(I am a civilian contractor at a military installation’s dining hall. Unlike some of the comfort facilities at the installation, we don’t have restrictions on who can dine here; as long as they can access the installation, they can eat. It is my turn to tear down the salad bar at the end of dinner. I have taken out all of the utensils and begun to pull the dishes, when an older man in civilian clothing comes up behind me.)

Customer: “What are you doing with the salad bar?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. Did you order a salad?”

Customer: “No, I just wanted to get a few of these.” *gestures at the fruit mix at the end of the bar*

Me: “So, you did order a salad bar?”

Customer: “No, I just wanted to get a few of these.”

Me: “Sir?”

Customer: “Oh, you mean I have to order a salad bar to get things from the salad bar?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Customer: “Oh.”

(I meet a guy at a club I like and we flirt for a night. A week later I run into him again on base but he seems uninterested. I am disappointed, but not extremely upset since I barely know him. I never see him again and would have forgotten about it except for the odd conversation I have with an angry girl a few months later.)

Angry Girl: “There you are! Stop trying to steal my man from me! He’s MY husband!”

Me: “That guy? I met him at the club ONCE. He didn’t even know you then.”

Angry Girl: “I know you’re trying to steal my husband! Stop lying about it!”

Me: “Seriously, I don’t want him. That was months ago.”

Angry Girl: “Just stay away from him!”

(I never did figure out why she was so fixated on the concept of me stealing a man I’d only met twice, but over the course of the next year she keeps accusing me of trying. Even after their divorce she tries picking fights with me.)

Angry Girl: “Well, I have my revenge now! How does it feel? I stole your boyfriend [Marine] from you!”

Me: “Um, I broke up with him a few weeks ago. We agreed to date other people again. He’s free to be with whomever he wants.”

Angry Girl: “No, you’re lying! I stole him!”

Me: “Whatever.”

(I’m not sure which made [Marine] more angry, though… to find out that she had gone after him to date in revenge for her imagined issues with me, or that she decided to be in a relationship because she needed someone to clean her house for her so she wouldn’t be evicted.)

(One of my shipmates has a serious problem with her evaluations and relates with us what transpired. The sailor in question is a top sailor, with a lot of drive, and has frequently been awarded for doing work normally assigned to higher pay-grades. Normally evals do not drop unless you are screwing up.)

Shipmate: “Sir, why did my evals go down?”

Eval Officer: “Well, I couldn’t justify giving you such high marks anymore.”

Shipmate: “What? Why? My performance hasn’t gone down.”

Eval Officer: “No, it hasn’t. But last time, you were ‘the only sailor qualified on [system]’ and we now have two people qualified for it.”

Shipmate: “So, my evals went down because I trained someone else on this system?”

Eval Officer: “Yep!”

(I’m in a chain restaurant with my family when a group of four soldiers from the base come in. The group is very loud and rowdy, but no one wants to say anything because they’re soldiers. However, as they all order alcoholic drinks for ‘pre-gaming,’ they just get louder and rowdier. Finally, another customer at the table next to theirs has had enough.)

Customer: “Excuse me. Can you four please quiet down? We’re all trying to enjoy our dinners.”

Soldier #1: “With all due respect, shove it.”

Soldier #2: “We’re willing to go out and die for your freedom and you can’t even let us have dinner?”

Soldier #3: “We’re just trying to celebrate [Soldier #1]’s promotion, lady. Chill.”

Soldier #1: “Show some f****** respect.”

(The customer takes a deep breath, stands up and turns around, revealing a missing arm.)

Customer: “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Major [Customer] and I’ve recently been transferred to the base here after spending a few months in Walter Reed. I lost my arm to an IED in Iraq. I want all of your names. I’ll be talking to your C.O. as soon as I leave here, and I have a feeling you won’t be celebrating that promotion long. Now please keep your voices down so all of these people can enjoy their dinners, and stop being a disgrace to the uniform.”

(I am the operations manager of an overseas military TV and radio station. In place of regular commercials, we run locally-made information spots. We get feedback through an email system, mostly complaints about stuff out of our control, such as TV shows and music selections. A few months ago, we got an email from an irate listener complaining about a radio spot advertising the base library, where one of the producers did an imitation of former President George W. Bush. He was livid about the disrespect to our former Commander-In-Chief. I responded professionally, explaining we often use humor in our spots to make the information memorable, and the impression was fairly innocuous. He kept emailing back more irate, insulting military broadcasters, questioning our patriotism, accusing us of communism, etc. Finally, he came to our station to personally confront me. The following exchange occurred in our lobby.)

Irate Marine: “Your excuses are just that! The ‘humor’ of that imitation is offensive and disrespectful! How dare you demean the former president!”

Me: “Well, he didn’t seem to think so.”

Irate Marine: “… What?”

Me: *points to framed picture on the wall* “See that?”

(It’s George W. Bush in our production room laughing with a young Marine.)

Irate Marine: “He came here?”

Me: “Years ago, I’m told. See that Marine in the photo? He’s the one who voiced and produced that spot. That photo was taken while he was playing the commercial for The President. He apparently has a better sense of humor about himself than you do.”

Irate Marine: *walks out the door, mumbling* “Well, it’s STILL disrespectful!”