It’s closing time. The boss and I have just shut down the register, and I’m about to go lock the door when a woman walks in.

Manager: “Sorry, we’re closed now.”

Woman: “I’ll just be a minute.”

Me: “We’ve already shut down the register.”

The woman proceeds to ignore us and heads into the shop.

Me: “What do we do now?”

Manager: “Just start doing everything to shut the store down except for turning the alarm on.”

Me: “Okay.”

I proceed to lock the door and turn the lights and radios off, while the manager makes a point of walking past the lady with the money from the cash register. As this happens, a lightbulb seems to appear above the lady’s head.

Woman: “Oh, are you closed?”

Me: “Yes, we are.”

Woman: “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise you closed at 5:00.”

The opening times are printed on the door at eye level when you come in.

If you’ve ever been concerned about how safe large commercial trucks are on the highways, most are actually pretty safe, but some are death on wheels. This is a story about a truck I encountered that still gives me the creeps.

Years ago, I worked for a tool and construction equipment rental place. We had two large above-ground fuel tanks (one diesel, one gas). We guys in the back would regularly take dip measurements and let the front end know in advance when they needed to bring in more fuel, but one time, the notification slipped through the cracks. Mistakes happen and they were able to order gasoline to be delivered on a Saturday — no biggie as we were open then anyway.

The fuel trucks we got weren’t B-trains (the semis with two trailers that you see filling up the tanks at your local gas station) but the smaller tankers with the tank mounted on the truck chassis — kind of like the trucks you see delivering furnace oil but bigger. For some reason, the only truck available had to come from a city a couple of hours away.

From that city, at about sea level, the highway took an immediate steep, winding path to a summit, then another equally steep winding path down to about about 300 to 400 feet above sea level, and then everything was more or less level. The locals know it as “going over the hump”.

The guy showed up mid-afternoon, backed into where our tanks were, and started pumping fuel. I walked over to say hello and shoot the breeze, approaching the driver’s side of his rig, and what I saw made my heart freeze. Talk to any competent trucker or someone who runs heavy equipment and they’ll tell you that you can tell at a glance if something’s seriously wrong. Work taking in rental equipment returns and it’s the same, as customers will often try to conceal damage, and you develop a spidey sense when something is off.

Forgive me for painting a picture. The truck is a cab and chassis. The tank has a frame underneath it, and in this case, there were four sets of brackets on each side that allowed the tank frame to be secured to like brackets on the chassis of the truck. There were large bolts close to a foot long, with springs in between the brackets (for dampening, I’m guessing, and I confirmed this by looking at the set-up on the intact passenger side). There were two bolts per bracket, so eight per side.

On the driver’s side, there was one bolt that had sheared off and was just sitting there. The other seven were missing entirely. I pulled the sheared bolt out, and where it had broken there was considerable rust; this was far from recent damage. I approached the driver and told him what I had found. He seemed surprised. This idiot had obviously not done a pre-trip inspection nor, from the looks of it, had anyone else for quite some time. And this was a major national fuel company!

The guy told me that when he was coming down off the hump, he’d felt the truck getting tippy on the corners. That wasn’t the fuel sloshing inside the tank; they have baffles to prevent that. It was the entire tank threatening to detach from the truck because it was only fastened on one side! The attitude floored me. It doesn’t take much imagination to think what even a smaller tanker filled with gasoline would do should it tip over, rupture the tank, and have sparks from metal sliding on the road. With luck, only the driver would get barbequed. If he’d had to do an evasive manoeuver on the freeway and tipped, many innocent people could have been injured or killed.

My supervisor had a fix. We had long, thick, grade-eight bolts and nuts. We fastened down the one side as best we could and let him go. I wasn’t comfortable with that as I didn’t think that tanker should have left our yard. I don’t know exactly what happened after that… except for one thing.

