(I am a sales director at a manufacturing company, hiring for a position directly under me that does data entry and prepares quotes to send to customers. The position requires daily use of Outlook, Excel, and our basic data-entry system. I am currently in the interview with a woman whose stunning resume boasts several administrative office positions and high-level Microsoft office skills; in fact, based on her resume, she seems a little overqualified for the position.)

Me: “This all looks really great. So, this job entails sending quotes out to customers, and because of the products we deal with, these quotes need to be accurate, consistent, and done in a timely manner. We get 30 to 40 requests a day that need to be entered into our system, tracked, and responded to. It requires daily use of Microsoft Excel to create the quotes, and Microsoft Outlook to send the quotes and converse with customers. It requires a lot of time management, organization, prioritizing, data entry, and high-level attention to detail. How would you rate your skills in these areas?

Interviewee: “Oh, excellent! All my past jobs have been administrative, and pretty much all I’ve done is work with Excel and Outlook.”

Me: “And how would you rate your organization and prioritizing skills?”

Interviewee: “Fantastic. I really love a fast-paced job that keeps me busy, and I’m almost OCD when it comes to details and making sure everything is correct.”

Me: “That sounds great. What kind of manager do you like to work for? Do you like a manager that gives you in-depth detail on how to perform your duties, or do you prefer to make the job your own and tailor it to what works for you?”

Interviewee: “I prefer to make it my own. Once I know what to do, I like to find what works best for me and do it that way, so long as it gets done correctly.”

(I’m secretly very pleased at that; I HATE to micro-manage.)

Me: “Wonderful! I just have a final follow-up question. Let’s say that you have a task to do that requires you need get a cell in Excel to do something specific, but you’re not sure how to get the formula right. What would be your process for solving that problem?”

Interviewee: “I’d probably check YouTube, or Google, and try and figure it out. If I can’t, I might ask someone else, but you can find how to do almost anything on YouTube.”

(I’m silently cheering the answer; I love self-sufficiency.)

Me: “Well, that’s great. I think I have everything I need. Any questions for me?”

(I end up hiring her based on her fantastic resume and her saying she has all the skills I need. She starts work the following Monday, and I spend the day training her, going through the process. Then, I sit back and let her do one quote herself.)

Me: “Here is an email like all the others requesting a quote. Go ahead and download the files and set it up in the system.”

([Interviewee] clicks, “Download,” struggles to find the file despite it being right in the downloads folder, then struggles to unzip the file.)

Me: *trying to remain calm* “Okay, go ahead and generate the Excel quote, make the changes I showed you, and save it the way I showed you.”

(She struggles to find and open the downloaded Excel file, struggles to hide the columns not needed on the quote, struggles to widen a column so the quote text isn’t cut off, struggles to save the file as a PDF, and then proceeds to struggle to find the email in Outlook, where she doesn’t even know how to reply to an email.)

Me: “So… your resume said you were highly skilled with Microsoft Office, including Excel and Outlook. You also said that in all your previous jobs you used these programs and did this same kind of work.”

Interviewee: “Yes, yes. I’m usually better than this; I’m just nervous with you watching over my shoulder.”

Me: *not buying it* “I understand. Go ahead back to your desk and do this next one, and send me the PDF of the quote to review when it’s ready.”

(This process should take at the most twenty minutes. I can do it in less than two, but I give the new person a fair chance. An hour later…)

Me: “I am just checking up on you. How are you doing with that quote?”

(I notice she has her cell phone propped up so she can watch some kind of video while she works.)

Interviewee: “Oh, I’m just stuck on this. I can’t figure out how to enter the information here.”

(She is in our database where she needs to be to enter the customer’s information, the very first step of the process. She hasn’t clicked, “Edit,” to make the fields editable. Apparently, she has spent an hour clicking on the greyed-out boxes, not sure why she isn’t able to type in them.)

Me: “You need to click the big, green ‘Edit’ button up there at the top.”

Interviewee: “Ohhh. Also, I couldn’t figure out how to get the files from the email.”

Me: “It’s that big, red link that says, ‘Click here to download project files.’”

Interviewee: “Ohhh… Fuh.”

Me: “Okay… Send me the PDF when you’re done.”

(It was another hour before she finally came to me and said she couldn’t figure out the next step, uploading the project files to our server. This literally just involves unzipping the file, and then dragging and dropping them into the server. I had to let her go. I felt bad, but I don’t have time to teach computer basics before teaching the actual job. It’s also not my fault she lied on her resume and in her interview about her skills.)

(I am a costumed actor that doubles as a spotter for our park mascot. As such, I can talk; he can’t. This is one of the funnier interactions we’ve had. A toddler, around three or so, comes up with his mother. He’s more interested in running around than meeting us characters. We get a few photos, and he starts to take off, just as [Character] goes in for a fist bump.)

Mother: “[Child], look! [Character] is fisting you!”

Me: *shocked* “Uh…”

(I’m thinking, “Did she really just say that?!”)

Mother: “Look, [Child]! [Character] Is fisting you!”

(Our character actor is barely holding it together; I can see him shaking with laughter. Barely holding it together myself, I do my best pearl-clutch.)

Me: “Madam! It’s fist bump! Fist bump!“

Mother: *turning about three shades of red* “Oh, my God! What did I say?!”

