This happened to one of my clients around fifteen years ago.

They were a drug rehab therapy office. Once a week, they had to submit insurance claims. To do so, they were required to have a Static IP Address – that is, an IP address that always remains the same. Non-static IP addresses – which are what most people and businesses use – change occasionally. I don’t remember why the static IP was needed, but that’s the way it was then.

One day, the sales department of their internet service provider called to see if the office wanted to upgrade their plan. The office manager said no and didn’t think any more of it… until their provider turned off their internet the next day.

They tried to resolve it themselves but didn’t have any luck, so a couple of days later, the office called us. I bopped on down the street and got their customer service department on the phone. This is a reasonable facsimile of the conversation:

Me: “So, you guys turned off the internet for no reason.”

ISP Agent: “We can get that turned back on again.”

Me: “Great. And remember that they need to have a static IP.”

ISP Agent: “We should be able to have that set up in a few days.”

Me: “A few DAYS? They haven’t submitted insurance claims for over a week. They’re losing money BECAUSE OF YOU. They need this working NOW.”

ISP Agent: “It’s going to be a few days…”

Me: “Okay – I’ll call you back.”

So I called the other local ISP.

Me: “So I do tech support for a clinic here, and [ISP] turned off their internet and static IP last week. Can you switch them over to you guys and set up a new static IP?”

Other ISP Agent: “Sure, we can have a technician come out tomorrow.”

Me: “Great. Just give me a moment to let the office manager know.”

I tell the office manager. The price is around the same as they were paying the other company, and she’s thrilled [Other ISP] will be out to take care of it quickly.

The next day, the [Other ISP] guy comes out, sets up the new modem, and static IP. Everything is right as rain.

I call the old ISP to cancel the service.

ISP Agent: “So I see here you had a service request to get a new static IP?”

Me: “Yes, how’s that looking?”

ISP Agent: “They should be able to do that Monday.” *Four days from now.*

Me: “That won’t be necessary. We called [Other ISP] yesterday, and they came out to set everything up today. So, we’re cancelling the [ISP] internet.”

ISP Agent: “But… but… we have some good packages for business clients…”

Me: “I explained to you guys yesterday that time was of the essence, AND that it was your company’s fault the internet and static IP were turned off in the first place. You chose not to do right by us, so we found someone who could do what was needed.”

They needed to talk to the office manager to confirm, but that was the end of them using that ISP for many years.

While at the supermarket, I noticed they have a sale on Roma tomatoes. They look particularly fresh and lovely, so with visions of a nice salad and maybe some bruschetta in mind, I grab a batch. I then go around to finish the rest of my shopping, get up to the self-checkout… and have to call for assistance.

Me: “Hi, um, these were the Roma tomatoes that are on sale, but I don’t see an option for—”

The cashier lets out a disgusted sigh, jams his finger into the screen a few times for ‘Plum’ tomatoes, and walks off. I very hesitantly go to finish the process and see the sale price kick in, so I pay and get going. While passing by the stand, the cashier flagged me down.

Cashier: “I just want to apologize for before, I realized after that probably seemed very hostile.”

Me: “Let me guess, every other person is getting it, because nothing over there says ‘plum’ and it doesn’t show the sale until the end?”

Cashier: “Oh, no—” *Sees another register get the ‘needs help’ light.* “—I think I’m at two-out-of-three, by now.”

I wish him good luck and promptly make my way over instead to the Customer Service desk.

Me: “Hi, everything’s good now, but I have a comment about the Roma tomatoes that are on—”

Customer Service: “—Yes we know they have to ring up as ‘plum,’ yes we know the sign does not say ‘plum,’ no we are not able to change the sign as it came from Corporate, no we are not allowed to put up additional explanation signs, yes we do apologize for the headache, yes we can provide the number and/or email to Corporate if you would like.”

I took the email!

I was driving home from the Jersey Shore this past Wednesday morning, about 9:30-ish am. In the southernmost part of the state, the Garden State Parkway is only two lanes, but there isn’t a lot of traffic, so we’re cruising at a good clip – 85mph average, just keeping up with everyone else. As inevitably happens, I come up on a slower-moving vehicle in the left lane. To be fair, he was passing an even slower vehicle in the right lane, so no big deal. I didn’t ride his bumper or anything, but he knew to pull over when the opportunity came.

Here comes the a**hole. Flies up on me so close, I can see his eyes as he loses his mind. It was like he was sitting in my back seat; he was that close. Flashing lights, actually blowing the horn, and I suspect cursing me to all kinds of eternal h***. I even inch over a bit to let him see the car in front of me, but he keeps up. Jerk. The slower vehicle moves over, I hit the gas and get back up to speed before pulling over to let the idiot pass. He sat on his horn as he went by. Whatever, just leave me alone.

