I’m interviewing for a job. Honestly, it’s not going well. I’m nervous and keep falling on my face, and it feels like the skills they want from me are not the skills I advertise on my resume.

Finally, the interviewer asks me rather bluntly:

Interviewer: “Hey… Do you do any drugs?”

Me: “Uh. No. Why?”

Interviewer: “I just… I don’t think you’ll fit in well here. We all do drugs.”

Me: “Oh. Okay. Uh… thanks for the interview?”

I stood up awkwardly. The interviewer just watched me. And I left.

The whole interaction weirded me out so much that I didn’t even consider calling the police about it until months later. By the time I considered it, I couldn’t find any proof that the company was still in business.

Because they were close to work, I got my lunches at a popular sandwich shop.

They were very popular and often had a long line. They had several workers making sandwiches, but at some point, I learned that one specific worker was the dedicated phone/online order worker. He didn’t do anything but phone or online orders.

So, I started walking into the store, pulling out my phone, and calling in my order, bypassing the line entirely. A lot of the people in the line complained, but the phone guy always told them that they were free to order by phone, as well, if they wanted.

Oddly, very few people took him up on that offer.

Related:
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 24
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 23
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 22
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 21
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 20

The grocery store I’m shopping at today has mostly self-checkout lanes. The single cashier-aided lane is currently unmanned.

I go to one of the self-checkout kiosks and start scanning my groceries. From the kiosk next to me, I hear:

Customer: *Beep* “F***.” *Beep* “F***.” *Beep* “F***.”

I look over and see a middle-aged woman in a fuzzy tweed-looking black and white jacket with thin white and black stripes repeatedly scanning an item. It beeps, and a popup on the screen says, “Invalid barcode.” She says, “F***”, dismisses the error message, and tries again. Over and over.

I figure what’s most likely going on is the self-checkout kiosk has, for whatever reason, decided that her jacket is a barcode and is attempting to scan it. I don’t say anything; it’s none of my business. And I could be wrong; I’d rather be silent than speak up and look like a moron.

A store employee wanders over to the woman.

She explains to the store employee that the scanner isn’t working, and then scans her box and says, “F***,” to demonstrate. The employee scans the box. It works perfectly. The employee starts to wander away.

She grabs another item from her cart.

Customer: *Beep* “F***.”

The employee takes the item. It scans perfectly. The employee starts to walk away again. She takes another item from her cart. No bueno. She calls the employee back and makes him redo every item that doesn’t scan.

Customer: *Beep* “F***. Here.” *Beep* “F***. Here.” *Beep* “F***. Here.”

This looked like it could go on for a while, but I ran out of items to scan, so I paid and walked away. As I walked out, I glanced into her cart.

It was pretty full.

When I was in college, I took a job selling tickets at the university’s hockey arena. University staff and students got in for free when they showed their university ID, but everyone else naturally had to pay for their tickets. I’m working one night before a game when an older man — maybe in his late fifties or early sixties — and a young boy step up to my window.

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Arena]! One adult, one child today?”

Man: *With a friendly smile* “Yep! Taking my grandson out to his first [University] hockey game! Do you still allow staff and students in for free?”

Me: “Yes, if you can show your university ID card.”

Man: “Well, I have my student ID with me, but I graduated thirty-five years ago. I don’t suppose it would still be valid, would it?”

He gives a polite chuckle.

Me: “Um… I don’t think so, but I could ask my manager. She might be willing to make an exception.”

The man tries to stop me from going to get my manager, but I get her anyway. My manager ends up letting him get a free ticket for holding onto his university card for so long. I hand over their tickets and my manager and I tell him to enjoy the game.

Man: “Just to be clear, I was only joking about getting a free ticket, but thank you!” *Turns to his grandson* “[Grandson], how about we run to the merchandise store before the game and get you a souvenir?”

The man and his grandson came to a few more games that year, but he never tried to jokingly ask for a free ticket again. I want to stress that he was very clearly joking the first time, too, and not just pretending it was a joke like so many NAR customers. The smile on his and his grandson’s face every time they came up to the ticket counter was enough thanks for all of us ticket sellers.

