I developed back problems from constantly sitting at a desk job and decided to seek a massage. I found a massage parlor ran by a group of young Thai women who all used Disney character names as their work names.

My first few visits were nothing notable. However, one of the girls on hand named “Jasmine” was not a particular favorite of mine; she was rather rough with her fingers and she had a strange odor about her. I decided after two sessions with her that she would be someone I would politely pass on when offered.

Then, along came “Bambi”, a girl with a touch like magic that would put me to sleep throughout the entire sessions. I went from paying for one-hour-long sessions with her to two-hour-long sessions, and I would give her a tip along with it all. This ended up igniting a serious problem.

Every time I would show up for a massage, Jasmine would answer the door to tell me that Bambi was not there and that all the other girls were busy. She would then try to pull me into a room despite my protesting that I was only interested in a massage from Bambi. It should be noted that there was a camera in the hallway leading to the door, so the girls could see the customers as they were approaching.

I then resorted to phoning in and reserving appointments with Bambi. This worked a few times until one occasion.

Me: “Hi there. I have an appointment with Bambi at [time].”

The girl at the desk looked at her computer screen with a puzzled expression.

Receptionist: “There are no scheduled appointments for Bambi.”

Right on cue, Jasmine popped up out of nowhere.

Jasmine: “I’ll take you!”

She began pulling me to a room. This time, I loudly protested, and they ended up producing Bambi for my requested appointment.

Later on, I appeared for another appointment with Bambi, and all was going smoothly until Jasmine walked into the room, handed Bambi a phone, and said something in Thai. Bambi took the phone and excused herself outside of the room with an uncomfortable expression on her face, with Jasmine following behind and closing the door. I put my head back down into the face cushion and waited.

About thirty seconds or so later, I heard the door open and promptly close, and then I felt a set of hands rubbing on my calf. I immediately returned to my relaxed state. This was shortly interrupted by the sound of someone frantically twisting that was clearly a locked doorknob, followed by a thunderous banging on the door and shouting something in Thai repeatedly.

I looked up to behold Jasmine with her grubby paws on my calf, looking like she’d been caught with her hand in the cafe tip jar. She rushed over and opened the door, and she and Bambi engaged in a screaming match in Thai while a third girl desperately tried to break the two combatants up. Once the situation was finally defused, Bambi furiously slammed the door shut and walked toward me yelling:

Bambi: “Can you believe that b****? She called my boyfriend and said I needed to talk to him about something really important. And she knows we’re having problems right now!”

After that incident, I decided to refrain from visiting that parlor for a few months, hoping that by the time I returned, Jasmine would have either moved on or been fired. After booking an appointment with Bambi, who was still there, I showed up… and who should answer the door but Jasmine.

I wasn’t having it this time. I put my hand up.

Me: *Firmly* “Bambi! I’m here for Bambi!”

Jasmine: “Yes, massage with Bambi. Please come in.”

She led me into a room and pointed to the massage bed.

Jasmine: *Casually* “You can get undressed.”

I decided not to make any further moves until Bambi personally walked through the door. As I stood there fully clothed and pacing in a semi-circle, I noticed Jasmine was still standing there with an expectant look on her face.

Me: “Bambi! I’m here to see Bambi!”

Jasmine: “Yes. Bambi!”

An awkward silence followed.

Me: *Confused* “Bambi! I want Bambi!”

Jasmine: “Yes! Bambi! Me! You book a two-hour massage, I give it to you, you always like it, you always pay and give a big tip and say I’m the best, and you always come back for me!” *Points to herself* “Bambi! You just forgot what I look like because it’s been a very long time. Please undress.”

I left and never went back again.

I went out for dinner with my mom, my paternal uncle, my cousin, her husband, and their young son at a steakhouse-traditional restaurant hybrid. At the start, everything went pretty smoothly; we got seated and received our drinks rather quickly. Then, it was time to order. Among our orders, my cousin ordered a burger and fries for the little one.

The server sounded a bit unsure, but she still took our orders, and off she went. The kid was already fairly hungry, so when some of the first dishes arrived, he got a bit overexcited. I decided to let him taste my pasta, and, since he liked it and it was a large portion, I gave him a few more forkfuls.

Soon after, almost everything else arrived. The fries and burger did not, and obviously, my cousin’s little boy was still hungry. His father tried to distract him with his phone.

Cousin’s Husband: “All of your food will arrive when the steaks do! Don’t worry.”

The steaks got served, but neither the fries nor the hamburger was anywhere to be seen. The boy’s disappointment was immeasurable, and he started whining about not receiving his food. He began acting up, and nothing would work to get him to settle down and wait. His mother decided to gesture and get a server’s attention.

Cousin: “Hey, how’s that burger coming along? The creature’s about to blow up.”

For some reason, the server got up close to the kid, bent over, and spoke to him in a voice that I’m still not sure was an attempt at a sing-song voice or mocking:

Server: “Oh, you’re hungry, aren’t you? Don’t worry; your little burger is coming very soon!”

Then, she winked at my cousin.

