This story is from when I was younger, but I remember it as though it happened yesterday. It was early December, and my friends and I went sledding down near the park. I was sledding for about an hour, and all of a sudden…

I heard a crunch and then a snap.

A man wearing a red shirt had jumped right on my sled. This man was not young; he was maybe in his late forties or early fifties. He had tried to stop my sled by stomping on it with one foot, and he’d broken it. 

That was my favorite sled at the time.

My friends and I later realized that he had done the same thing to about five or six other kids. Even some adults and parents had noticed it.

The man went up to other kids and me while yelling things like:

Man: “You little s***s! F*** y’all!”

The kids had done nothing wrong and were scared. Most of the kids went home, but my friends and I and some adults teamed up together and called the police on the man.

When the police got there, they went up to the man who had hidden in his car, and they asked him why he was doing the things he had done. 

Man: “Those kids were hurting my grandaughter and making fun of her.”

The man was alone with no granddaughter.

Police: “Even so, that does not give you the right to harass the kids and hurt them. We have gotten several complaints about you from kids and adults.”

The man was silent for a moment before he kept insisting that the kids were hurting his granddaughter while trying to roll up his window. 

In the end, the police let him go… and I went home with a broken sled.

Last year, my doctor’s office was bought out by a larger corporation. It really didn’t change much for me except that I had to fill out all new paperwork with the name of the new country-wide company name at the top.

A few months ago, my sister (who lives in a completely different state) started a new job in health insurance. We are both on our parents’ cell phone plan, and our phone numbers are the same except for the last digit; mine ends in five, hers in six.

About a week ago, I got a text message with my sister’s first name, asking me to leave a review for my OBGYN. I thought it was a weird coincidence and sent a screenshot of it to her for a laugh, figuring someone forgot to clear the name field before sending the text.

Then, I went to go check in at my appointment today.

Receptionist: “Hello! Name, please?”

Me: “[My Name].”

Receptionist: “I don’t see you in our system. Do you have an appointment today?”

Me: “Yes, I just scheduled it last week.”

Receptionist: “Okay, can you spell your last name? Maybe I got it wrong.”

I spell my last name, and the receptionist is silent.

Me: “Something wrong?”

Receptionist: “I don’t have anyone with that name. Are you a new patient?”

Me: “No, I’ve been coming to you for ten years. Your office has delivered both my children!”

Receptionist: “Okay, let me try searching by your phone number. Maybe it’s just not recognizing your name for some reason.”

I give my number, which ends in five.

Receptionist: “Okay, that phone number shows up, but it is for a different name. A [Sister]?”

Me: “I got a text from you with that name, but I thought it was just a fluke!”

Receptionist: “Okay, do you live at [address]?”

Me: “Sure do!”

Receptionist: “Okay, that address and phone number are connected to a [Sister] with the last name as [Our Last Name, mispronounced].”

Me: “That’s my sister! She shouldn’t be anywhere on my paperwork! She lives in a completely different state!”

The receptionist gets a deer-in-the-headlights look.

Receptionist: “I don’t know how this happened! I am so sorry!”

She immediately changed the name in my chart back to the right one, and I texted my sister to let her know to check with her office about her information, but seriously, what are the odds?

I am checking out customers at the register. We usually keep a stack of sales papers by the front door that have coupons in them for the customers but we have run out of them today.

Customer: “Do you have any coupons here that I can use?”

Me: “No, unfortunately, we are all out of them. But there is an app you can download on your smartphone that has scannable coupons every day. It’s free to download.”

Customer: *Very disgusted* “No! I don’t wanna fool with that. I want the real coupons.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. But the coupons you can get on your phone are the same ones we usually have in the sales paper. We just ran out of them today.”

Customer: “You know, that is very discouraging. You should talk to a manager about that!”

I am already checking the next person out.

Me: “Pardon me?”

Customer: “I said you should talk to a manager about that. It’s very bad practice!”

The manager happens to be standing right next to me.

Manager: “I’m a manager; is there a problem I can help you with?”

Customer: *Shakes head in defeat* “No, no. Never mind.”

She walked away frowning and grumbling. 

