I once worked for a telephone service that took calls for a number of private doctor’s offices. We would take calls that came in outside of office hours and send a message to the doctor, who could then prioritize. We were also instructed to tell anyone calling in with an emergency to call emergency services for immediate help. 

We have public healthcare in Sweden, which is available for everyone to use, but you can also choose to pay for private healthcare if you can afford it. This caller definitely had the money and the self-entitlement that came with it.

Caller: “Hello, I need the doctor to come right away. it’s an emergency.”

Me: “The doctor doesn’t make house calls. If it’s a medical emergency, you need to go to the emergency room or call 112 (the Swedish emergency number).”

Caller: “My son is having an allergic reaction. I need to talk to the doctor now.”

Me: “The doctor isn’t in right now. I repeat, you need to take your child to the ER or call 112, right away.”

Caller: “You listen to me. I’m not paying all this money for private healthcare and not getting help when I need it! Get me [Doctor] on the line, right now!”

Me: “He will tell you to go to the ER!”

Caller: “I’m not going to spend the night at a public hospital. I pay for private healthcare, and I will have private healthcare!”

I knew what the answer would be, but just to cover my own a**, I tried to get hold of [Doctor]. He picked up, in the middle of dinner, not very happy.

Me: “Hi, sorry I’m calling so late. I have [Caller] on the line, and she’s requesting to talk to you because her child is having an allergic reaction.”

Doctor: “What? She’s crazy! She doesn’t need to talk to me; she needs to go to the ER!”

Me: “I’ve told her that. Repeatedly.”

Doctor: *In the coldest, angriest voice imaginable* “Transfer her over.”

I wish I could have overheard that conversation. Yep. The lady would rather risk her child’s life than be forced to use — gasp! — public healthcare.

I don’t know exactly what happened after that, but at least the kid was fine in the end, and I believe [Doctor] reported the incident to Social Services.

There is a pho shop that my mother and I often go to. On one visit, since my mother didn’t feel like eating too many noodles, we decided to order one large pho and some sides and share (which we have done before). A large is around two or three dollars more than a small; it’s basically just more broth and noodles. 

The waiter asked us twice whether we were sure we only wanted one pho.

Mother: “Yes, we’re going to share. There are just two of us, and a large pho is enough noodles for the two of us.”

There was no requirement for each person to order a pho, and the sides we ordered cost more than a large pho anyway. 

Once the waiter left, we noticed that the prices had increased again, and we started talking about inflation in general.

When the pho arrived, we noticed how few noodles were in there. We eat at this restaurant quite often, so we knew that even for the small pho, the noodles were filled to the top, and the large as well (but with a larger bowl). So, it was very disappointing that there were maybe only half of the noodles we usually got from a small pho. But the broth was filled to the top. 

Once the waiter left, I said to my mother:

Me: “It’s annoying that they decided to increase the price and also cut the portions. It would be better to just increase the price but not cut the portions by so much.”

Then, the same waiter brought food to the table beside us. They were a table of four, they all ordered small pho, and the bowls were filled to the top with noodles.

I wanted to speak to the waiter about this, but my mother stopped me and said it wasn’t worth the hassle. I didn’t want to give a good tip, but my mother still said I should tip them the standard. (This is Canada where waiters don’t get ridiculously low wages.)

No wonder there had been more and more empty tables over the months we’d gone there. We never went to that place again.

I work in the accounting department for a car dealership. The only time I even see customers is when I’m coming in or heading out; everything I do is internal. My desk is in a back office, away from everyone. So, when a memo goes out for no more personal phones on the showroom floor, I don’t even think of putting my phone on my desk off to the side while I work. I get told by a passing manager that, no, that applies to everywhere outside of the break room. Okay, not how it was worded, but all right, into my purse it goes.

The next day, I get called out again by the same manager; he “saw me on my phone,” even though I’m certain I didn’t take it out of my purse outside of my lunch break.

