My dad is a former Marine and raised me to always be respectful and grateful to the people who serve our country. I am twenty-three, and I have a slew of medical conditions that prevent me from serving in the military, so I am extra grateful to the people who serve.

I am at a gas station getting my morning coffee, and two girls about my age walk in wearing Army uniforms. They get their coffee and a few snacks and go to check out.

Me: *Stepping over to the register* “Whatever they are getting is on me.”

Army Girl #1: “Oh, ma’am, that’s okay.”

Army Girl #2: “Yeah, you don’t need to do that.”

Me: “Ladies, if I tried to apply to the military, I would get laughed out of the admissions office as soon as they saw my medical records. I can’t serve, so the least I can do is buy your coffee.”

They relent, thank me, take their things, and leave. I put my coffee on the counter to add to the total.

Cashier: “And your coffee is on me. No debate.”

I relent and pay for the total.

Cashier: “See you tomorrow!”

The military is very good at drilling behaviors into you to the point that you do ’em without conscious thought.

The first time my brother came home on leave from the Army, he did a lot of sleeping. He loved to sleep past noon. One day, he had plans to do stuff with Dad, but he didn’t wake up on time.

Dad verbally tried to wake him and then physically poked him with a stick. Nothing. So, Dad resorted to dirty tactics.

Dad grabbed one of his CDs, cranked the volume all the way up on the stereo, and hit “play.”

My brother shot up out of bed and rushed into the living room, nearly standing at Attention.

Once he woke up enough to realize what’d happened, he half-jokingly yelled at Dad for blasting “Mess Call” to wake him up. (Where my brother was stationed at the time, they still played bugle calls. “Mess Call” was my food-loving brother’s favorite.)

I’m in my Canadian working uniform for the Army, which is a digital camouflage pattern called CADPAT. It’s pretty unique and identifiable. I’m in a store where the uniform is black pants with tannish-colored collared shirts.

I have just gotten off from work and am on my way home and stop for groceries. Our command lets us stop in uniform on the way home to do this. They see it as a visual recruiting tactic and let people know that we are in the community.

As I’m looking at milk trying to decide what to buy, a little old lady comes up to me and asks for help. What throws me off initially was the fact she uses my rank. She explains that her grandson is also in a similar regiment.

She is struggling to lift the milk bags. I decide I will help her shop and get her groceries at least into her ride for her. I spend a good forty minutes with her helping her shop around. Another customer comes over to us as the old lady is checking out.

Customer: “Now that you’re done you can get my things for me.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t work here, and I have my own shopping to do. I’m sure one of the bag boys or stockers could help you out.”

Customer: “You clearly work here; you got all that old bats stuff for her. Now you help me.”

Old Lady: “He really isn’t an employee. He’s a soldier just helping an old woman with some shopping.”

Customer: “I don’t care what he says he is. He clearly knows the store so he must work here. You’re done shopping so he can help me now.”

She is getting louder and attracting attention.

Me: “Ma’am I really don’t work here. If you could lower your voice I could help you find an employee if you really need some assistance.”

Customer: “Don’t you tell me what to do, boy.”

Now a manager has shown up due to the commotion.

Store Manager: “Good afternoon, is there anything I can help you out with?”

Customer: “Yes, this boy is refusing to help me after he helped another customer. This is terrible customer service, and he should be fired.”

Old Lady: “He clearly doesn’t work here. He’s in the Canadian Armed Forces. He’s wearing a military uniform and everything.”

Store Manager: “He definitely doesn’t work here. We don’t have any soldiers that work in this store. Even reservists, which I assume he is.”

Customer: “You all have terrible customer service! Haven’t you ever heard of “The customer is always right?” I’m calling corporate and I will never shop here again!”

Store Manager: “That is perfectly fine. The door is right this way.”

He then escorts her outside, with her yelling the whole way.

Old Lady: “Well that’s enough excitement for this old woman. Hopefully, the rest of your day is much more peaceful. I’ll have my son come pick me up. Go do your shopping, and thanks for helping me.”

Me: “Any time, ma’am. And tell your grandson thanks from [My Name and rank] with the [Regiment].”

I then went and finished my shopping and wanted to get the h*** out of there. The store manager was waiting for me at the front and opened a register for me to check out. He gave me the store employee discount too, saying “You clearly work here after all” with an accompanying wink and laugh. He then told me he was a reservist while going through university and thanked me for what I did.

My family invited my nephew to visit just after Christmas. He had joined the US Army and was going to be stationed at Fort Sam Houston, which is in San Antonio where we live. We had a great time; he and my young daughter played on her new Nintendo, and we went to restaurants, parks, and other touristy spots.

On the day he needed to report, we were out and about. He had to be in uniform when he reported, but he didn’t want to be in uniform until then.

On the way to the base, we stopped at a local non-chain burger joint. My nephew came in with his uniform on hangers, and I asked the hostess if he could use their restroom to change. She said yes.

My daughter and I sat at their lunch counter and ordered a couple of sodas, figuring we should spend some money there since they were being nice enough to let him change. When my nephew came out a few minutes later, my daughter and I started getting ready to leave. I asked the employee behind the counter for our bill. He said it was no charge, and indicated my nephew, now standing beside us loud and proud in his uniform.

We didn’t even order a drink for my nephew, but they waived our bill because he was family. I make it a point to patronize their restaurant whenever we can.

About a year into my last job with a military contractor, they put this guy in the night shift supervisor position, and it was almost immediately apparent that this guy couldn’t lead rats off a sinking ship. He would agree that the upper management were unreasonable a**holes — in private. But as soon as they were in front of him — usually wailing about some imaginary problem that they literally invented because they had nothing better to do — he would alternate between just sitting there saying nothing while we got berated and written up for fabricated reasons or being down on the floor doing everything short of kissing their a**es.

[Night Shift Supervisor] was also terrified of addressing any kind of issue between employees, so he always went down the “just figure it out” road. He was completely useless about it; he would claim to go address the problem and then do absolutely nothing. The few times that he did something, all it took was even slightly raising your voice to him and he would run away with his tail between his legs like a whipped dog.

The final straw came for me when [Night Shift Supervisor] approached me with the first shift supervisor. If we messed up something on our shift, we were expected to fix it. If the first shift messed something up… we were also expected to fix it because, for whatever reason, the day shift was never held responsible for anything at all. So, they approached me with a rocket tube; the first shift idiot who did my job had royally messed up the positioning of the lot number and ammunition number that got printed on every rocket body. They expected me to fix it because of course they did.

I was logging myself into the new production lot at that moment, which I think they waited for so they could sneak up on me with this nonsense. So, I listened, and then:

Me: *To [First Shift Supervisor]* “Day shift should fix their own screw-ups; we always get their mistakes to fix on top of doing our own jobs at night.”

This guy had the absolutely brass stones to tell me:

First Shift Supervisor: “You’re making that up! Your shift is never expected to clean up after day shift; that’s never the case! If you don’t agree with that, then maybe you’re in the wrong place.”

And right then, I noticed that [Night Shift Supervisor] was just… standing there listening to this fool tell me that something I had watched happen for almost five and a half years never happened. And he said nothing in my defense — not a g**d*** word.

I decided that the day shift fool was right; I was in the wrong place. So, I unclipped my badge — before I turned around so they couldn’t see it coming until it was too late — and then spun around, clipped it onto HIS shirt, and said:

Me: “Yeah, you’re right. I’m going to go find the right place.”

And I walked away. They were both literally stuttering as I left.