I’m seventeen, and it’s my fourth day working at my first job as a delivery driver at a pizza place. I get sent on an order at around 6:30 pm. It’s at the childcare center at our local community college, about fifteen minutes away, which is a first for me to deliver to.

I get there around 6:45, and I notice that both front entrances are closed. I get to the back, and it’s also closed with no way to get in. I call the customer so I can ask how she’d like me to get to her; there’s fencing all around the college so I can’t walk around the gates blocking the road. She doesn’t answer, so I call my boss.

Boss: “Did you try the front entrances?”

Me: “Yes, but they’re blocked off, too.”

Boss: “Did you try calling the customer?”

Me: “Yes, no answer.”

Boss: “I’ll try calling her and then I’ll call you back.”

I drive around to the front of the school, and I find a parking lot across the street, which I park in. I look around and I see a thin path for me to walk through. My boss calls me back.

Boss: “I tried the customer four times but got no answer.”

Me: “I found a path to get in.”

Boss: “Okay. Shoot me a text when you’ve got the food delivered.”

By now, it’s around 7:00. I start walking over to the childcare center, and I realize all the lights are off. I think that’s odd but continue working my way over there. I get there, ring the doorbell, and knock on the door, but no one answers. My boss told me earlier they may be in between two other buildings on campus. I go over and check those out. No one. In these two buildings, no one is there, though the lights are on. I try knocking on multiple doors and ringing the doorbells, and I even call the woman again. No one answers the phone or the doorbells.

At about 7:20, after walking around half the campus, I call my boss again.

Boss: “Just bring the food back. We’ll leave a message for her saying she has to come and pick the food up since you couldn’t find her.”

I got back to the store around 7:40. Right after I got back, the woman finally called the store back, and we found out she’d put the address in wrong. She forgot to put the address in the app she ordered through, so it automatically sent the address as her last order’s location. My boss sent me back out, saying she’d probably tip well, since I’d been out for more than an hour trying to deliver to her.

I drove about five minutes away to her house and gave her her food. No tip.

I got back to the shop at about 8:00, and my boss asked how much I was tipped, and I said none. He was just in awe, as were the cashiers. I could’ve made at least three deliveries in that time and at least ten dollars in tips.

My dad told us this story about one of the recent catering events for his business. He was catering for a wedding and he had a chain bakery bake the cake. It was a simple three-tier cake and the picture he showed us looked beautiful. However, the manager of the bakery was not used to delivering cakes, especially tier cakes, and it showed.

When the manager delivered the cake, the third tier had fallen down the back of the cake while in the trunk of the manager’s car. The manager simply handed my dad a tube of icing for “touch-ups” and expected him to fix it.

My dad was furious and took the cake to another location of the bakery chain, showed them the cake, and asked them to fix it. The bakers at this bakery were just as shocked and pissed at the other location as my dad was. 

Instead of just fixing the cake, they threw it out and made a whole new cake from scratch. Thankfully, the wedding wasn’t for another hour or so when the cake was finished; otherwise, the cake would’ve been late. 

I hope the first bakery was reprimanded for their behavior for delivering him a cake like that and expecting him to fix their mistake.

Ever since her knee surgery, I haven’t seen my regular dermatologist. Instead, I see one of her two assistants. [Assistant #1] is ex-military, very brusk, and doesn’t like to do anything extra. [Assistant #2] is extremely sweet, a better doctor than my actual dermatologist, and was the first to figure out I have Polycystic Ovary Syndrome.

I go in once a year for a mole check as skin cancer is what ultimately killed my paternal grandma. This time, I’m stuck with [Assistant #1]. Because of my PCOS, I’m under the care of an endocrinologist, so I get my blood tested every three months. The PCOS has contributed to weight gain over the years, so yes, I am fat.

Me: “While I’m here… my feet have been super itchy. It’s just like I have ants crawling all over them.”

The assistant doesn’t even bother to look at my feet.

Assistant #1: “That’s because you’re diabetic.”

Me: “No, I’m not. My bloodwork shows that my blood sugars are well within normal range. I’m not even pre-diabetic.”

Assistant #1: “If your feet are itching like that it’s because you’re diabetic and have neuropathy.”

Me: “I just saw my endocrinologist recently and I am not diabetic. All my bloodwork shows that everything is normal except for being severely anemic.”

Assistant #1: “I’ll prescribe a steroid, but you’re diabetic and have neuropathy.”

She prescribes a topical steroid that does absolutely zilch for the itchiness. I end up finding more relief from a medicated powder from the dollar store. My blood work over the next year confirms I’m STILL not diabetic. On top of that, my feet are very ticklish, so I obviously have no neuropathy. On my next mole check a year later, I get [Assistant #2].

She notices the smell of medicated foot powder.

Assistant #2: “Are you having problems with your feet?”

She begins to examine my feet.

Me: “Yes, they itch a lot. [Assistant #1] insisted I have diabetes and neuropathy, but she prescribed something anyway. It didn’t work.”

Assistant #2: “You don’t have diabetes or neuropathy. You have a foot fungus.”

She prescribed a foam and a special powder. Within a week, my itchy feet stopped itching. And according to my endocrinologist, I’m STILL not diabetic.

A bar in my hometown has several floors which are available to hire as venues for special events, but they also run their own from time to time. They’re known for being quirky, and these rooms have a kind of 1920s vintage décor. One night, they had a promotion to watch a classic 1980s sci-fi film and have a two-course meal in one of these rooms, so a few of my friends bought tickets for it.

We got there and were shown to our table, which had two armchairs and a couch instead of normal seats. This would’ve been great except for one chair that didn’t actually have a seat! I tried to find a member of staff, but they had all disappeared into the staff area and it took fifteen minutes for one to reappear.

Our meals came without issue and I asked for an ice cream dessert, too, which would cost extra. Half an hour later, a bowl of ice cream was placed in front of me which, after a moment, I realised was almost completely melted. Again, all members of staff had disappeared, so I ended up standing in the middle of the hall holding a bowl of ice cream soup whilst the movie played until, eventually, a member of staff appeared.

They replaced the bowl with one only slightly better, so I ate it and watched the rest of the movie with my friends. At the end of the film, nobody came to bill me for the ice cream and I was not prepared to go hunting for the staff again, so this remains the only time I have ever walked out without paying.

I’m at a cafe. I get my food and I take a bite, and it’s definitely not right.

Me: “Sorry, but this isn’t right. Could I send this back?”

Waitress: “You don’t like it?”

Me: “I don’t know what it is but it’s not what I ordered. What I wanted was—”

She takes the plate without letting me finish and comes back suspiciously quickly. I open the sandwich and it has the same filling, and then I realise it’s the same sandwich. They cut off where I bit it and put it on a fresh plate!

I head up to the counter. The waitress sees me coming and disappears to the back, leaving me with the cashier.

Me: “I was served the wrong sandwich. They took it back and gave me my old one back.”

Cashier: *With attitude* “I’m sorry, sir, but if you don’t like what you ordered, you can order something else, but you will have to pay for it.”

Me: “I ordered a cheese salad; this is some sort of meat. Now are you going to sort this out or not?”

Cashier: “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. They told me— It doesn’t matter. Yes, I’ll get them to sort it out for you.”

Me: “Actually, you know what? I don’t think I trust them. Could I get a refund, please? And the name of a manager. “

I did get the refund and made a complaint, but I never got so much as an acknowledgment. Good job I didn’t have an allergy or restrictive diet! I’ve chosen another place to eat from now on.