On the third day, he “catches me” again, once in the morning and once in the afternoon.

Manager: “If I see you on your phone one more time, I will write you up.”

Me: “If you do, you bring [HR Guy] from Human Resources with you.”

Sure enough, the next morning around 10:00 am, up marches [Manager] with a write-up in hand and [HR Guy] in tow. He slaps the paper on my desk and barks:

Manager: “SIGN IT.”

Instead, I asked [HR Guy] if he had my phone number on hand as I’d asked. He did. He dialed from my desk phone, on speaker. My husband — to whom I had given my phone that morning — picked up and confirmed that he was speaking on my cell phone. I stared [Manager] down while [HR Guy] picked up the write-up and said we were done. [Manager] fumed for a minute and then stalked off.

The weirdest part is that [Manager] was a sales manager; he wasn’t even my manager! I don’t know if he saw me looking down at my desk while doing paperwork and assumed I was on my phone, or if he had some strange vendetta and made it all up to get me in trouble.

It is a very busy day, and we only have two people in appliances, one of whom is going on her lunch.

A customer comes in and isn’t happy that a couple of men who’ve already been waiting are being served ahead of her. She approaches my coworker leaving for her lunch (who is no longer in uniform and is talking to another employee).

Customer: “You! You there! Stop ignoring me! I need service!”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I am currently off the clock. My coworker here will be able to help you when she’s finished with these gentlemen.”

Customer: “It doesn’t matter! You will help me right here and now!”

Coworker: “Ma’am, you can wait, or you can take your business elsewhere.” *Heads off for lunch*

This angers the customer, who then starts moaning to her husband who has just joined her. The husband marches up to me and interrupts the two customers I am serving.

Customer’s Husband: “I am a g**d*** man, and you’re gonna serve me first!”

Me: “Sir, that’s not how things work. You will be served when it is your turn, regardless of gender.”

The man breathed loudly and angrily but ended up muttering for a bit with his wife before storming out.

Our town has a local Facebook page where you can post reviews and events. The customer decided to make a MASSIVE post about what happened — only she actually didn’t.

She twisted it so that it seemed that she’d been purposely ignored (she hadn’t; she just didn’t want to wait in line), denied service (she hadn’t; she confronted and cursed out a teenage employee who was off the clock), and she and her husband had been verbally abused by “every employee in the store” (they spoke to one coworker and to me, and neither of us abused them; we were both abused).

Of course, at first, she got sympathy from a LOT of people of the same mentality. There were a LOT of “no one wants to work anymore” comments. But one of our cashiers happened to be told about it and showed me.

I’m petty. I’ll admit it beforehand. 

I made a fake Facebook account (I don’t do social media) and joined the town’s page. I first commented, in explicit detail, everything that actually happened, including direct quotes from the other girl. Then, I copied my post and replied to EVERY comment on her post, “This isn’t actually what happened. What happened was [insert comment here].”

It wasn’t long before the entire town turned on her. Hundreds of comments called her a liar and a horrid person.

The next morning? The post was gone, and she’s never returned to our store. 

Was I a bit of a b**** myself? Maybe. But when it comes to my fellow employees, I tend to fight petty fire with petty fire.

My friend and I meet every Thursday for lunch at a local brewpub. My friend has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair.

We’re seated by the hostess, who asks for our drink orders. We each ask for a pint. The hostess looks at me expectantly.

Hostess: “Is that okay?”

Me: “Is what okay?”

Hostess: *Motioning to my friend* “Is he allowed to have beer?”

Me: “I don’t know. Let me check.”

I take out my cell phone and dial a number. My friend’s phone rings, and he answers.

Me: “Hey, [Friend], this is [My Name]. We’re at [Restaurant], and they want to know if it’s okay for you to have a beer.”

Friend: “I guess so. Just this once, though.”

Me: *To the hostess* “He says that it’s okay.”

The hostess just glared at us before leaving, and a few minutes later, a waiter brought us our pints and took our order.

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