I was volunteering at a local community picnic. I didn’t have much choice in my position, but I was placed on the snack station. This station had snowcone machines, cotton candy machines, and a popcorn maker. It was not the most high-tech tech, but it was still nice. I was working with just one other person, and we had some traffic. There were some incidents, like kids adding extra flavouring to their popcorn or throwing ice at each other, but it was nothing that wasn’t manageable — classic kid’s stuff.

Now enter [Kid], who was around five years old. He ordered a cotton candy. I served it to him, and he ate it and left. He later came back and asked how it was made, so I picked him up and asked my friend to make it so I could show it to him.

Then, [Kid] asked if he could touch the heating element that spins and spits out the floss. I told him that it was really hot and demonstrated it with a small drop of water. He then said his hand was not water, so he could touch it. I told him again that it was too hot, and he did not like that. He started crying, but I told him it wasn’t worth finding out, and instead, he could scoop a bit of sugar and have another cotton candy for free. He took his candy and headed out (still crying).

Then, his mother came back with him.

Mother: “My son told me you didn’t let him have the cotton candy.”

Me: “Um, I’m not sure about that because I gave him two — one of which he made himself.”

Mother: *To [Kid]* “Then what’s wrong?”

Kid: “He didn’t let me touch it!”

Mother: “Oh, that’s it?”

She turned back to me.

Mother: “Just let him touch; he’s a kid!”

Me: “Ma’am, it’s a really hot heating element. It melts sugar instantly, so I can’t let him touch it and risk his hand burning.”

Mother: “You have your hand near it, and you are doing fine. It’s just for a few seconds.”

Me: “No, I can’t allow that. I’m sorry.”

Mother: *To [Kid]* “Well, I’m sorry. Maybe another day.”

Kid: “I want to touch it, though!”

Mother: “Another day when he’s not here.”

They then walked away, with [Kid] constantly nagging and tugging on [Mother]’s clothes. My friend and I decided it was done, but he chose to tell the event organizer. God bless him for that.

Around twenty minutes later, the staff told us to turn off the equipment for a while so that we could have our meal. We put up a sign, turned off the equipment, and headed over.

Cotton candy machines are still hot even after you turn them off. Metal is still metal, and metal conducts heat. Around five minutes after we left, [Mother] lifted her kid to touch it. One of the event attendants then screamed at her to stop, which shocked her, and she accidentally forced her son’s hand onto the heating element. Cue [Kid] screaming!

Kid: “AHHHHHH!”

I heard it, ran out of the nearby tent, and checked on him. The event organizers and other attendants brought a first aid kit and helped him. As this was happening, [Mother] started blaming me for the occurrence.

Mother: “Why didn’t you turn it off?”

Me: “I did! You can see the power is off, and it is disconnected.”

The event manager came over.

Event Manager: “I don’t think they are at fault. I saw you picking up your kid, and they told me you wanted to do this before.”

Mother: “Well, he didn’t tell me it would have burned his hand!”

Event Manager: “There are also signs on the side of the machine saying that you should not touch it.”

Mother: “Well, if you’d let him touch it first, this wouldn’t have happened!”

Event Manager: “Are you hearing yourself? Your kid just burned his hand, and you wanted them to let him touch it? At least this time, we are all here, and you are with him.”

Mother: “Oh, so you are blaming me? I paid for the ticket; you should be on my side. My son burned his hand, and you think I wanted him to do it? I wanted him to be able to see the tool. He’s just tall enough to see it.”

Event Manager: “So, you asking them to let him touch it before didn’t happen?” *Gestures to me* “Him telling you that it was hot didn’t happen? The warnings on the device don’t exist? You lifting your son and pressing his hand didn’t happen?”

Mother: “If I weren’t scared, then it wouldn’t have happened!”

Event Manager: “You shouldn’t have had him in that position to begin with.”