I am clinically diagnosed with ADHD, but I hate taking my Adderall, so I often substitute ungodly amounts of caffeine for my pills.

I’m ordering coffee for my fellow workers on my shift in my office: one smoothie for the receptionist, one green tea latte for a coworker, one dirty chai for another coworker, and a monstrosity with twelve espresso shots for me.

It’s a busy day. The line to the door stretches out the door. I ordered ahead online, though.

The foyer is tightly packed, but I wait patiently for the office’s caffeine load. Shortly, as often happens when I’m feeling crowded and overheated, I start having to pee.

I leave and go to the bathroom. When I return, I see my drinks in another woman’s hands. She has two kids with her. I walk over to her.

Me: “Ma’am, I think you might have grabbed the wrong drinks. See, that’s my name on the side.”

Woman: “I don’t care.”

Me: “But… my name’s on them.”

Woman: “You didn’t want them as much as I wanted them, or else you would have taken them before I got to them.”

Me: “I was in the bathroom!”

Woman: “Thus, you didn’t want them.”

Me: “But those are my drinks.”

Woman: “They’re mine now.” *To one of her kids* “Here, have a mocha.”

And she hands my omega-caffeine drink to one of her kids.

Me: “But that drink—”

Woman: “I don’t care! I have three kids. One of them is waiting in the car for me! It’s ninety degrees outside! I can’t wait in a long line like this!”

The little kid starts chugging my drink. The baristas are too busy to take notice of all this. The line is still really quite long.

Me: “Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you went to get a coffee!”

Woman: “How dare you?! You don’t know what it’s like parenting three children! I deserve these drinks more than a childless b**** like you!”

Kid: “Mommy…”

Woman: “Shh! Can’t you see I’m talking with this lady?”

Kid: “Mommy, this mocha tastes funny.”

The woman rounds on me.

Woman: “What did you put in your drink?! Are you trying to poison my child?!”

The kid passes it to her other kid, and the other kid starts drinking my mocha.

Kid: “See? Tastes funny.”

Other Kid: “Well, I like it.”

Me: “Look. I have ADHD and—”

Woman: “I don’t give a s*** if you’re the Queen of England. What are you trying to poison my child with?!”

Me: “I wasn’t trying to—”

Woman: “Shut up when I’m talking to you, r****d.”

At this point, I am too frustrated, and I do something very stupid. I start screaming as loud as I can, and I grab the green tea latte, which is very staining, and throw it onto the other woman.

While she stands there dripping and shocked, I grab the other two drinks from the platter and throw them in the direction of the waste bin, one after the other. I don’t know if they actually go in or if I miss. Then, I turn and flee into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

I start shaking and crying. I am a moron. Images of being arrested for assault start dancing through my head.

Someone starts pounding on the door of the bathroom. It’s the woman with the kids, and she is shouting incoherently and slamming at the door. The door frame starts splintering a little with the force of the slams.

I hear a scuffling outside and the slamming stops. There is more shouting and yelling. I am too scared to go out. Things quiet down.

Eventually, there is a more polite knock at the door.

Voice: “Ma’am, could you please come out of the restroom and provide your side of the story?”

I open the door a crack. It is the police. The lobby has been cleared, and the woman who stole the office coffee order is sitting against a wall in cuffs. Her two kids are nowhere to be seen.

Me: “Uh… first off, she said she had a third child in the car. It’s ninety degrees outside. Can you check the car for her child?”

Police: “Yes, we’ve handled it.”

Me: “Okay, well…”

I repeated the story. They wound up charging me with misdemeanor assault. The woman was banned from that coffee shop, and the officers told me that the woman would be charged with child endangerment, assault (she’d apparently attacked employees who’d tried to get her to stop slamming on the bathroom door), damage to property, assaulting an officer, resisting arrest, and theft.

I got a free replacement for the office’s coffee.

When I explained why I was late getting back to work, my coworkers were very understanding and let me take the rest of the day off.

I later wound up vacating the charges by pleading guilty, but it won’t show up on my record if I don’t get into trouble again for two years. (I don’t really understand how it works. I’m not a lawyer. This is just how it was explained to me.)

I don’t know what happened to the woman after that.