I work in IT for a bank. We are a comparatively small bank; we only have a handful of branches throughout the Pacific Northwest. We are mainly phone support, and while we do onsite support, it is usually equipment setup for new locations or occasionally cabling issues. As a rule, though, the users usually have to help out a bit.

One night, one of our techs gets a call and through his troubleshooting comes to realize that the teller just needs to plug the device into a different USB port. Simple, right? Apparently not.

I only hear his side of the conversation at the time, but he relates everything to us afterward.

Tech: “You’ll need to plug the sig pad into a different port. There should be one available on the front of the computer that you can use.”

User: “Can you send someone out to do this?”

We were based in Seattle, Washington. This branch is in southern Oregon and it is about 3:45 on a Friday.

Tech: “I can try, but we don’t usually send someone out for something like this. And it would be Monday or Tuesday at the earliest before they can get down there.”

User: “Well, what am I supposed to do? I’m eight months pregnant! I can’t be crawling all over that floor! You need to send someone out to do this now!”

Tech: “Is there someone else in the branch who can help you? Like I said, I can see if we can get someone, but it’s going to be next week before they’re down there.”

User: “I’m eight months pregnant! You need to send someone out now!”

Tech: “Look, it’s 3:45 on a Friday. We’re all closed on the weekend, and honestly, I don’t think my manager is going to approve the mileage for someone to come out just to swap that port. Is there someone else who can help you out currently?”

User: “Ugh. Fine!” *Muffles phone* “[Coworker]! I need help!”

She got someone over and they were able to swap the port easily. Guess what? Her issue was resolved! The tech understood her not wanting to get on the floor, but really, how is us driving down there going to be easier than asking a coworker to help? And in the time it took her to try and force the visit, she could have swapped it about fifteen times.

There’s a comic shop near my work that has a small pub in the basement. Today, I go in around 5:00 pm for a pint and a panini and have no problem ordering either. I pick up from the conversation around me that the bartender is new, being trained by the manager on break at the other end of the bar. [Manager] is griping about a different staff member, but I tune it out and enjoy my food.

My beer starts getting low in my glass and I decide I’d like another one, so I look up to try to catch the bartender’s eye. She’s down at the other end of the bar (about fifteen feet away), talking with [Manager] and a couple of other off-the-clock people. That’s fine, I’ll wait a few minutes before flagging her down.

A few minutes stretch to ten, and I’m out of beer. The bartender has not moved. I start trying to make myself more visible and trying to come up with a non-snarky way to interrupt. Several times, I think someone in the off-the-clock group has glanced my way, but they are all deeply focused on discussing ways to get more customers.

The bartender is expounding on how “beer people spend loads of money” and that craft beer is a major draw for this place. I look down at my empty glass and begin to weigh the merits of interjecting, even though it’ll very likely come off a bit rude.

At the twenty-minute mark, the only other customer at the bar looks up from his phone to see me staring hopefully at the cluster of bar staff.

Other Customer: “Oh, did you want another beer? Let me get that for you.”

Yep, he’s ALSO an employee. I am the only non-staff member at the bar. The cluster of staff at the other end suddenly perks back up.

Manager: “Sorry about that. We were talking about beer! And our bartender has kind of a vision issue…”

I get my second beer. Every five minutes, a different member of staff checks on me. I ask for the check — I have a tab open, so they have my card — and never get the total, before or after tip. While trying to put my wallet back in my bag, I fumble and drop it on the floor, so I crouch down, pick it up, and shove it in the bag where it belongs. Total time out of my chair: six seconds.

Other Customer: “Are you okay?!”

Me: “Yes?”

Other Customer: “I saw you on the floor!”

Me: “I dropped my wallet on the floor, so I had to pick it up… off the floor?”

Other Customer: “Oh. Sorry.”

I take full responsibility for not speaking up earlier — I have a hard time interjecting into conversations, especially those of total strangers — but I’ve never had a bar staff swing so hard from normal customer service into full-on ignoring the only non-staff customer — especially while loudly discussing how to get more custom!

My daughter was about to turn seventeen. She’d been a vegan for a while, and she’d done a bit of research to find an upscale restaurant for her birthday dinner that had food she could eat.

Daughter: “[Restaurant] has a vegan gnocchi dish that sounds great, but it’s only on the kids’ menu for some reason. I wonder if I could get an adult-sized portion, or a double portion, or something like that.”

Me: “I’ll get hold of the restaurant and ask.”

I emailed the restaurant and got a very nice reply from the owner. She said they’d be happy to do an adult-sized portion of vegan gnocchi. So, we had a plan when we walked in.

Daughter: “I’d like the vegan gnocchi, please, and we were told that you could increase the size of the portion so that it would be for an adult?”

Waitress: “We don’t do that.”

Me: “But… I contacted the owner, and she said that it would be no problem.”

Waitress: “I don’t know what to tell you. We don’t do that.”