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The Couponator 16: Enter The Entree
The Couponator 15: The Transaction Void

At the grocery store where I work, I am well known amongst the staff for my love of extremely spicy foods and hot sauces. One day, I bring a bottle of ghost pepper sauce, which is actually one of the more mild sauces I own, to put on a burrito I brought for my lunch. One of my managers and a coworker walk into the break room while I’m eating.

To put this hot sauce into a little perspective, the label on the bottle says this sauce is 500,000 Scoville units — the scale used to measure the heat of a pepper. For comparison, jalapeños can range from only 2,500 to 8,000.

Manager: “Hey, [My Name], whatcha got there?”

Me: “Burrito from [Burrito Chain].”

My manager takes a closer look at me.

Manager: “Are you okay?”

Me: “Yeah. Why?”

Manager: “You look a little sweaty.”

Me: “Oh. I guess the hot sauce has a little kick to it.”

I hand him the bottle and he reads aloud the comically tongue-in-cheek warning about how hot it is.

The manager opens the bottle, gives the sauce a sniff, and then starts laughing.

Manager: “Okay, I don’t want any part of that!”

Coworker: *With an unamused tone* “Seriously?”

[Coworker] takes the bottle and reads the warning to himself, with a sort of, “Yeah, right,” expression on his face the whole time.

Coworker: “Come on. There’s no way.”

He reaches into a drawer to get a spoon and starts to pour some sauce out. I should probably mention at this point that this particular coworker is one of those guys that constantly has to prove how “macho” he is and how much he can do or handle.

Me: “Dude! Just, no. Stop. That’s a bad idea.”

Manager: “If [My Name] says it’s hot, then it’s probably hot.”

I quickly explain the Scoville thing and how intense that sauce will be for someone who’s not used to spicy food.

Coworker: “Come on, man. I’ve had hot sauces before. How bad can it possibly be?”

Before I can object, he pours out a literal spoonful of this sauce and quickly slurps it down… and I have never seen such a look of instant regret on a person’s face. His eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head, he grabs at the side of his face and, mouth agape, he can only manage to let out a small squeal that sounds like a kitten mewing for its mother. He quickly grabs a cup and almost dives for the sink.

Me: “No, wait! Don’t do that! Water makes it worse!”

Coworker: “Then what the f*** do I do?!”

Me: “Go get some milk! Full fat!”

Fortunately for him, the refrigerated section is a straight shot down the aisle from the break room. My manager and I watch as my coworker sprints across the store, grabs a gallon of milk, tears the lid off, and proceeds to drink about a quarter of it right there in the aisle there while pacing back and forth and mumbling what I can only assume are profanities.

Manager: “Well, he can’t say we didn’t warn him.”

My lunch is over and I go about my shift. Around thirty minutes later, I have to pop back into the break room to get something out of my locker and find my still red-faced coworker hunched over the trash can, the gallon of milk now more than half empty. I just stand there looking at him.

Coworker: “I’ll listen to you next time.”

(As I finish up opening an account with the minimum opening deposit for a brand-new customer at my in-store bank, I explain EVERYTHING that I give him: disclosures, business card, signature card, and starter checks.)

Me: “Here are your starter checks. A lot of places won’t take them, since they don’t have your name or address printed on them, but they will work to get direct deposit set up with your employer; just write your name and addresses across the top of the check and VOID across the check.”

Customer: “So, I can use these to pay for things, right?”

Me: “Once you’ve deposited some more money in your account, you can order regular checks that more places will accept. Right now, you would have to check with the retailer. Some places might take them for smaller amounts.”

Customer: “Okay, thanks.”

(Ten minutes later, a store employee calls me.)

Employee: “Can you verify a check for me? I know you aren’t supposed to, but the customer says you just told him he could write a check here.”

Me: “I can try. What’s the account and amount?”

Employee: “It’s [account I just opened] for $4,250.”

Me: “Yeah, not going to happen. Send him back up here and I’ll see if I can explain it better.”

(The customer returns.)

Customer: “Well, you gave me checks, so I figured I had better use them and get the stuff I needed. Our TV broke.”

Me: “As of right now, your account only has $25 in it, so you can’t write a check for more than that.”

Customer: “I have to put money in my account?!”

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