(This is a text conversation with my boss after a picky client has pushed their session two hours over its scheduled end.)

Boss: “‘We might be done early,’ is almost always code for, ‘We won’t be done early.’”

Me: “It’s the freelance equivalent of, ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’”

(I’m over a friend’s house, hanging out with her, her husband, and their mutual friends who are also a husband and wife. The other husband is sort of a “macho” guy, someone who was a complete jock back in high school. My friend recently had to fix their backyard’s door. I’m not sure what they did, but it made it somewhat difficult to open, so you have to push on it harder than usual to get it to move. I visit often so I know how to open it already, but this is apparently the first time the other couple knew of the door change. I need to use the restroom, and the other husband notices me shouldering the door open.)

Husband: *laughing* “Did you seriously have to throw yourself against the door to get in?”

Me: “It’s hard to open!”

Friend’s Husband: “We recently fixed it so it’s, uh, sturdier now, to say the least.”

Husband: *condescending baby voice* “D’aw, so it’s too hard for the ‘wittle’ girl to get through now?”

Wife: “Don’t be an a**, [Husband].”

(I roll my eyes but ignore it for the most part. Though he’s not the type of guy I would’ve ever hung out with independently, I know they’re still friends of my friends, so I tolerate it. It’s not like he’s a real pain or anything, and I get along with the wife well enough. When I come back out, he makes another teasing remark, but we get over. Not much later, he gets up to use the restroom, as well. He’s not paying attention, still talking to the group as he walks up, turns the handle of the door, and completely smacks against the door mid-sentence.)

Husband: “What the f***?!”

(Naturally, the rest of us burst out laughing. There are even face smudges on the polished wood that he tries to rub away without success. His wife is practically in tears and is still getting bouts of giggles even after he returns. When he sits down, he makes eye contact with me, and he must see the mischievous twinkle in my eye because he holds out his hand to stop me.)

Husband: “No! Don’t. Not another word.”

Me: *grins* “I didn’t even say anything!”

(The wife’s fit of giggles starts up again. The night goes on, and eventually, it is time for the other couple to leave. As we are saying our goodbyes, the husband gives a “one moment” signal to his wife. He faces the door, puts his hand on the handle, turns it, and then practically RAMS into the door! While it’s difficult to open, it’s not THAT hard. He, of course, ends up barreling through as the door swings wide open, tripping and face-planting onto the inside carpeting.)

Friend: “Dude!”

Friend’s Husband: “Oh, Jesus.”

Wife & I: *bursts out laughing again*

(The guy’s not a lightweight when he drinks, and since he only had two or three beers, there was no explanation as to why he did this. Thankfully, his wife was driving, anyway. I haven’t seen them since, but my friend tells me that it’s a running joke that his wife opens the door for him now.)

(I work for a coffee chain, and we regularly donate a large coffee carafe to local schools for events if the event is non-profit, and reserved ahead of time. One particular customer comes into the store asking for the carafe donation, which we gladly agree to, on the provision that she call again a week before the event so we can ensure she gets the coffee. She is delighted and leaves, and we don’t hear from her again for a full month. Then, out of the blue, she calls my boss.)

Customer: “Hi! My event is tonight, and I’m going to need the coffee donations.”

Boss: “Okay, but with such short notice, it might not be ready until after six pm.”

Customer: “But the event starts at seven!”

(My boss talks her off the hysterical ledge she has quickly reached and finalizes the details.)

Customer: “Oh, thank you so much! This will be great! So, we’ll just need them every night this week for the whole week, and it’ll be good.”

(She had mentioned one night only, and now was insisting on a week. Keep in mind this is something FREE that we are doing. My boss freaked and insisted that we needed them back the next day, as we had a corporate event at the end of the week. After much cajoling, the customer promised, slightly upset, and hung up. The next evening she called back, and reported that she wouldn’t be returning them until the following Monday, as she was “too busy.” No one was pleased.)

(My best friend lives in Southeast Asia, and we try to meet up whenever possible. This year it’s my turn to fly to her. I have to fly to LAX airport in California, spend one night, then board a new flight the next morning. One thing I always like to do is bring her some of her favorite snacks that she can’t buy where she lives, so my carry-on backpack is stuffed with snacks that I’ve confirmed are allowed on the flight — no liquids, etc. One of these snacks is a particular brand of pork rinds that are made by a local company we’d always buy in college. Recently they came out with a new flavor — sea salt and vinegar — which I know she’ll love, so I bought her the biggest bag I could find. As I am going through security at LAX, my backpack gets pulled for a more thorough inspection. I have plenty of time to get to my flight, so I’m not worried. The TSA agent opens my bag and his eyes bug out at the amount of food I have Tetris-packed in there. It turns out, they need to check the seal on the can of mixed nuts I’ve packed and test the outside of it. I guess sealed cans like that are a good place for illegal items? Anyway, the TSA agent is putting the snacks back in my bag when he spots the pork rinds.)

TSA Agent: “What are these?”

Me: *thinking: “It says right there on the label.”* “Salt and vinegar pork rinds.”

TSA Agent: “What?”

Me: “They’re pork rinds, but salt and vinegar flavor. I’m taking them for a friend to try.”

TSA Agent: “Yeah, I’ve had pork rinds. I’ve just never seen anything like that.” *looks at me like I’ve committed some act of witchcraft*

Me: *out of explanations, I shrug* “I’m from the South?”

TSA Agent: “Oh! Well, that makes sense.”

(He seemed happy with my answer, put the pork rinds back in my bag, and handed it to me. The rest of the trip went smoothly, and my friend was delighted with her snack haul.)

(I work in video game publishing as a producer. Part of my job also involves evaluating the pitches we receive, and highlighting any that are particularly noteworthy and worth discussing further. One guy is adamant that he wants to pitch his game to me over a call because he says it’ll give him a chance to really “dive into details.” This is already sort of a red flag; refusing to send us a proper pitch document through the channels makes him sound like a bit of a handful that could be difficult to work with, but I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt and grab a call with him. He describes his game, shows me some VERY simplistic and cheap-looking screens, and, well…)

Me: “I’m sorry, but… honestly, that’s just [Insanely Popular Indie Game]. Literally everything you’ve said just makes it sound like a copy, from the characters to the plot details to the mechanics.”

Caller: *dismissively* “Everything is inspired by something.”

Me: “No, this is literally a copy. Note for note, just with different art and names and wording essentially.”

Caller: “Well… you can see that because you’re a professional, ma’am.”

Me: “No, I can see that because I have eyes. [Caller], it’s clear you put a lot of work into this, but I would urge you to channel that into an original project s—“

Caller: “Listen, listen! You’re thinking too small. People will eat it up, anyway. This sort of thing happens all the time.”

Me: “Not at our company, it doesn’t.”

Caller: “So, do you want to cut me an offer or not?”

Me: “Not!”

(While I was annoyed at having my time wasted, I was also amazed at how brazen he was with this completely transparent rip-off. We have had clones of varying quality pitched to us over the years, all of which we also passed on, but this one really took the cake. The cherry on top; he DID send over more documentation later, regardless, and one of the items on his budget was 50k USD to “clear personal debt and improve focus.” It’s been several years and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of his “work.” Guess other publishers have eyes and integrity, too. Who’da thunk it?)