We assumed they had just forgotten his food and were going to make it right then and there, so we decided to keep on eating, but even after we were done, there was no trace of either the hamburger or the fries. The only reason the poor kid didn’t try to devour a cat that passed by was that we gave him a bit of our food each.

By the time we started ordering desserts, the kid was already half-asleep, so the point of asking how it was coming along was moot, but we figured it was a good idea to ask the waiter taking our dessert orders what had happened. Apparently, according to his pager, no fries had been ordered at the table and the waiter had no idea what had happened.

Since my mom was paying for dinner that night, she decided to go inside and ask what had happened exactly for the order to be seemingly lost twice, and I followed her inside. The server that had taken our orders at the beginning was manning the till.

Server: “Oh, hey. Was everything to your liking?”

Mom: “Yes, mostly, but, there was one problem. The little one didn’t get his burgers and fries, despite us ordering them twice over. Did something happen in the kitchen?”

The server shrugged and delivered the bombshell.

Server: “Oh, with the size of your orders, I thought you all were ordering the burger and fries just to get him to shut up, given that children don’t usually eat much.”

I stared at her, quite dumbfounded. With an icy glare, my mom asked for the manager, and the server gestured wildly in the kitchen’s general direction. In a few seconds, a man with a big “Manager” label sewn on the apron approached us.

Manager: “What’s the problem tonight?”

Mom: “This waiter over here didn’t take our full order.”

Server: *Snapping back* “Lady, had we taken it, I bet you’d be here complaining about having to pay for food that had been left untouched.”

To be frank, I was quite angry and pretty confused at her reasoning, as was my mom, and seemingly even the manager wasn’t liking her attitude at all

Manager: “Well, [Server], why don’t you come in the kitchen with me?”

The server huffed and crossed her arms while walking into the kitchen. I’m not quite sure I understand what she was trying to accomplish, but it’s guaranteed that restaurant isn’t on our list of places to go anymore.

I recently put in my notice at a clothing chain. [Store] really puts the pressure on us to get customers to sign up for rewards and credit cards. For rewards, the information we take is name, number, and email.

Manager: “From now on, just ask for the customers’ names without asking, ‘Do you want to sign up for the rewards program?’ Otherwise, they say no.”

Me: “Is that even legal?”

Manager: “It’s perfectly legal! And it’s not even morally wrong; they can still say no!”

In my mind, they want us to trick people and I’m just not comfortable with that. I try to explain myself, but the manager won’t really let me speak, so I just make faces at her from under my mask and go on with my day.

This is how management wants us to do it.

Employee: “Please enter your phone number into the PIN pad for rewards.”

The customer enters their number.

Employee: “I see you’re not a reward member. Can I get your name?”

This is how I do it.

Me: “Please enter your phone number into the PIN pad.”

The customer enters their number.

Me: “I see you’re not a reward member. Would you like to sign up?”

We are already talking about rewards both ways, but I think it’s both rude and misleading to not give the customer a clear place to decline.

I’m annoyed because I feel like you need consent prior to inputting someone’s information. I also try to look at it from the customers’ point of view, which I don’t think the managers care about. Some people might not understand that it’s optional, and some might just be too nervous to ask or say no. Several of my coworkers have agreed with me.

Tonight is the last night of my vacation with my parents. They have a few rides on the boardwalk, and I treat my mom to a ride on the Tilt-A-Whirl. When we get off:

Attendant: *To my mom* “How old are you?”

Mom: “I’m eighty-two.”

The attendant was absolutely tickled pink, and he gave her two thumbs up. She high-fived him.

I think we made his night!

This is a school story from my childhood circa 1995, and it’s one of our family favourites. Mum’s side of the conversation has been told many times, particularly as it’s used as an example of my attitude.

When I was in Reception (age five in the UK), I was very briefly given school lunches. At this point in life, I was a vegetarian, and lunch at school was a sliced turkey breast. After eating the various vegetables and dessert, I raised my hand to let the lunch lady know that I was finished, as one had to do at the time.

Lunch Lady: “You need to finish the turkey before you can go out to play.”

Me: “But miss, I’m a vegetarian. I don’t like turkey.”

Lunch Lady: “You will finish your lunch. Otherwise, I will call your mother!”

What she didn’t know is that my mother was both a solicitor (a lawyer) and, more importantly, a vegetarian. Even in my five-year-old brain, things were on my side.

Me: “Okay, then.”

Lunch Lady: “Stay there!”

The lunch lady looked at me with disdain before heading off to the office to call Mum.

Lunch Lady: “This is [Lunch Lady] from [School]. I’m calling because [My Name] won’t eat his lunch!”

Mum: “What is it?”

Lunch Lady: “A very nice turkey breast!”

Mum: “Well, I wouldn’t eat it. I’m a vegetarian. Did [My Name] say that he was a vegetarian?”

Lunch Lady: *Pauses* “Yes. But what would you like me to do?”

Mum: “Don’t make him eat it!”

Lunch Lady: *Sniffily* “It’s a very nice turkey breast!”

The lunch lady hung up, returned to the dining room, and just looked at me with a level of frustration rarely seen when dealing with young children.

Lunch Lady: “Go!”

I left. And the next day, I started having packed lunches. I’m no longer a vegetarian but I still hate turkey.