I work at a museum that also has a movie theater. Since the building is quite old, we have a separate entrance for guests who cannot use the stairs; it enters at the top of the theater while the main entrance is at the bottom. I am ushering in an older woman. We reach the theater.

Me: “All right, now all the seating is general admission so you can sit wherever you’d like.”

Guest: “Oh, I want to sit with the rest of my group. I see them; they’re just coming in down there.”

Me: “Okay. They can come sit up here with you, or, if you’re okay going down a few steps, you can meet them in the middle.”

Guest: “But I want to sit with them!”

Me: *Pauses* “You can. They just have to come up, or you can go further down.”

The guest stares but does nothing.

Me: “Do you want me to go down and let them know you’re up here?”

Still nothing.

Me: “Or maybe I can help you down a few steps to them?”

She continues to just stand there, muttering quietly about wanting to sit with her group. Eventually, a younger woman, who I assume is most likely her daughter, comes up to us.

Daughter: “There you are! Come down and sit with us!”

Guest: “Oh, thank you! This usher isn’t very helpful!”

And she walked down no more than a dozen steps to sit with her party.

I’m a florist. An individual calls us. He’s a little bit brusque but not what I would call rude. Yet.

Customer: “I want to send flowers to someone at the [Our City] hospital.”

Me: “Sure thing! Are they at [University Hospital] or [Hospital Chain]?”

Customer: “Uh, [University Hospital].”

[University Hospital] is HUGE, and the different sections have numbers and names, along with the specific room numbers. It’s not necessary for us to have the patient’s location information, but it does help.

Me: “Do you know what section of the hospital she’s in? It’s okay if you don’t, but I’ll take it if you do.”

Customer: “I have the room number. It’s [number]. Wait. No. It’s not [University Hospital]. It’s [Hospital Chain].”

Me: “No problem; we’ll send it out.”

Customer: “What was that room number?”

Me: “[Number].”

Customer: “Uh, yeah. Yeah. That’s right. Okay.”

Our delivery driver takes the flowers to [Hospital Chain] and calls us from there shortly after. She says patient information has no patient by that name. No problem. These things happen. My boss calls [University Hospital]. They don’t have her, either. Usually, when we run into this, it’s because the patient has been discharged. I call the customer back.

Me: “We checked at both [Hospital Chain] and [University Hospital] and neither of them have her listed as a patient. Is it possible she was discharged?”

Customer: *Getting irate* “Well, that’s impossible, because I just talked to her daughter, and she’s sitting right there with her.”

Me: “That is very strange. Could I double-check to make sure we have her name spelled correctly?”

He checks. We do.

Customer: “What’s the room number?!”

Me: “[Number], but having a room number, unfortunately, doesn’t help us if they have no record of her being there at all—”

Customer: “I gave you her room number!”

Me: “The issue is that the hospital says she isn’t a patient there. Could you ask her daughter—”

Customer: “She’s there!”

Me: “I’ll do some more digging and let you know when I find out what’s going on.”

I hang up, nonplussed, and see my boss with an odd look on her face.

Boss: “You know… she might be at [Hospital Chain] in [Neighboring Town a half-hour away].”

Me: “No way. How could he not even know what city she’s in?”

Boss: “I bet she is.”

Me: “I’m calling them.”

I call the hospital in [Neighboring Town] and, lo and behold, the lady he’s trying to send to is listed as a patient there. I call him back to tell him this. Of course, he’s extremely grateful to us for going the extra mile and making all these phone calls to make sure his order gets taken care of… right?

Me: “Hey, I called [Hospital Chain] in [Neighboring Town] and it turns out she’s actually down there! We can easily forward your order to one of our other shops in town and they can still deliver it to her today, no extra charge. Should I go ahead and do that?”

Customer: “Well. I was dead sure she was in [Our City]. Are you sure you didn’t just make that up?”

I admit I am struggling to maintain my chipper customer service voice.

Me: “Nope, I called the hospital in [Neighboring Town] and she’s definitely there! We’re going to forward your order unless you’d rather we didn’t.”

Customer: “You do that. But I’ll be calling her daughter.” *Click*

We forwarded his order. He never called back. My consolation prize for being called a liar for no reason was knowing how completely stupid he must have felt when he found out I was right.

Related:
Flowering Discontent, Part 2
Flowering Discontent

I have to attend morning lectures for a class that isn’t part of my program but is needed to fill out the degree. These lectures are usually brutal not only for the early start time, but for the hour and a half of bussing required to get me there.

This particular morning I am in luck, as the usual line at the ubiquitous-to-my-country coffee shop on campus is empty. I walk up to the barista, exchange the usual pleasantries — automatic at such unethically early hours — and then confidently place my order.

Me: “I’d like a large double-double, toasted with butter, please.”

The barista started punching it in before she stopped, stared at her screen for a second, and asked why I wanted butter in my coffee. I’d messed up my usual order and forgotten the bagel!

At least we both started the day off with a laugh. Don’t do morning lectures, kids!

It is the 1980s when I am on the road with a band. Most hotels back then tell housekeeping that the band is in whatever rooms they gave us so that they won’t bother us in the morning and let us decide if we want the room serviced, which we do maybe two times a week. So, when I get a call one morning at 10:00 am, I figure it’s my friend, the guitar player.

Me: “Who the f*** are you, what the f*** do you want, and why the f*** are you bothering me?!”

Dead silence.

Me: “Hello?”

Room Service: “I was calling to see if you wanted to have to have your room cleaned.”

Cue my horrified face and my groveling apology to the poor girl who apparently hadn’t been told that it was a band member’s room. I saw her later — small-town hotel — and apologized again, but for the rest of our stay there, my room never got serviced.

I made sure to leave a $20 tip in my room when we left.

I am a kindergarten assistant teacher. We always try to do a little special something for the kids when it’s their birthday, usually consisting of a balloon and goodie bag. I am prepping a balloon when the birthday boy approaches me. The kids and I are very playful with each other so I think he’s trying to be silly with me with what happens next.

Kid: “Who’s the balloon for?”

Me: “Hmm, I don’t know, kiddo. Whose birthday do you think it is?”

He starts listing off other kids’ names in our classroom.

Me: “No, silly, it’s you!”

He thinks I’m pulling a fast one on him. I think it’s a little odd but don’t think too much of it. That is, until his mom picks him up.

Me: “Don’t forget your balloon and goodie bag.”

Mom: “Why did you give him this stuff?”

Me: “Oh, we do a little something for the kids when it’s their birthday.”

She just stares at me, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe we accidentally have his birthday in our paperwork wrong. Then, his mom’s eyes get big.

Mom: “Oh, crap. That’s today?!”

They forgot his birthday. His dad, mom, and two older adult brothers who still live at home all forgot it was his birthday. Mom tried saying something along the lines of how they celebrate his birthday with his other brothers in the summer. It was November.