The argument then went on for a while before [Mother] backed down and took [Kid] to (presumably) a hospital. [Event Manager] and most of the attendants were on our side. Wanting to touch a heating element was not something I even imagined was a possibility, let alone from a parent.

PS: At the end of the event, both of us (my friend and I) were given some marinated chicken to take home for our transgressions!

I’m out with the family, including my eight-year-old twins. We stop at a cart for some hot dogs and fries, sit down on a nearby bench, and chow down. As I get up to clean, my son says:

Son: “My compliments to the chef!”

Me: *Chuckles* “I didn’t make it, kiddo.”

I step away to throw out our trash. As I turn around, I see my son standing on his tip-toes in front of the hot dog cart. Then, I see the guy behind the cart get a very somber look on his face, and he sticks his hand out and shakes my son’s hand. My son comes trotting back laughing.

Son: “He called me ‘sir’!”

I smiled and waved to the man, who smiled and waved back.

I think about that man at times and am thrilled that my little boy’s “compliments to the chef” had to have brightened his day — and his response to my kiddo brightened mine.

This was over ten years ago when e-readers were becoming a thing. On a brisk winter day at the bookstore, I was assigned to the e-reader kiosk. It was set up right in the store entrance to be the first thing anyone saw. I was instructed not to leave the kiosk for any reason (lest thieves get their hands on the sample units).

After an hour, I was nearly frozen, with cold wind gusting in every time the doors opened. I buzzed the manager on duty.

Me: “Can I get someone to cover me for five minutes so I can bring a coffee back to the kiosk? I can barely feel my fingers.”

Manager: “Sorry, the policy of no drinks where customers can see them stands.”

Me: “I can put it down behind the kiosk counter. No one will see it, and none of the tech is back there to be in danger of spills.”

Manager: “Policy!”

Me: “Can I at least have cover to run back to the break room for my gloves?”

Manager: “No one’s available. Tough it out. It’s not that cold.”

Time passed, and I kept chafing my hands together and tucking them into my cuffs. Three women who had paused to look at the e-reader saw me.

Woman #1: “Honey, you must be freezing!”

Me: “It’s pretty cold!”

Woman #2: “They should let you wear a coat, or at least keep a hot drink handy!”

Me: “Well, I might be able to get my coat and gloves on my break, but the store worries about liquids near all this expensive technology.”

Woman #3: “Well, for heaven’s sake, they’re making bank on hot drinks today, but they won’t let you keep warm? That’s just silly.”

They took an e-reader brochure and went into the store proper, and I continued to shiver. About fifteen minutes later, the head cashier walked up with a lidded cup.

Head Cashier: “Hot cocoa. Keep it behind the counter, and don’t drink it when you have customers.”

Me: “…thank you?”

Head Cashier: “Thank the three ladies who saw the manager in the cafe and gave him an earful about the ‘poor frozen thing’ working in front of the entrance without anything to keep her warm. I’m instructed to tell you this is a one-time thing, and you can get your gloves on your break.”

That cocoa, plus my gloves eventually, got me through the rest of my time at the kiosk that day. Thank you, ladies!

A couple of years after the housing balloon popped in the mid-2000s, I was let go from my job along with a dozen other people. The company we were working at was a flooring installation company that provided materials, tools, etc., for installing flooring, and with the housing market being so bad, business was way down, and the company let a lot of us go.

Now that I was gainfully unemployed, I had to do the whole prettying up of the resume and work on finding a job. I didn’t find a full-time job for almost a full year, but during that year, I had a couple of part-time jobs that helped pay some of the bills. One of them I absolutely hated, but work was work.

The job I hated was working as a cell phone sales representative for a kiosk location that rented space in a giant retail chain company. I’m not a people person, and having to put on a cheery face and mingle with people is absolutely draining and brutal for me. By no means were the cell phone provider company and the retail chain company affiliated, but since people shopping at the retail chain store didn’t care (or possibly didn’t know), I turned into a “go-to” guy for questions about electronics sold and locations for all other merchandise. I had to constantly talk to people all day.

