When I was in high school, I worked at a gas station — one of the ones that pumped gas, washed windows, and checked oil, and had a garage and a car wash. We had to wear uniforms, so we all looked the same.

Directly next door was a veterinary office, with a prominent sign on the main road and on the building itself. A customer pulled in while a few of us were standing in the parking area directly in front of the office. She rolled down the window.

Customer: “Do you know where the vet’s business is?”

I don’t know why this occurred to me, but we were teens and egging each other on.

Me: “Take a left at the end of the parking lot and then the immediate left after that. Then take a left just after the first house and look for the parking lot on the left.”

We all stood in the same circle in the parking lot, right in front of the office, and waited about a minute until she pulled up from the other side.

We all just stood there watching her as she parked. She never even acknowledged our presence.

If you have an officially recognized club at my college, you have to participate in the Student Government Association’s (SGA’s) “Club Olympics” each year. It’s required, but it’s a fun way for clubs to compete and get (pretty decent-sized) cash prizes for their clubs.

My club was a newly created club designed for gaming — computer, console, competitive, board, etc. — and, as such, was small. However, we were officially recognized by the SGA, so we were fully intending on competing and winning.

My club walked up as a group to the signup desk, and the person at the desk asked for our name. We told them the group name, and we were prompted to make a team name to make things easier. We just blurted out “Gamers” as a joke, but they took it.

The Olympics were full of minute-to-win-it games, and we were frankly dominating the competition. Things took a turn for the worse when the prizes were announced.

Each game gave out a certain amount of points. You added up the points, and the most amount of points won, up to three winners. I had taken a peek at the scores and knew we had won second place. Not wanting to spoil the surprise, I kept it to myself, until:

Announcer: “For third place, we have the art club! For second place, we have the zoology club! And for first place, we have the Spanish club!”

I was confused. I was about to interject and ask what had happened to us when this announcement was made.

Announcer: “And for the honorary club that sort of just showed up but did really well, here’s an honorary prize!”

It was a small bucket of candy. I sort of sheepishly raised my hand (in front of about seventy-five people).

Me: “We’re not an honorary club… We’re recognized by the SGA.”

The announcer’s face went white since they knew we had gotten second place. Of course, we didn’t go because of the money — honestly, we went because it was required — but the fact that we had been cheesed out of it was kind of upsetting.

After the group disbanded, I went up to the administrator of the event and asked her if their thinking we were an honorary club had barred us from winning. She had a very distraught look on her face because she didn’t want to take the second-place prize from the club she had originally awarded it to.

Thankfully, the treasurer came out and told us not to worry, as they “had it in their budget” to also give us the second-place prize. Usually, these things end poorly, but after spending three hours in ninety-five-degree weather, we were glad that our sweat and tears (quite literally) paid off.

Two of my coworkers are both very proactive and eager to help. Unfortunately, this often translates into “half-hearing one side of a conversation and immediately jumping in with wrong information.” They literally had to have their desks moved further apart because they spent so long every day invading each other’s business and having to counter things being said that they weren’t getting their actual work done.

To make matters worse, two of our customers have near-identical but reversed names; think “Shop Smart” and “Smart Shop.” [Coworker #1] is the representative for “Shop Smart”; [Coworker #2] is in purchasing and is working on getting the parts for a big order “Smart Shop” placed.

[Coworker #1] is walking past and half-hears what’s going on.

Coworker #1: “Oh, is that the ‘Smart’ order?!”

Coworker #2: “Uhhh, yeah.”

Coworker #1: “Oh, great. I thought we couldn’t process that one.”

Coworker #2: “What? Why not? It’s for the new stuff.”

Coworker #1: “No, it’s not. It’s for [product line we no longer carry].”

Me: “Different orders.”

I’m not heard over the two of them talking.

Coworker #2: “What are you talking about? It’s like fifty pieces of [several new products].”

Coworker #1: “No, no, no. Hang on. Oh, this is bad! No, they ordered [old product] right before it was discontinued. I’ve been trying for a month to get this sorted!”

Guy Next To Me: “They’re different orders!”

He is also not heard.

Coworker #2: “That’s not even on this order. What are you—”

Me: *Basically shouting* “HEY, GUYS! Some of us are trying to get other work done! You’re talking about different orders!”

Coworker #1: “No, it’s the ‘Shop Smart’ order!”

Coworker #2: “No! It’s the ‘Smart Shop’ order!”

Coworker #1: “Yes, it… Oh. Hang on. That’s not my order?”

Everyone In Earshot: “NO!”

[Coworker #1] just sort of wandered off, mumbling to herself and sounding confused. [Coworker #2] threw her hands in the air and basically had to start over from scratch, but she at least got it set up right the second time, without any interruptions.

This was my worst experience at a local takeout/eat-in grille. It’s the kind of place parents take their kids to get ice cream or where kids might go after soccer practice. I’ve been there before and had excellent service.

They’re not super busy this time, but there is a line of people waiting to place their orders. I order a chicken hoagie with basic toppings — nothing complicated — get my receipt, take a seat in the eat-in area, and wait for my order. All the while, I’m watching the line of people making their way to the counter, and I overhear people ordering ice cream, a burger, a hoagie, and so on.

I keep waiting for my order, and my number isn’t getting called. I wait for maybe fifteen minutes or so, and still nothing. I go back up to the register with my receipt.

Me: “How is my order doing?”

Cashier #1: “We’re still working on it. It’ll be a few more minutes.”

So, I sit back down. I’m a patient guy, and I understand that it’s a little busy, so it may take a while. I might be here for a bit. I get it.

After waiting for a while, I start to notice that people that ordered way after me are getting their orders called, so I’m starting to get a little bit annoyed. But I decide, “Hey, it’s cool. Maybe something happened. I’m sure it’ll get resolved. I don’t mind waiting. It’s all good.”

Forty-five more minutes go by, and I decide I’m done waiting. I go back up to the counter and talk to the cashier who took my order.

Me: “So… how’s my order doing?”

She takes my receipt and turns to her coworker.

Cashier #1: “Do you know anything about this order?”

Cashier #2: “No, I don’t.

[Cashier #1] gestures to someone in the kitchen to come over and asks him about my order.

Cook: “Nope, I don’t know about that.”

[Cashier #1] froze for a second, and I could see her mouth the words, “Oh, s***.” She took the cook and ran back into the kitchen for a minute, and then she came back out, obviously frantic, saying my order would be ready in a minute.

I waited right at the register until it came out. I got my hoagie five minutes later.

I never asked what happened. When my bag came out, the cashier never said anything, and neither did I, but the look she had gave it away. They forgot my order, completely. Maybe it was her, or maybe it was the cook. I don’t know, and honestly, I didn’t care. What did it for me was no one ever said, “I’m sorry for the wait,” or, “We apologize for the mix-up” — not even an excuse. I just got handed the bag.

The real kicker of the story is that the hoagie wasn’t even that good.

I work at a bagel shop. About two years ago, the building was occupied by a burger joint. The shop is now heavily decorated with paintings of bagels and breakfast food. A guy walks in.

Customer: “Three doubles and two orders of fries.”

Me: “Sorry, we don’t sell burgers or fries.”

Customer: “What? This is [Burger Place]! Of course, you do!”

Me: “Sir, this is a bagel place. We don’t do burgers.”

Customer: *Looking around for the first time* “Well, you should make it more obvious!”

Me: “We have signs—”

Customer: “Customers don’t read signs!

Me: “Sir, our front door handle is a sesame bagel, and there is a bagel mosaic on the floor.”

Customer: “Well… I… You should sell burgers!” *Storms out*