(She hurries out with her very happy, oblivious child. A few people behind her snicker. Doing my best to stay in character, I turn to [Character], who is holding his sides.)

Me: “Oh, [Character], I do believe that it’s time for your break!”

([Character] salutes, gives a few more high-fives, and practically RUNS to our dressing area. I follow, and we dissolve into guffaws for our entire ten-minute break.)

(We have one coworker at the theater who is a deadweight. He always comes in late and does very little work. I’m in the lobby when I notice one of the auditoriums is letting out.)

Me: *to the manager* “Hey, I’m going to go clean the auditorium.”

Manager: “Okay, then. Hey, [Coworker]! You go in and help him.

Me: *under my breath* “G**d*** it!”

(We both go into the auditorium, and instead of picking up trash or sweeping, my coworker just follows me around making farting noises.)

Coworker: *makes a farting sound* “Ew, [My Name]! You’re nasty.”

Me: “Really? You’re doing this? How old are you? Twenty or ten?”

Coworker: “What are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.” *makes another farting sound* “Dude! What did you eat?”

Me: *sigh*

(This goes on the entire time. I finally get done with the auditorium, and then I go up to the manager.)

Me: “The next time you want to send [Coworker] to help me clean auditoriums, please do me a favor and don’t.”

(He eventually left to work at a grocery store around the corner. I heard he only lasted a couple of months.)

I work at a restaurant on a major thoroughfare. To get to work, I have to go through a six-lane intersection.

I’m sitting at the light, waiting for it to turn green. About two cars ahead and one row over is very large, jacked-up truck with every loud and obnoxious bell and whistle you could think of.

The millisecond that the light turns green, the truck lays on his horn. When the cars in front of him start moving, he revs his engine and releases a large cloud of dark exhaust before he guns it. The four or so cars around me, myself included, are encased in the cloud, and can’t see anything, causing us to have to sit for a moment until the cloud dissipates.

Then, the cop car behind me puts on his lights and siren, and chases the truck down.

And that, children, is called instant karma.

(I move back to my hometown. Wanting to get into something new, and in an effort to try to boost my self esteem a little, I decide to join a gym. I go to the local gym just a mile away and end up talking to one of their trainers. He’s a very nice guy, and obviously knows what he’s doing. I’m 19 and shy and naive, and we end up discussing a package plan with personal training sessions. Not really knowing how to say no to him, I explain that I don’t have the money for the down payment — about $200 — about half the cost of the package. The trainer explains that we can work out a slightly different plan, with cheaper payments, more often. I end up agreeing, and pay just less than a third of the total cost of the package. After all, I want to get in shape and feel better about myself, and having no idea where to start, I think that maybe he’s right, and this is a good way to go about it. I sign a contract, which states that I have a window of three days if I decide not to go through with it, and I can get a full refund, no questions asked. This is also discussed with the trainer and manager before I leave. However, the next day, my car suddenly breaks down. Now I won’t have the money to make any future payments, and I will just barely have the money to get my car fixed… if I don’t eat until my next payday. So, three days since I signed up, I go back in to explain the situation, just as they open.)

Manager: “[My Name]! Great to see you! How are you?”

Me: “Not so great. I’ve run into a couple of issues, and I won’t be able to afford the plan that I signed up for. My car broke down yesterday, and I need to fix it. I’m so sorry, and I really wanted to be able to do this, but I just can’t afford it.”

Manager: *suddenly looking a bit on edge* “What?! But you’ve already paid for half of it!”

Me: “No, I’ve paid for about a third of it. But I was hoping to find out how much it would cost for just a membership, with no trainer or special perks or anything.”

Manager: “Well, a basic membership is about $145, but you should really talk to [Trainer] about this.”

Me: *disappointed because I still can’t afford the membership* “Unfortunately, he told me that he wouldn’t be in this morning. And I’m sorry to say, I still can’t afford a membership here at this time. Can I request a refund?

Manager: *sputtering* “B-but, you’ve already paid! This is for your health! Isn’t that important?”

Me: “Yes, it is, but I also need to be able to eat for the next couple weeks. I need to pay rent and fix my car. This is the newest cost I’ve added to my life, but unfortunately, I made a mistake and cannot hold up my end of the bargain. I’d like to ask for my money back. As discussed before I left the other day, I had three days to change my mind.”

Manager: *with a facial expression that clearly states that she does not plan to refund me* “I’ll have to get the district manager involved. He won’t be in until [two days from now, clearly out of the three-day window]. But I don’t understand; you’ve already paid half! Just one more payment, and you’ll be golden!”

Me: “Ma’am, again. I only paid about a third of the cost. You approved it. And I won’t be able to make any future payments at this time.” *pulls out my copy of the contract* “Here, it states that I have three days to change my mind. Today is the third day. If you cannot do the refund until the district manager gets in, then I’d like something that explains that I requested a refund within the approved window. This also states how much I have paid so far. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but my circumstances have changed, and I have not even been able to come in and use the gym. But my request is within the contract’s guidelines. It has been less than 72 hours since I signed this.”

Manager: *looking kind of angry* “Nobody ever reads the contract! But fine. I’ll give you your refund.”

Me: *ignoring her hostile tone* “Thank you. Again, I apologize for the inconvenience.”

(I got the refund; however, it took three days to clear back onto my card. After this experience, I decided that if I ever wanted to join a gym again, it would NOT be this one.)