(A new employee at our company has requested a mobile phone; this is not something we normally provide, but the user is insistent and his manager has approved the decision.)

New Employee: “Hi, I came down because in the email it said I was approved for a [base mode], but I need a [premium model], instead.”

Me: “We don’t normally purchase those for anyone below the executive level, as they are considerably more expensive than the [base model].”

New Employee: “No, it absolutely must be a [premium model]. Only [premium model] has the features I need. I cannot do my job without it!”

Me: “Okay, we’ll order one for you.”

(The man goes away satisfied, and then comes in about ten minutes later.)

New Employee: “If it turns out I don’t like it, I can just give it back to you guys, right?”

(I manage a locally-owned pizza shop where we have a “continual sale” on our cheese pizzas. I am chatting with a new hire about normal customer service issues we encounter.)

New Hire: “So, do we actually get people who are angry because pepperoni is not automatically included on their pizza?”

Me: “Oh, my God. You have no idea.”

(I start to give her several examples, but get summoned to the front register by the door chime.)

Me: “Good evening, sir. Are you placing an order for here or to go?”

Customer: “Yeah, give me one of those medium cheese pizzas for $6. Oh, and throw some pepperoni on there, too.”

Me: “Certainly, sir. Your total for carryout is $7.69.”

Customer: “WHAT? $7.69?! THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE $6 PIZZA DEAL?!”

Me: “My apologies, sir. The $6 deal is for the cheese pizza; adding pepperoni also adds the price for one topping, bringing your total to $7.69.”

Customer: “Well, that’s some d*** expensive pepperoni, then! Fine, here’s your money, but it’s highway robbery, I tell you!”

(I give him his change, then carry the ticket back to the pizza kitchen.)

Me: “Hey, [New Hire], f*** you; you summoned them! So, please make this gentleman’s medium cheese pizza, add pepperoni, for me.”

New Hire: “My sincerest apologies, friend; I did not mean to summon the demon hordes. I shall pay for my error by making the best cheese pizza, add pepperoni, that you have ever seen!”

(I think she’ll fit in quite well with us.)

My partner and I go out to a local restaurant to celebrate our fifth anniversary. We are seated and our waiter takes our drink order. He looks young, possibly in his late teens. After around ten minutes, the drinks haven’t arrived, so when our waiter walks past, I ask him how the drinks are going. Instead of going to check on them, he takes out his notebook and takes our order again.

I get the impression he is new and very nervous. I don’t want to make him feel bad, so we just re-order the same drinks. Five minutes later, he returns with both orders of drinks. “Oh well,” I think. We were probably going to order more drinks later, anyway, so I don’t say anything.

He takes our food order without any issues and our meals arrive at a reasonable time. Well… my partner’s appetizer and main course both arrive together. That turns out to be a lucky accident, as the young waiter delivers my food to a table nearby. When they tell him that it isn’t what they ordered, he apologizes, takes the plates back to the kitchen, and returns with my meal in take-away containers.

I am a bit peeved, but as it is our anniversary, we both just want to relax and enjoy the night, and the food is actually really good. We decide to risk ordering dessert. My partner orders deep fried ice-cream, only for our young waiter to tell us that it’s not on the menu. I point it out to him on the menu, and point to other tables where we can see people eating it. He apologizes and said he honestly had no idea that it was on the menu.

After finishing our meal, we go to the front counter to pay the bill. It seems our waiter has never used or been trained in using a POS terminal or EFTPOS machine, and has to call other staff for help three times just to enter our items into the register.

My patience is just about expired, but I still feel sorry for the kid, as we’ve been able to hear his boss yelling at him every time he goes into the kitchen. I’ve been the new guy before and totally sympathize with him. I think to try and bolster his confidence and show him some support, so I say, “Don’t worry; it looks like you’re new here, and it seems tough now, but in a few weeks you’ll be a total professional.”

His reply left me feeling so awful. I’ve never forgotten what he said.

“I’m not new; I’ve worked here for six months.”

(We have a new intern who isn’t the brightest spark.)

Intern: “Why isn’t this pen red?”

Me: *looking over* “Because it’s black?”

Intern: “But I need it to be red.”

Me: “Well, there’s a red pen in front of you. You can use that.”

Intern: “But what if that pen isn’t red?”

Me: “Trust me, it is.”

Intern: “But how do you know?“

(Two coworkers and I then spent close to half an hour trying to explain how a pen that had RED printed on it and was coated in red plastic was an indication that it would write in red ink. I don’t think it sunk in, as when she tried it she seemed genuinely shocked that it was, in fact, a red pen. I should have just said I’d used it previously.)

(I am 17. I have left home and am broke, so I lie about my age to get a job in a nightclub. I am a month away from being 18, so I don’t feel too bad. There are no checks and screenings by a lot of places at this point in time. However, I am THE most naive young woman. I know nothing about how the world works in reality, and I find myself working in a nightclub that has seven different rooms and bars, all with different themes. I’ve never even been to a pub or bar socially before this night. I am assigned to [Bar #1], which is pretty normal, and most of the customers seem to be okay. I mess up quite a few drinks, but it is laughed off when I tell the customers it’s my first night. I am doing okay, I think, and even manage to navigate my way around the multi- and split-level corridors to get to the bathrooms and back. The place is a total warren. And then:)

Supervisor: *shouts over the music* “[My Name]! Go to [Bar #7]! They need a barmaid!”

Me: *shouts over the music* “Where’s [Bar #7]?”

Supervisor: *shouts over the music* “Downstairs! Ask someone on the way!”

(So off I trot, trying to find my way to [Bar #7], asking various customers and staff along the way. Whenever I ask for directions, however, I get comments like, “You don’t want to be going there, love,” or, “Why the h*** are they putting YOU there?” or, “Who the bloody h*** told YOU to go to [Bar #7]?” and so on. But nobody will tell me why I shouldn’t go there, so I get stubborn and carry on. When I finally find [Bar #7], 20 minutes later, I drag the door open, only to be blasted with deafening music – much louder than upstairs. I walk to the bar, and look at the shocked face of the barman there.)

Me: *angry now* “What on earth is the matter with everyone? Why shouldn’t I be here?”

(My new colleague just spluttered and pointed at the stage, going beetroot red in the face. I turned around just as a woman on stage was removing her last piece of clothing with a “TA-DAAA!” gesture. She posed there, stark naked, to rapturous applause from the 200 men watching her. The lights went down, she dashed off the stage, and all 200 men turned to face naive little me at the bar, who was standing there with her bottom jaw resting on the top of her prim little lace-up shoes. I was the only female in the room after a full-on strip show. Gulp. It actually didn’t turn out too badly. I think most of them saw me as a substitute daughter, while the rest were so embarrassed to be caught watching a stripper by a very shocked young woman that they left [Bar #7] in quite a hurry and bought drinks elsewhere.)