I work at a rooftop bar in a tall hotel. A guest walks up to me after having a few cocktails.

Guest: “So, how do I get back down to my room?”

She’s staying in room 3307 and has been charging her drinks to that room.

Me: “Take the elevator down to the 33rd floor.”

Guest: “But the elevators only go up. How do I get back down?”

Me: “Our elevators go both ways, ma’am.”

Guest: “Oh, they do? Well, that’s a relief. I didn’t want to take the stairs.”

She walks up to the elevator and successfully navigates it down (I hope), leaving me standing there double-checking I wasn’t making her drinks extra strong without realizing it.

I work at a Chipotle. I am building a customer’s burrito.

Customer: “I want the spaghetti noodles.”

Me: “The… what?”

Customer: “The spaghetti noodles.”

He points at the shredded cheese.

Me: “Sir, that’s cheese.”

Customer: “It is? Where are the noodles?”

Me: “We’ve never had noodles. What you’re pointing at is shredded cheese.”

Customer: “I’ve been calling it spaghetti noodles all this time.”

Me: “Well, they do kinda look like noodles from a distance.”

Customer: “You’re the first one to correct me.”

Me: “Well, now you know!”

Customer: “I’m an idiot!”

Me: “No, sir! You’re not! It does look like—”

Customer: “Why didn’t I question why the noodles melted? Or tasted like cheese?!”

He starts to walk out, shouting at himself.

Customer: “Why don’t you question anything, Joseph!”

He wanders out into the night. I hope he’s okay…

At the second-hand shop where I worked, book sales were down, and customers were complaining about being unable to find books they liked, so I was assigned by the manager to organize books.

Discovering they were arranged more or less randomly, I spent much of my workdays for an entire week sorting them out into sections based on customer requests for specific topics (arts and crafts seemed to be a very popular one, followed by manga) and labeling the rows on the bookshelves. Every row was organized alphabetically by the author’s last name. As more books came in, I would come by to put them on the shelves in their correct locations. I would answer questions customers had about books.

Due to the nature of how we ran, we had no control over very specific books, but customers were satisfied that they could now easily find books on particular topics and check if works of fiction by a particular author were available. Book sales had steadily climbed during and after I reorganized the books section.

Some months later, we got a new person working there. After a few days, I overheard her going around asking who does the books, but I didn’t think anything of it. I had also been working in other parts of the store, so I hadn’t really seen her. Eventually, she finds me and engaged in a cheery mood.

New Hire: “Are you the one in charge of the books?”

Me: “Yes, does a customer have a question?”

New Hire: “No, I just sorted them out. I want you to see it. I think you’ll like it.”

She proudly guides me over to the books section; all my work sorting out the books had been undone. They were now sorted by color of the spine, and from tallest to shortest. All of the labels had been removed. I felt panicked and exasperated that all the work I had done prior had to be restarted from scratch, and I think she could tell from my facial expressions and body language. I was going to tell her that the customers won’t be able to find the books they wanted, but as I looked over, she was gone–she had already retreated to the back area.

She…kind of avoided me for the rest of her brief time there. By the following week, she was gone. If she’s reading this, sorry for the emotional outburst at that, but please understand that I sorted the books for customers who wanted to read them, not for decoration.

I worked admissions for a popular tourist attraction in Hollywood. A guest hands me a coupon: $8 OFF PER TICKET.

Me: “Your total is $44.”

Guest: “You forgot to include the coupon.”

Me: “I included the coupon. Ticket is $30—” *I point to the sign next to me.* “—so for the two of you that’s sixty, minus eight, and minus eight again is $44.”

Guest: “Did you include the coupon?”

Me: “I included the coupon. $30 per ticket. Two tickets are sixty dollars, minus $8, and minus $8 is $44.”

Guest: “Sixteen.”

Me: “Right. I took sixteen off.”

Guest: “No, ticket price is sixteen dollars.”

Me: “No, it’s $22 with the coupon.”

Guest: “How much is the regular ticket price?”

Me: “$30.”

Guest: “Coupon is for how much?”

Me: “Eight dollars off.”

Guest: “Right. So that brings the price down to sixteen.”

Me: “Um… no, it doesn’t.”

Guest: “Thirty dollars minus eight dollars, right?”

Me: “Yes.”

Guest: “Sixteen.”

Me: “No. $22.”

Guest: “Forget it. What’s my total?”

Me: “$44.”

Guest: “Did you include the coupon this time?”

Me: “Yes.”

Guest: “How does it come to $44?”

Me: “Ticket price is $30. You gave me a coupon for eight dollars off, which brings the price down to twen—”

Guest: “—Sixteen.”

Me: “—TWENTY-TWO. There are two of you. Two tickets come to $44.”

Guest: “Did you include the coupon?”

Me: “Yes.”

Guest: “How much is the ticket?”

Me: “$30.”

Guest: “What about the coupon?”

Me: “Coupon brings it down to $22.”

Guest: “Not $16?”

Me: “Not $16.”

Guest: “Why not $16?”

Me: “Because that’s not what math is!”

Guest: “Are you sure?”

I pulled out a piece of paper and drew thirty little lines, crossed out eight, and asked him to count.

This is a story from a friend. She had moved from New York to Los Angeles, and although she had driven her car there, she had not been out of the LA Basin since. Consider her a California newbie.

Our hero was an Apple Mac influencer, before the term influencer was coined. She did talks, shows, consulting, etc. (Note, she was not a nasty entitled influencer, just trying to freelance a living.)

She gets a call offering a free ticket to MacWorld in San Jose, and an offer to couch surf while there. So, after throwing her stuff in a bag, she charges down to the parking garage, puts her bag in the car, and realizes that she has no idea whatsoever where she is going. She doesn’t even know how to get out of the LA Basin.

So she goes up to the security guard in the garage and totally innocently asks:

Friend: “Do you know the way to San Jose?”