(After two packages are stolen off of my doorstep, I start listing my parents’ house as the shipping address. Their house and neighborhood are more secure, and they are more frequently home to receive packages, anyway. I see my mom several times a week, and I just pick things up when I visit. After a few months of doing this, I get a call from Dad.)

Dad: “There’s a package here for you. A big one.”

Me: “Oh, thanks! Tell Mom I’ll grab it when I see her tomorrow.”

Dad: “You’re not grabbing anything until we talk about how much of our money you waste.”

Me: “Oh, was there some sort of postage needed or something?”

Dad: “No! You have at least one package delivered here a week. That’s hundreds of dollars you’re putting on my credit card!”

Me: *confused* “I am spending my own money, though, Dad.”

Dad: “Well, obviously, you’re not. It’s delivered here.”

Me: “Yes, it’s delivered to your house, but I put it on my credit card.”

Dad: “That’s not how things work. Things are delivered to the address on the credit card. You’re putting things on my credit card.”

Me: “Dad, that’s… literally not how anything works. I just ask them to deliver stuff to your address, but I’m paying for it.”

Dad: “Don’t lecture me! I know how these things work!”

Me: “Have you ever ordered anything online?”

Dad: “No, I leave that to your mother.”

Me: “Why don’t you ask her how this works, then?”

Dad: “Fine, but I’ll be going through my credit card bill, and you’ll be paying me back for everything you bought this month.”

(Mom apparently talked to him, and he never mentioned it again.)

I work at a restaurant where we have three margarita machines. We have thirteen-ounce glasses as well as three-ounce sample cups that we sometimes fill with an ounce or so to let people try the margaritas. This customer comes up and asks for a sample of both the regular and the strawberry.

A month or more before this, she asked for the same thing and asked me to fill the sample cups all the way to the top for each one. I have forgotten about this customer since then, so this day, I do the same thing I always do — and to every single other customer ever — and I give her a standard one- to one-and-a-half-ounce sample of each one.

What does she do? As I place them down in front of her, she brushes them off to the side of the counter with a sweep of her arm and walks off. Ten minutes later, I get in trouble with my manager for being “rude” to this customer.

Cut to a year later, and even though the manager who talked to her — and apparently was friends with her — works at another restaurant, I still have to give this lady three-ounce samples when she comes in. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue, but it does irk me that she not only gets these two samples, but she asks her server for two more samples after that, sometimes more! Doing the math, that is four samples consisting of three ounces each, making it twelve ounces, which is basically a free margarita. The purpose of the samples is so you can decide if you want to BUY one, yet she buys maybe ONE a month, and this woman comes in three times a week or more! She is also, reportedly, a horrible tipper. On top of that, she gets people in trouble and makes racist comments.

Customer: “Are you going to give me my samples today?”

Me: “Yes, no problem.” *makes them* “Here you go.”

Customer: “Are you going to be nice to me today?”

(I can’t think of anything nice to say, so I just smile at the woman.)

Customer: *huffs* “That’s what I thought.”

(She walks away and I then rip her head off in my mind.)

(My best friend and I are working at the same store. I work with our general merchandise, while he works in a specialized department that includes minor repair work and installation. On this day, shortly before his shift is set to start, I receive a text from him.)

Friend’s Text: “Hey, I was just in a car accident. Some guy rear-ended me. I’m okay, but I have to go to the hospital and get some x-rays and stuff. My neck and back are hurting really badly.”

My Response: “OMG! I’m glad you’re okay! I’ll tell [General Manager] for you.”

(I hunt down the general manager.)

Me: “Hey, [Friend] just texted me and told me that he was in a car accident. His neck and back are all messed up and they have to take him to the ER to get checked out.”

General Manager: *immediately panicked* “Is he coming in later?”

Me: “Um… I kind of doubt it…”

(It’s around 4:00 pm and the store is only open five more hours.)

General Manager: “Can you find out?”

Me: “Okay.”

(I pull out my phone and head back to where I was working.)

Me: “[General Manager] wants to know if you think you’ll be in later.”

Friend: “Yeah, no. I’m in an ambulance. My car is f***** up. My back is f***** up.”

Me: “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

(Lucky me, I got to break the “bad news” to the general manager. She rushed off to try to find coverage for his department, not saying another word about him to me. The accident was bad enough to more or less ruin his spine, and he’s still suffering from it many years later. He was put on light duty by a doctor and wasn’t allowed to lift more than five pounds. They discovered a long time after that his hip had been dislocated and have been attempting to correct it. Yes, he was not in danger of losing his life, but I’ll never forget how ridiculous her response to the situation was.)

(Where I work, when someone on staff has a birthday, we get all the kids together and share a cake. A coworker is a coeliac, while I am just gluten intolerant, so we generally never get any; even on my own birthday they forgot. But this is the worst.)

Coworker: “Hey, did you get any cake?”

Me: “Oh, no, thank you.”

Coworker: “You sure? We have heaps left! A little won’t hurt you!”

Me: “It will actually… I’m gluten intolerant, remember?”

Coworker: “It can’t be that bad! Just a little piece. I don’t want to throw it out.”

Me: “Well, it’s nice going in, but when it comes back out through both ends I really don’t enjoy it that much.”

Coworker: “Wow, that’s too much information. Geeze! I didn’t need to know that.”

Me: “I’m hoping it will get you to stop asking. I am easily tempted by food and it’s hard to say no.”

Coworker: “Then don’t say no!”

Me: “Please go away now.”

Unfortunately, our hotel was oversold. I get it; getting sent to another hotel sucks. I don’t begrudge people being angry about it, but there is a point where you’re just making it worse for yourself.

A guest was extremely upset about being walked. We always pay for the cost of the hotel room that we relocate them to, but I was trying to figure out something else for the guest because of the hassle.

I offered a certificate for a free night’s stay. I offered them a free dinner at our restaurant. I offered them a free gift basket with champagne and strawberries for the next night, when we would be able to get them a room. I offered all of the above at once.

Everything I offered, the guest responded to with, “Well, it’s not about the money,” but then he would start going on about how we were going to have to do a lot for him. So, in desperation, I finally told him that, if none of my ideas appealed, we would be happy to do whatever he wanted from us if he just told us what that was. His response?

“I want you to do whatever you normally do in this situation.”

Cue me tearing my hair out.

I get that the situation is frustrating and unexpected, and being angry about it is a given, but when someone literally tells you that they will get you whatever you like to try and mitigate it, stonewalling is just making it worse on yourself!