When I’m sat at my desk at work, I can see directly into our small kitchen area. There are about three different teams in our office, and we don’t really mix. My team is small, and on this day there is only one other person in, so I offer to make us both a cup of tea.

I make the teas, deliver them to our desks, then pop back into the kitchen to refill and boil the kettle, as is customary here if you empty it.

While I am filling it, I can hear my desk phone start ringing, so I quickly put the kettle back on its base and rush out to answer the phone. As I sit down, I realise I didn’t flick the kettle on, so I make a mental note to do that when I’ve finished my call.

As I think this, I see the department head — my boss’s boss — and his boss, who is visiting for the day, wander out to the kitchen. Our department head touches the kettle to see if it is hot — which it still is from my recent tea-making — and proceeds to pour water into both their cups.

The cold water, that I’ve just put into the kettle… Oops!

(I’m an IT technician in a factory, the only female on the team. I’m heavily pregnant with twins; it’s my first pregnancy. I’ve been quite ill, with aches and pains, dizziness, and so on. I’ve also been suffering quite badly from hyperemesis gravidarum — vomiting during pregnancy. My hormones are going crazy, and I have been quite emotional. My boss, a massive bear of a man with a heart of gold, has been wonderful, allowing me to work from home or just take a rest day if I feel too ill to work. I’ve been trying to come in as much as possible, though, in spite of how I’ve been feeling. I’m on light duties, forbidden to go into the factory or do anything more strenuous than walking to an office to plug in a mouse. One day I’m at my desk, fixing a few things using remote support, and updating the asset database. I’m alone in the office. One of my colleagues, who is currently working on one of our other sites, sends me a message over our internal messaging software.)

Colleague: “Hey, [My Name], what you working on now?”

Me: “Not much. Fixed a few things, and now I’m looking at updating the asset register.”

Colleague: “There’s four new PCs to go into finance. Today. Can you sort it, please?”

(This is part of a project he’s supposed to have finished by the end of the week; clearly he’s missed his target.)

Me: “But… I’m on light duties. I’m pregnant, in case you’d forgotten?”

Colleague: “Don’t be stupid; it’s not hard to install four PCs.”

Me: “So, ask someone else?”

Colleague: “I’m asking you.”

Me: “…”

Colleague: “Look. Just do it. Why do you women always have to be awkward?”

(He then signed out of the messenger, something we IT technicians aren’t supposed to do unless we’re going off site or going home. I have a rare medical condition called Craniocervical Instability, which means my neck can’t support my head properly. I’m fine if I wear a neck brace; otherwise, I get excruciating pain in my head and neck after a while. I’d had my neck brace off for a few minutes, but now I put it back on. I got up from my desk and waddled to the IT store. I located the four PCs and monitors, which I loaded onto a trolley and slowly dragged to the finance department. The only person in Finance was a young intern, so I asked him where the computers needed to go. He showed me. I cleared a desk, set up the first computer, and knelt on the floor to connect up the cables. By now I was exhausted. I was sweating, my back, neck, and shoulders hurt, and I felt dizzy. Suddenly, I got an attack of nausea and vomited all over the floor and down the front of my blouse. The intern, embarrassed, jumped to his feet and asked me if I was okay. He sat me down and got me a drink of water, then started clearing up the mess. At this point the chief accountant walked in to see me sitting in a chair, crying my eyes out, and her intern on the floor cleaning up my vomit. She asked if I was all right, and when she learned what had happened she called my boss, demanding to know why he was sending a heavily pregnant and clearly uncomfortable woman out to do such a big job on her own. My boss, it turns out, knew nothing about it! My boss apologised to the chief accountant, and to me. He sent me home early to rest. I later found out from one of the other technicians that when my colleague came back on site, my boss called him into his office and started screaming at him. Yes, screaming. Apparently, it was so loud they could hear every word! He no longer works for us. He quit that afternoon.)

(I am an assistant manager for a comfort footwear company.)

Customer: *over the phone* “Yes, I would like to exchange my [Brand]s for a different pair. I can’t remember what they’re called, and I don’t quite remember when I bought them. I know you have records of this, though; look it up for me!”

(I go to look up her records, but our system has been down all day. Our physical records only go back two months, and I cannot find her name or order.)

Me: “Unfortunately, I cannot find your records in my store, as they only go back so far, and I would be happy to look them up in my system, but it’s been acting up all day and I cannot access it. Can you please tell me anything you remember about your boots so I can see if they are still available to order or if I have them in my store?”

Customer: “Why is your system down?”

Me: “I don’t know. We have been having terrible weather; perhaps—”

Customer: “You guys need to fix it! My boots were brown.”

Me: “Okay… Anything else? Many of our boots are brown.”

