want to follow me to [Town], I can get it.”

The cop sighs and rolls his eyes.

Cop: “I don’t have time for that. Just give me your license and registration.”

I hand it over and he walks back to his car. In my rearview mirror, I see him typing and then calling someone. He comes back to my car a few minutes later and hands my paperwork back.

Cop: “My system crashed. I couldn’t give you a ticket even if I wanted to.”

Me: “I… What? Seriously?”

Cop: “Have a nice evening, Ms. [My Last Name].”

He smiled, waved, got in his car, and drove off. I was still late to church because it took me fifteen minutes to calm down enough to drive. The youth pastor got a kick out of the story, though!

In our younger days, my husband and I sign up for a “boot camp” fitness class. This class is pretty intense and fairly expensive; if memory serves, it costs $300 per person for ten classes.

At the start of the first class, our instructor does a quick roll-call. She frowns and comments:

Instructor: “Hmm, [Classmate] isn’t here. That’s a shame; attending the first class is pretty crucial, because I go over some important techniques. Oh, well. I’ll call her later and see what happened.”

At the start of the second class, [Classmate] is once again a no-show. Someone asks [Instructor] if she’d gotten hold of her.

Instructor: “Oh, yeah. She told me that she got super busy and was unable to make that first class, but she swore she’d be here today. I reminded her that she’d spent $300 and asked if another class time would fit her schedule better, but she said no.”

Third class, still no [Classmate].  

Fourth class, ditto. And so it went. She never did show up, despite [Instructor] bending over backward to try to accommodate her. [Classmate] always had an excuse: “I got busy,” “I forgot,” “I got stuck in traffic,” etc.

[Instructor] even offered to refund some of her money, because she felt bad for taking it and not providing anything in return. [Classmate] indignantly refused this offer.

Classmate: *Defensively* “I’m going to come! I just keep having bad luck!”

As for my husband and me, we enjoyed the class so much, we signed up again for the next session. So did [Classmate]. And you can probably guess what happened.

I guess some folks just have money to burn!

A customer leaves a huge pile of crap on the side of our storage building. I know it was him because when I came in, I saw him put the all the same stuff behind his vehicle. My manager has him charged for the clean-up. He later calls asking about the charge. When I explain, he gets angry.

Customer: “You can’t prove that was my stuff. This is totally unfair! I wasn’t even at my storage unit today.”

Me: “Sir, I saw you with that stuff just this morning by your car, and you came into the office and spoke to me twice personally, so I know you were here, and we have you on video.”

Customer: “Well, that doesn’t matter because I didn’t touch the stuff. It wasn’t even my stuff. My mom was working with some guys I hired and they left the mess.”

Me: “Sir, it’s your storage unit, you were present at the time of all of this, and you are the one responsible.”

Customer: “But you don’t understand! I didn’t touch the stuff! I shouldn’t have to pay for the clean-up, that’s my mom’s and the guy’s! It’s the hired guy’s fault! All I was doing was sitting in my car and playing on my phone.”

I work at a serve-yourself type of candy store. A boy has put his hands directly into one of the bins and is playing with the candy he has grabbed. I walk over without him noticing and stand over him.

Me: “Please do not touch the candy with your hands.”

He jumps guiltily, and I can almost see his brain working to come up with a valid excuse.

Boy: “Sorry! I! I, uh… I… have… Attention Deficit Disorder?”

Me: *Bluntly* “So do I.”

Another customer startled me and I glanced away for a moment. When I looked back, the boy had already left the store completely. Yes, I do have Attention Deficit, and no, it is not ever an excuse to misbehave.