My friend is a bit of a moron. He’s not a bad person, and he’s not an anti-vaxxer, but he legitimately didn’t seem to think that getting vaccinated was important until all his coworkers started getting sick with the latest variant of a particular contagious illness.

As soon as the third coworker where he works caught [illness], [Coworker] scheduled an appointment to get vaccinated, but he could only find one three and a half weeks out.

Sadly, he tested positive himself four days before the appointment. This absolute moron of a man decided to go and get vaccinated while currently sick with the illness, despite my efforts to convince him to wait, because, and I quote:

Friend: “I ain’t waiting another three and a half weeks. I’m ready to do it now, and I’m gonna get ‘er done.”

He was in the emergency room the next day; the vaccine had made his symptoms worse. He spent two weeks in the hospital.

About two weeks after that, he tested negative for the illness. He’d been testing every two or three days. He told me:

Friend: “Oh, good thing. I got my second dose of the vaccine yesterday.”

I work for a major tax company. We offer a sort of pre-paid card that your taxes can arrive on. Your taxes are not preloaded to the card. They get there when they get there.

We actually have very little to do with the cards other than passing them out. The bank is supposed to handle the customer service for the card. Honestly, we don’t have any tools to check your balance, to check up on the card, to see if a new one is coming to you, or to tell if your money is already there.

And yet, bank people send folks to us to ask questions like this when the bank’s helpline is called. We just call the helpline right back and explain to the bank helpers that, no, it’s their job, not ours. But this story isn’t about that, though that does set a background for why I get so reflexively upset when people start asking questions about the card.

Right now, we’re suffering a shortage of cards. Whenever the government drops more money — another stimulus or the advance payments of the child tax credit — most of our clients need new cards because they already threw the old ones away. The offices were supplied without projecting this kind of usage. Some of my more frequent fliers have gotten more than ten cards this year.

We’ve run out. We’re running reduced summer hours. The only office nearby that still has cards and is open Monday, Wednesday, and Friday is in a mall to the north. All of their offices have cards.

Me: “Hello, this is [Company] at [Location]. How can I help you today?”

Customer: “Yeah, I’m coming in to get a [Card].”

Me: “I’m afraid we’re out of [Card] right now, but the [Mall to the north] office is open today and has them.”

Customer: “I’m tired of you guys playing around. The people in [Franchise location] said you have cards.”

Me: “That’s a franchise office. They have no way of knowing which offices have cards and which do not. I have no cards. Please go to the [Mall to the north] office.”

Customer: “Listen. You guys have my money. I’ve been to every office from West Saint Paul to here. I was told you have cards.”

Me: “I do not. Please go to [Mall to the north].”

Customer: “Your company is shady as s***, man. You took my money. I’m coming over there and I’m gonna f—”

Me: *Interrupting* “Sir. [Mall to the north]. [Mall to the north]. [Mall to the north]. If you want a card today, that is your only choice. Remember, [Mall to the north]. Thank you, goodbye.”

And I hung up.

Related:
Taxing Taxing, Part 12
Taxing Taxing, Part 11
Taxing Taxing, Part 10
Taxing Taxing, Part 9
Taxing Taxing, Part 8

I work for the TSA. I am watching the bags go into the X-ray machine when I hear a strange squeaking noise. I do not hear very well, but I decide to investigate.

One of the bags has a small kitten in it. The bag was about to go into the X-ray machine when I stopped it to check. I pull the bag out of the machine and ask whose kitten it is. No one wants to admit it’s their kitten.

I get in touch with the lead, who gets in touch with the supervisor. We review security camera feeds to find the owner of the kitten.

The owner does not speak clear English and does not understand what’s going on. We get one of the translators to explain that kittens do not go through the X-ray and that the man must go through an alternative screening with his kitten.

We get the man and his kitten safely through alternative screening. I feel good about saving a kitten.

Related:
Seriously, I’m Not Kitten Around

I’m testing to become an EA (enrolled agent), which is somewhat similar to a CPA (certified public accountant). To become an EA, you must pass three tests, in any order. These government-mandated tests are proctored and administered by a private company.

I arrive at my testing facility on the day of the test, as scheduled. Getting ready for the test is a very intensive process; I basically have to store everything in a locker so I can’t cheat.

They scan me with a metal detection wand to make sure I’m not caring in a computer, and they check my sleeves, shoes, pants, and mask to make sure I’m not smuggling in a written answer sheet.

They sit me down at my assigned computer, and I click to verify that my name is correct. The testing program then makes me verify that I agree to follow the testing rules. I click yes… and the computer freezes.

I raise my hand for help, and the proctor arrives. They click on the “Next” button a couple of times. Suddenly, the test thinks I’m on my halfway break, skipping past the entire first half of the test.

Proctor: “There you go, unfrozen.”

Me: “Ummm, that’s not correct.”

Proctor: “What do you mean, it’s not correct? You wanted to go to your break, right?”

Me: “No, I wanted to start the first section.”

We both stared at the screen in mounting horror. I’m not sure which of us said it, possibly both of us simultaneously, but I distinctly heard the word “s***”.

The proctor left to get help. When help came, they gently led me out of the testing room.

After some struggle with resetting the test, they decided to reschedule my test free of charge.

It’s a quiet Saturday. Most of my coworkers don’t come in on Saturdays, but I do so that I can take a day off during the week. There are only a few cars in our massive parking lot.

I’m working at my desk, going over investment information, when I hear strange noises coming from outside. I head to our beautiful lobby to investigate. Some woman has pulled up into the parking lots closest to our lobby’s giant windows. She’s pulled up right next to another car.

She’s opening and slamming the various doors of her car and ejecting trash from her car — mostly Cheetos and Cheeto bags, but also several clothing hangers and some face masks. Her driver’s side doors heavily impact the car next to it several times.

At no point does she actually physically leave the car. She’s crawling around inside it, throwing open doors, throwing stuff out, and closing the doors.

Then, I notice that there’s a police car in our lot, too, at the end of one of the rows, just sitting there.

The woman sees me through the lobby windows and makes eye contact. Then, she abruptly shifts her car into reverse — rear driver side door still open — and pulls backward out of the spot, but it doesn’t stop there. She keeps pulling backward, maneuvering through narrow gaps in cars behind her, and still making eye contact with me.

There is, by the way, no need to shoot the gaps like this. The parking is very sparse, and she could have easily not threaded her car into single-car-width gaps, and in fact, had she pulled straight back, she would not have needed to do any threading. However, she seems to be aiming her car to deliberately go through these narrow gaps.

Finally, five rows away from the lobby and in line with the driveway, she abruptly throws her car into a bootlegger turn, complete with squealing tires, and shoots off down the driveway. The force of the turn closes the rear door that had been hanging open.

The cop car starts moving again at this point, driving in another direction.

The worst part — that car she kept hitting with the doors? It was mine.