So, I’m watching, and about 1/4 mile up ahead, he comes up on the bumper of a black SUV. Now obviously, I can’t see him, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was being a jackass to the SUV as well. After about thirty seconds, he cuts over to pass on the right and cuts back in front of the SUV, and way closer than he should have. Before he even got all the way into the lane, I see the SUV’s brake lights start flashing. It’s a cop! Now the idiot has to pull over to the shoulder to get a ticket. I imagine the cop was watching him come up and just grinning, knowing what was about to unfold. I was still in the right lane, and though I know he didn’t see it, I stuck my hand out the window and waved as I went by. It was still satisfying.

I did wonder after if he was dealing with some kind of emergency; regardless, he passed me like I was standing still, and I was back up to 85mph at that point. If that hadn’t been a cop, he might have ended up with a worse emergency.

Even so, I am still giggling about it two days later.

CONTENT WARNING: Gross, Animal Death

I work in a library processing returned books for reshelving. One of my duties is checking the returned books for major damage.

As I’m clocking in, one of my coworkers warns me:

Coworker: “This next load of overnights is going to be a doozy.”

Me: “Oh no. What’s wrong with it?”

Coworker: “I’m not entirely certain, but it stinks.”

Me: “Stinks as in is something’s rough about it, or stinks as in actually smells bad?”

Coworker: “The smell. There’s a…. miasma.”

Me: “F***.”

So, I put on some protective gloves and a mask for handling the bin. Sure enough, there’s a noticeable smell.

Now, I’ve smelled a lot of bad things. People pee on books, or pee into the book return… never mind that doing so would require some impressive gymnastics. People drop garbage in the book return. Small rodents can get squished in the book return and killed.

This smells like that last one. With luck, only a few books are damaged.

I start going through the bin looking for the corpse of a rodent, but I can’t find one. I cannot tell where the smell is emanating from.

Frustrated, I start opening the books and paging through them quickly to check them for damage.

And that’s when I find the dead mouse, squashed flat INSIDE one of the books.

I mostly felt the need to share because that’s a new one to me. Never seen a mouse inside a book before. Seen spiders squashed into books, or flies, or other insects. Never a mouse before, though.

At least we were able to find and dispose of the source of the smell!

I’m third in line at a grocery store. It’s super busy, and we all have big carts to unload. The customer behind me starts huffing and muttering.

By the time we move up one space, he’s talking loud enough for everyone to hear.

Customer: “Unbelievable. They’ve got her on the checkout? No wonder this line’s crawling. Should’ve left this to someone who speaks English.”

The cashier, a middle-aged woman who’s been nothing but polite and efficient, keeps her head down. The rest of us exchange glances.

Customer: “Proof that when you put an immigrant in a job, it’s Americans who suffer!”

Customer In Front: “Please lower your voice. You’re being rude!”

Customer: “It’s not rude to simply tell the truth! Look at her! And how old is she? Seventy? No wonder she can’t keep up. The whole country is going down, and this store is part of it!”

The cashier pauses just long enough to look at him, then goes back to scanning. That earns her a fresh round of insults about her age, accent, and even her glasses.

By now, the entire line has turned on him.

Second Customer: “Hey, knock it off. We’re all waiting. You’re not special.”

He rolls his eyes and mutters something nasty about DEI. That’s when everyone silently, almost beautifully, decides to work together.

Customer In Front: *Now getting served.* “Oh, honey, are those black grapes? I thought they were red. Can I get a price check on those? Also, can I get a price check on all my Oreos? I usually just get the regular, but all these flavors looked amazing!”

Cashier: “Haha, sure thing.”

Customer: *Rolls eyes.* “Seriously?!”

Second Customer: *Now getting served.* “Do you mind if I pay with coins? I just so happened to have found them here in my backpack! Lemme count them out, 25 cents… 50 cents… 75 cents…”

Customer: *Rolls eyes harder and huffs.* “Y’all think you’re being cute?”

Me: *Now getting served.* “Oh, hi! I saw that you have a rewards card. Can you tell me a little about it?”

Cashier: “Sure, it’s—”

The a**hole customer, now infuriated with what the three of us have done, tries to find an ally. He turns to the customer behind him and says:

Customer: “They’re delaying you too, you know?!”

Customer Behind Him: “I find that whenever something happens to p*** off a racist, I can get behind it… in this case, literally.”

The cashier actually snorts, I laugh, and the bigot finally shuts up. I hang around after my purchase to make sure that the a**hole doesn’t have a small-man energy tantrum and take it out on the cashier. He chooses wisely (for once) and stays sullenly silent for the entire transaction.