(We hardly have any boots in this brand left, anyhow, and I am almost positive we don’t have her style left. She keeps giving me one-word answers, all the time pointedly sighing about how affected she is.)

Customer: “I don’t know why this has to be difficult… I’ve got the shoe box right next to me with the name of the shoe.”

Me: *face palms* “That’s very helpful! What is the name of the shoe?”

(Her shoe has been sold out in our store for at least a month and is no longer available to order in her size in any color. I tell her this, being apologetic and recognizing her frustration.)

Customer: “When are you going to get more? I need new ones! What am I going to do?”

Me: “Since they are all sold out, you may be able to find a replacement on the brand’s general website, or check our other stores in the hopes that one has come back. Do you mind if I ask why you’d like the exchange? Is the shoe damaged?”

Customer: “The suede is two different colors on the boots! I can see it! The right one is lighter than the left one! Everyone says they can’t see it but they’re just so different!”

(I’ve recently joined a book club, and last month a book I needed was checked out of the library, so I had to purchase it. As soon as I find out the book for this month, I use the library’s website to place a hold on the book so I can pick it up before someone else checks it out. I get to the library two days later — the hold is still valid — and don’t see my book on the shelf with the other held items. I go and talk to a library aide.)

Me: “Excuse me. I placed a hold on a book, and I don’t see it on the hold shelves.”

Aide: “Oh, the book might not be here yet.”

Me: “I don’t understand; I checked the library website and it said you had one in stock.”

Aide: “We might, but that might not be the one the computer is using for the hold.”

Me: “I’m not understanding.”

Aide: “When a hold is requested, the computer picks a random library for the book to come from. It might not be from this library.” *checks the computer* “Yeah, it looks like your book is coming from [town 45 minutes away].”

Me: “But you have the book here.”

Aide: “Yes, but your book is coming from the other library.”

Me: “Okay… Can I just check out the one you have here, then, and cancel my other hold?”

(Luckily, I was able to do that. It seems like a really poor system for a library group.)

(My boyfriend says that his parents will be in town for a brief visit in two weeks and have expressed an interest in meeting me. We decide that a quiet dinner at my home would be best, which I don’t mind, as I enjoy playing host. As I’m trying to plan the menu, I keep sending my boyfriend recipe ideas and asking him about his parents’ preferences.)

Me: “Is there any food your parents particularly like or dislike? Do they like spicy food or prefer to keep it mild? Are there any foods they’re allergic to? Do they have any sort of dietary restrictions I should know about?”

Boyfriend: “I’m sure anything you pick out will be wonderful and they’ll love it.”

Me: “Yes, but I also want to be considerate of their tastes.”

Boyfriend: “You’re overthinking it. You’re an awesome cook, and they’ll love whatever you make for them.”

(Realizing I’m not going to get any sort of help, I plan what I think to be a well-rounded menu complete with salad, an appetizer that contains shellfish, a main course featuring beef tenderloin, and a dessert that contains chocolate. Fast forward to the fateful evening; food-wise, everything is coming out looking delicious. I meet the parents, and while they seem to respond favorably to me, I notice between the two of them they’ve barely touched their food. I don’t want to call attention to this fact, but I’m worried something is wrong. They end up excusing themselves early, asking my boyfriend to take them back to his home. He quickly sneaks in a kiss on the way out, saying he’ll call. An hour later he calls.)

Me: “So, is everything all right? Your parents didn’t seem to like the anything I made for them and were wanting to get out of here pretty quickly.”

Boyfriend: “Yeah, the food was a bust for them. We’re at [Nearby Restaurant] right now and they’re getting something to eat. I excused myself to the bathroom to call you really quick.”

Me: “Did I do something wrong?”

Boyfriend: “I thought your food was delicious.” *sigh* “It’s just that… Well, my father doesn’t eat any type of salad except potato salad. My mother is a pescetarian, meaning she’ll eat fish, but not meat, and the only beef my father will eat is ground beef. Not to mention the only types of side dishes he’ll eat are either pasta, potatoes, or biscuits, not vegetables like you made. Oh, and my mother is allergic to chocolate.”

Me: “…”

Boyfriend: “…”

Me: *annoyed* “And you didn’t think any of this information was important enough to tell me when I was planning the menu? I asked you about these things and was told, ‘whatever I make is fine.’”

Boyfriend: “Yeah, I f***** up, didn’t I?”

Me: “Big time.”

(And that’s the story of how I first met — and starved — my in-laws. Since I’ve been with their son, they’ve come to love the dishes I make, as long as I keep their preferences and dietary restrictions in mind.)

Related:
A Recipe For Disaster, Part 6
A Recipe For Disaster, Part 5
A Recipe For Disaster, Part 4
A Recipe For Disaster, Part 3
A Recipe For Disaster, Part 2