My dad is visiting us in the Boston area. He’s been walking around sightseeing on his own, and he calls from his cell, saying he’s lost, and can we give him directions?

Me: “Okay, where are you?”

Dad: “I’m at the corner with a brick building and a Dunkin’ Donuts.”

Dunkin’ Donuts, being FROM Boston, is pretty common.

Me: “Oh, I see, you have narrowed it down to literally any street corner within fifty miles of Boston. Thanks. Can you give us an address?”

Dad: “…There’s a Domino’s, too.”

We eventually got him to walk into Dominos and ask for an address. When we got there, it was actually a Pizza Hut.

This is a story from the 1990s, when I was working as a Councilor in Training (CIT) for a summer camp. I was sixteen, and this was my first time working with kids whom I didn’t babysit.

We had a problem kid, whom I’ll call Maddie. Maddie was one of those kids who thought the rules didn’t apply to her and had a very bad habit of jumping on people’s backs from behind and saying “Surprise!” in a very excited tone. I was only one of two CITs for a camp of thirty-odd junior kids, and it was my first year, so I was struggling to establish boundaries.

The first time Maddie jumped on my back, I said:

Me: “Hey! That’s dangerous! If you jump me by surprise, I could fall and hurt you!”

Maddie would just laugh and run off.

About a week after camp started, we were at the beach for the 4th of July fireworks. I’m nervously hanging out with my kids, because it’s dark and the beach is crowded. Suddenly, Maddie jumped on my back, and I made a split-second call. I knew how to stage-fall from theater, and I figured that the girl could handle me falling on her onto sand as opposed to a wooden floor. 

So, I collapsed backwards bonelessly, landing on her. She screamed. I immediately got up, checked to make sure she was fine (she was), and then I explained:

Me: “Jumping on people is not okay.”

She never did it again.

I was working for the town vet in high school and was also in classes with his son (he also had five daughters). We had finished the last spay of the day and were doing the usual post op care and clean up when he came into the back with an incredibly annoyed look on his face.

Now, one class I was in with his son was driver’s ed, but like a lot of farm area parents, he had taught his kids to drive early. Not an issue on his property, and never an issue with his oldest three daughters.

Vet: “[Wife] and I have to go pick up my idiot son. I should be back before evening appointments. Anything I need to take care of first?”

The tech and I mentally go over the few remaining chores and shake our heads.

Tech: “Nope. We just have a few recovering patients. Why do you need to pick up [Son]? And why does [Wife] have to go too?”

Vet: *With a HUGE sigh.* “He just drove himself to go get his learner’s permit.”

We just stared at him, blinking and processing for a bit.

Vet: “Yeah, he is brilliant, and sometimes, well, he isn’t. Guess you’re going to get your license before him, [My Name].”

I talked to his son at school the next day. Even he was in awe of what he had just done. Especially since the nearest DMV to our little town was at least a half hour away.

I worked my way through college at a pizza chain known for its stores looking like a hut. After a year, I was promoted to assistant manager, a lofty title for a barely nineteen-year-old.

One evening I took a call from two teens who ordered a pizza, and didn’t actually talk to each other prior to calling about what they wanted. After listening to them discuss toppings back and forth for nearly ten minutes, they made their order, and we got it into the oven after they told us the caller’s mom would be by to pick it up.

A little while later, they called back looking to change the order, and I explained that it was just about ready to come out of the oven. So, after using some choice language, they decided to cancel the order. Okay, fine, dinner for our delivery drivers and a note on their account about abusive language.

Lo and behold, two minutes later, I see an order pop up on the printer: same account, completely different pizza. At that point, I had already canceled out the first pizza, so we made the second one.

Enter the mom.

She was very polite and looked like she had just gotten out of work. I pointed to her son’s original order just as it was being sliced and explained that it was SUPPOSED to be hers, and ready to go, only her son canceled, and now she had to wait around twelve to fifteen minutes for the new order.

I also let her know I didn’t appreciate her teen calling me a “stupid f****** dumb***” because I told them it was impossible to change ingredients on a pizza that was already 75% cooked.

She went from “polite” to “p***ed off, mom” in a flash, but not at us. She asked if we had a phone she could use, and dialed her house (this was long before cell phones). She then absolutely REAMED her son for what he did and the language he used.

She also informed him that his friend was no longer staying for dinner, and she was tipping us $10 that was coming out of his money. After telling him she was going to deal with him when she got home and he was lucky she didn’t drag him into the store to apologize in person, she hung up and went right back to polite mom.

She made good on her promise ($10 in 1994 was an amazing tip), my delivery guys had a nice hot pizza for dinner, and I wonder to this day how much more that kid got reamed out when his mom got home.

I managed a convenience store. Like many convenience stores, we had an ATM for customers to use. This lady came in and went straight to the ATM, and she was one of those regulars whom I internally groaned whenever she came in because she was a massive pain to deal with.

Anyway, she’s over at the ATM for several minutes, then calls one of the associates over to help her. I can’t really hear what she was saying, but I could tell she was upset about something, so I went over to see what was going on.

She had a handful of ATM receipts and said she kept trying to get money out, but it was only giving her a receipt, but no cash. While I was standing there, she tried another transaction to get cash, and the ATM spat out another receipt. She shows it to me, at the bottom of the receipt, and all the ones in her hand it says, “transaction declined, NSF.” For anyone who may not know, NSF is insufficient funds, meaning the money wasn’t in her account to withdraw.

I explained that to her and that, unfortunately, there wasn’t anything we could do, and if she didn’t think that was right, then she needed to contact her bank. She got upset and said that was the same thing the associate had told her, and she wanted her cash. Again, I apologized and repeated that she needed to contact her bank if there was more money in there.

She insisted that she shouldn’t have to call her bank, and she just wanted her $100. I told her again that there was really nothing we could do about it, which, of course, wasn’t good enough for her.

I then made the mistake of asking her what she wanted us to do.

She insisted we take $100 out of the register to give to her since she couldn’t get it out of the ATM. I told her we couldn’t do that; if she can’t get it from the ATM, then we can’t help her. Quick note, we didn’t have a cashback option on the registers, so even if by some miracle her card went through for a sale, she still wouldn’t have been able to get cash.

After a back and forth that went on for way too long, she finally looks at me and goes, “well you really are not very helpful.” Stomped her foot like a toddler and stormed out of the store.

Of course, she threatened to call corporate on her way out. I sort of hoped she would, just because I wanted to know what they told her when she complained that we wouldn’t steal money from the register for her.