Many years ago, I was working at a department store in the Sydney suburbs. Lost kids always ended up at the information desk. Normally, we page the parents, they rush over, and everyone moves on. 

But some parents, the “regulars”, treat it like free childcare. They wander the store for ages, knowing their kid is safe, probably eating an ice cream, being watched by staff (it was a different time back then). 

It’s a busy Thursday night, and one of these regular kids has been with us far too long. He’s getting restless and anxious. My coworker working the desk has clearly had enough. She picks up the microphone.

Coworker: *Over PA.* “Attention shoppers… you’ll be relieved to know that the poor lost child has been collected by his father and uncle and is now on his way home.”

Thirty seconds later, a mother comes sprinting up to the desk, absolutely hysterical.

Mother: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HIS FATHER AND UNCLE?! WHERE IS MY SON?!”

My coworker calmly points to the kid, still sitting behind the desk with a half-melted ice cream. The mother snatches him up, furious, but also very clearly caught out.

She nearly got fired for that stunt… but the parent never used us as free babysitting again!

I work at a boutique kitchenware store. We sell high-quality glass storage containers that are sold by volume (milliliters/ounces). A customer approaches the counter with a set of three glass jars.

Customer: “Excuse me, I need to return these. They’re faulty.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that! Are the seals not airtight, or is there a crack in the glass?”

Customer: “No, the glass is fine. But they don’t hold what they say they hold. The label says, ‘500 grams,’ but I can only fit about 300 grams of my protein powder in there.”

Me: “Ah, I see the confusion. These are actually 500 milliliter jars. That measures the volume, the space inside, rather than the weight of what you’re putting in it.”

Customer: “Right. 500 milliliters. Which is 500 grams.”

Me: “Well, that’s only true for water. Since protein powder is very fluffy and light, it takes up a lot of space but doesn’t weigh very much. It’s like how a bag of marshmallows takes up more room than a bag of lead sinkers.”

Customer: “I don’t want to fill it with lead. I want to fill it with powder. Are you telling me your jars change size depending on what I put in them?”

Me: “No, the jar stays the same size. The powder just takes up more space because it’s full of air.”

Customer: “Exactly! So, you’re selling me a jar that’s full of air? Just give me the refund. I’ll go to the shop next door; I saw they have ‘one-liter’ jars. Hopefully, those ones aren’t as stingy with their grams as yours are.”

I was working with a large national client here in Australia on a database. I’d completed work for this client on and off over the past 5 years or so with no problems. In fact, they were probably one of my favourite clients up until this point.

Until this happened.

Client: “Hey, so we need to kill this project. The company has decided to move in a different direction with regard to R&D operations, and the database is no longer required.”

Me: “Okay, well, that’s a shame as we were over 80% done. You have my invoices for the work completed so far, so once they’re paid, we’re all done.”

Client: “Yeah, because the project is being terminated prior to completion, the executive has said we can’t pay your invoices.”

Me: “Well, the work has been done, and you still need to pay me for it as per our contract. But if they’re refusing to pay, then I guess I’ll have to escalate.”

I then download a copy of the database onto my backup server and remove all of the work I’ve completed from the existing database on their SharePoint. I also began small claims proceedings.

A few hours later:

Client: “Hey, so where is all of the work you completed? The database is useless without it!

Me: “I removed it. You were paying me per hour to complete the work, but seeing as your executive has decided not to pay, you don’t get to see the fruits of my labour.”

Client: “But the database can’t work without it! What are we supposed to do?”

Me: “I thought your executive was going in a different direction?”

Client: “Well, yes, but that direction still involved the database in its current form.”

Me: “Well, good news, I have a database in prototype form I can give you. The cost is [my original contract fee + 20%].”

Client: “But that’s more than we were paying you!”

Me: “No, it’s more than the amount you were supposed to pay me. But you didn’t pay me at all, so now you can purchase the finished product for a premium.”

Client: “Fine. I’ll send over a purchase order.”

They ended up paying me for the finished product because, apparently, that came out of a different budget, which the executive was happy to spend.

I recently picked up some consulting work to help a company get a couple of small projects over the line.

Client: “This is the standard contract we have all our consultants sign. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to negotiate.”

The contract is pretty stock standard; nothing weird hidden in the fine print. Then I see the hourly rate: it’s 50% higher than what I normally charge. From the looks of it, this is a rush job, and I doubt they’ve ever worked with a consultant before.

Me: “Looks good.” *Signs contract.*

Client: “F***. That hourly rate was too high, wasn’t it? Dad said I’d never make it in this industry. I thought I was lowballing you.”

It’s now the highest-paying gig of my career… and hopefully my new benchmark going forward.

This is a while ago, but I remember mostly how the conversation played out.

I worked on Sydney Harbour cruises back in 1988, Australia’s Bicentennial Year. I had a boat full of USA tourists who were absolutely polite, kind, and tipped well. But one did ask:

Tourist: “How often do you have these Bicentennials? They’re really neat!”

After I laughed, I explained:

Me: “It’s a fancy way of saying it’s the country’s 200^th birthday. It’s a big government-supported celebration.”

Tourist: “Oh. So, you have one every year?”

Tourist’s Wife: “No, honey, it’s a one-time thing. You can only have one Bicentennial.”

Tourist: “Well then, they need to vote for someone who lets them do it every year! We have a July 4^th every year! You should too!”

Tourist’s Wife: “Honey, the USA had a bicentennial back in ’76, remember?”

Tourist: “We did? I don’t remember that.”

Tourist’s Wife: “July 4^th, 1976, remember?”

Tourist: “I don’t remember.”

The wife looks at me.

Tourist’s Wife: “Carry on with your tour, honey. He’s fine. He doesn’t remember a lot of the seventies. It was all the acid.”

I carried on the harbour tour as normal, and I think the guy finally got it by the end, as he was super happy, they’d timed their trip for a once-in-a-two-hundred-year event, as he said:

Tourist: “Wait, so it’s gonna be another two hundred years before you have another Bicentennial?”

Me: “Y’know what? Close enough.”