On my own time, as a concerned citizen, I had a nice anonymous talk with an equally concerned fellow from the provincial highway safety and inspection branch, complete with the truck number and the details I’ve already told you. To say that this guy had a justice boner would be understating it. All he said is that, based on my information, that depot was going to have all its trucks inspected, and they’d be going through all the pre-trip logs and maintenance records with a fine-toothed comb. I told him to have fun. He said he would.

I work at a veterinary hospital. It’s the middle of a busy day when we get a call from a woman looking for a lost item she left at the hospital several days ago. We’re part of a large veterinary group with dozens of locations.

Woman: “I left my coffee mug there a few days ago and a girl said you’d hold onto it for me. I want to come to get it. Is it still there?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t have any coffee mugs in our lost and found. What was the name on your account? I can see if any of the reception staff put a note on your account as to the mug’s location. And can I get a description of the mug?”

She rattles off her information. I’m searching our system when she gives me the mug description, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from laughing at the last bit.

Woman: “Well, it’s from [Famous Coffee Chain], and it’s kind of a shiny silver color, and you put coffee in it.”

Me: “Ah… Yes, of course. I don’t see any notes on your account, but it also appears you’ve never been to our location?”

Woman: *Long pause* “Is this not the [Location that is nearby but is in another state] location?”

Me: “I’m so sorry, no. It’s the [Our City] location. I can certainly give you their number, though.”

She was embarrassed and apologetic, but I gave her the number and she hung up. I’m very glad she clarified the function of a coffee mug for me, though.

When I was in junior high school, my science teacher tested us by having us list all (then) nine planets in order from the Sun. I made out my numbered list, but I added “(Asteroid Belt)” un-numbered, between Mars and Jupiter.

When I got my paper back, everything from Mars to Uranus had been marked with a check, indicating that they were incorrect, but the checkmarks had been scribbled out.

I realized that the teacher had let his aide grade the papers and that she wasn’t reading them. She undoubtedly had a correct list that she compared my work to and checked off anything that didn’t match. Then, she saw “9. Pluto” on my paper at the end of her list and actually read my answers.

That was the point where I stopped expecting my work (other than essays) to be read.

CONTENT WARNING: Gross, Soiled Menstrual Products

When I was a teenager, I worked for a little over two years at a fast food place. There was a rich and entitled woman who came in almost every morning around 8:00 am to eat breakfast, drink coffee, and talk with her friends until past 10:00, or sometimes 11:00 am.

The whole time she was there, she had her grandson with her. At first, he was in a stroller. Months later, he was walking all over the place, but she would not watch over him. Quite a few times, I took the toddler’s hand and took him back to her because I found him eating things he found on the floor.

Another time, he got his hand caught in the door, trying to go outside when someone came in. Each time I took him back to her, she looked really mad at me but never said anything or even responded to me when I was telling her what happened.

I told my manager about her, and it turned out that she was a friend of the owner, so he would not do anything about it and would not tell her to watch the kid. He told me to just do my job and that it did not include babysitting and not to worry about it. Every day, the toddler was wandering around the restaurant by himself for a couple of hours.

One day, because of an early rush, my manager asked me to help out because one of the cashiers was on her break. After all the clients were served, I went back to my lobby duties and found the toddler in the ladies’ room. He was playing with the content of the trash can inside one of the stalls. This particular trash can is used for… dirty tampons and pads! I almost puked when I saw what he was doing.

I took him to the sink and washed his hands and face thoroughly before taking him to his grandmother. I did not care if she was mad at me and told her, in front of all her friends, where he had been and exactly what he had been doing. Everyone was shocked, and she looked in disgust at the little boy and did not want to touch him.

I told her I had cleaned him up and added that I needed to go clean up the mess left behind in the ladies’ room. I left and went back there. I did throw up when I was picking up the mess and putting it back in the trash can, but only because I kept seeing the little boy playing with it in my head. Toddlers at that age, unfortunately, like to put things in their mouths. 

When I was done cleaning, she had already left with her grandson. I did not see her that much and she did not bring him as often after this incident. She never stayed as long as she usually had and did not let the boy wander around like she’d used to, either. She also avoided eye contact with me.