My supervisor had been working the cell phone kiosk for the past eighteen months, and she knew her stuff, but she was arrogant and unwilling to work with anyone who was employed under her. One other person and I worked under her. The other person floated between kiosk locations, and I never officially met this person, but I knew she worked at this location because her name was on the schedule for days I wasn’t.

I had been working at the kiosk for a few weeks. I was going to go out of town for a week, so a month before the trip, well in advance, I informed [Supervisor] and handed the notice to her in writing. She said she’d make it work and it wouldn’t be an issue for me to be gone for a handful of days.

A few days before the trip, I checked the schedule, and [Supervisor] had me on it for four days out of the six days I’d be gone. I was the only one working the kiosk that day, so I had to call her and remind her that I wouldn’t be around and that she’d known about this a month before.

I called her cell phone, and she didn’t answer. That was fine. I wouldn’t leave a message this time; I’d just call again in a bit.

I called a bit later, and still no answer. I left a voicemail about the issue and asked her to call me back.

I didn’t hear from her after a couple of hours, so I called her again. No answer. I left another voicemail.

A couple of hours later, when my shift was about to end and I was closing up the kiosk, I called [Supervisor] one last time since she hadn’t called me back. I left her another voicemail because she didn’t answer.

She never returned my calls from that day.

I wrote a note for her, too, and left it in the lockbox so she’d see it when she came into work the next day. I told her I wouldn’t be around, she’d known about it a month before, and she’d told me it wouldn’t be an issue for me to be gone and she’d cover shifts and get the other rep to cover shifts.

A couple of days later, I was out of town, and that was when I finally got a phone call from [Supervisor]. She was pissed that I wasn’t at work. She said she’d gotten a scathing call from the general manager that no one had opened the kiosk that morning and that I had marked for a no-call-no-show. She was mad that she’d had to go to work on her day off to cover the kiosk. Then, she went on to argue with me that she had never okayed my time off and that I had to come in; otherwise, she’d mark me for no-call-no-shows, and after three of them, I’d be marked as abandoning my position. I chewed her a** about the lie and told her to eff off. Then, I called the general manager and explained the situation.

After talking to [General Manager], he assured me that I wouldn’t be released or fired for the whole situation and that he’d resolve things on the work side. I never did meet [General Manager] in person, but at least he was understanding and had the backs of the employees when they had a problem.

When I got back into town, the first thing I did was go to work and hand in my two-week notice, and the only reason I did this was because [General Manager] was a decent person.

[Supervisor] was still pissed at me because she got her a** chewed by [General Manager] and was written up for poor management of the whole situation, and now she was mad that I was quitting because that meant she’d have to handle more shifts until they found my replacement.

I guess to spite me, [Supervisor] didn’t even bother to schedule me for the last two weeks of my two week notice. I can’t say that hurt my feelings, but I don’t know why she didn’t take advantage of it and schedule me to work every day so she could have them off. I guess maybe she thought she was punishing me; in fact, all she was doing was giving me the awesome gift of never having to deal with her again.

Related:
Please Take Better Notice Of My Notice

I was a Girl Scout in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Part of Cookie Season involved booths — sitting in front of stores and imploring people to buy some of our surplus stock. A lot of people would ask if we took credit cards. This was before Square readers and Zelle were around, so my leader or whichever other girl was running the booth with me (they almost never let me do the talking) would apologetically say that no, we didn’t.

I always wondered: A, how they didn’t realize that people were saying this to be funny, not to be serious, and B, why everybody seemed to think they were making a wholly original joke.

One day, I was manning the booth alone with my leader, and she allowed me to take the lead.

Me: “Hello, sir! Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”

Customer: “How much are they?”

Me: “$3.50 a box.”

Customer: *Barely suppressing a smirk* “Do you take credit cards?”

I was fed up after hearing that “joke” approximately seventeen times in the last hour.

Me: “Yes, but we don’t give them back!”