Daughter: “Could you just bring me two kid-sized portions, then?”

Waitress: “No.”

Me: *Starting to get angry* “No?! Why on earth not?!”

Daughter: “Mum, it’s fine. I’ll order something else.” *To the waitress* “What else do you have that’s vegan?”

Waitress: “A salad. That’s it.”

Daughter: *Dejectedly* “I’ll have that.”

Me: “Now hold on. It’s your birthday, and you should be getting what you want—”

Daughter: “MUM! It’s okay.”

Me: “Why don’t we go somewhere else?”

Daughter: “NO! I’m fine!”

I should explain here that my daughter sometimes suffers from anxiety, and at the time that this story took place, she had an absolute horror of “causing a scene” or “drawing attention to herself”. If it had been up to me, I would’ve demanded to talk to the owner, but I didn’t want to upset my kid. So, I gritted my teeth, and we had a less-than-satisfying meal.

The following day, I sent off an angry email to the owner, asking what on earth had happened. The reply I got wasn’t what I’d expected.

Owner: “I’m really sorry to hear about your experience at [Restaurant], but it’s probably just as well that your daughter didn’t get the gnocchi. Turns out that it’s not vegan after all.”

I’m on a medium-distance train, which has an at-seat trolley service of drinks and light refreshments available to buy. It’s about half an hour before the man with the trolley reaches my carriage and shouts out his sales pitch.

Man: “Hot and cold drinks! Sandwiches and crisps! Sweets and cake! Anybody for hot and cold drinks? Sandwiches and crisps? Sweets and cake?”

Me: “Hi! Can I have a cup of tea?”

Man: “Sorry, the water heater’s broken; I’ve not got any tea or coffee.”

Me: “Okay, can I have a can of [Drink]?”

Man: “I’m afraid not. I ran out of canned and bottled drinks at [Stop about an hour earlier in the train’s journey].”

Me: “Oh, no drinks? Okay, what sandwiches have you got?”

Man: “They didn’t put any on at [Departure Station], so there’s none today.”

Me: “Right. Crisps?”

Man: “Sold out.”

Me: “[Chocolate Bar]?”

Man: “Nope.”

Me: “Do you actually have anything?“

Man: *Looking confused* “Uh, erm… no, the trolley’s a bit empty, I’m afraid.”

Me: *Being very British about things* “Righty-oh, never mind, then. Thanks.”

Man: *Back to being bright again* “You’re welcome! Have a good journey!”

Man: *Shouting* “Hot and cold drinks! Sandwiches and crisps! Sweets and cake! Anybody for hot and cold drinks? Sandwiches and crisps? Sweets and cake?”

He came by again twice before I got off the train.

After moving to a new state for school, I find a job in a small mall retail shop that’s just opening up. For the first month, things are okay, except we keep having delayed openings because there is only one manager/keyholder and they are chronically late. I suggest that I can be a keyholder, and the manager agrees to arrive early to give me a key and walk me through opening procedures and come back that night to do the same for closing.

I arrive early only to find the store locked. I text the manager, no reply. I wait outside, and they arrive two hours later, a full hour after the store is meant to open

Me: “Is everything okay? I got here early so you could walk me through opening.”

Manager: “Oh, you know how it is. My college best friend was back in town, I showed them a good time, and I was just too hungover to get up this morning.”

Me: “Okay, but the opening—”

Manager: “It’s really very easy. I’m sure you can figure everything out yourself!”

Me: “I will definitely need your help with closing out the register, though.”

Manager: “Right, yes, I will be here for that.”

I work a split shift, running home midday to eat lunch and run errands and then heading back to the store.

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], where’s [Manager]?”

Coworker: “They’re taking a friend out for drinks and dinner. They’ll be back for closing.”

Me: “They’d better; otherwise, it’s just you and me.”

The afternoon and evening are busy, we run out of several items (only a manager can do reorders), and we run out of change (only a manager has the combination to the safe). I text the manager more than once. Less than an hour before closing, I get a response.

Manager: “You are ruining my night! How am I supposed to have fun with my friend when you’re nagging me all the time? I’m shutting off my phone.”

Me: “But we’re closing soon, and I have no idea how to count my drawer or do—”

Manager: “Figure it out! How can you expect to be a keyholder if you can’t work under pressure? I’ll see how you did tomorrow morning.”

Me: “I worked a split shift today and have the day off tomorrow.”

Manager: “No, you need to come in. I don’t know how late [Friend] and I are going to be out, and you’re the only other keyholder.”

Me: “You haven’t trained me in any of the keyholder responsibilities!”

Manager: “Figure it out. See you tomorrow morning sometime.”

After we closed — and I did my best with the register and procedures — I left a list of the items we were out of and pinned it to the board along with my name tag and newly-made store key. At the bottom, I wrote, “Figure this out!” and went home. I ignored all calls and texts and never went back to the store. It closed within six months.