Years ago, I worked at an organization where everyone’s email had the same format: First initial followed by last name. No exceptions.

Well, then they made one exception.

Tina Watt was very relieved.

Related:
Named And Shamed, Part 11
Named And Shamed, Part 10
Named And Shamed, Part 9
Named And Shamed, Part 8
Named And Shamed, Part 7

Our store is having a remodel. As a result, they close the men’s restroom and remove the sign on the ladies’ restroom to make it co-ed.

The remodelling crew boards up the men’s room with plywood and then heads home for the night. The store is open until ten, so we still have customers coming in and out.

At some point this night, a male customer came in, tore the plywood off the door, and entered the restroom. Upon seeing that the restroom was unusable, did he leave and attempt usage of the co-ed restroom, or even use one of the two disabled restrooms we have?

No. This guy unboxes a brand-new toilet, places it against the wall, and proceeds to use it with no plumbing attached… or seat for that matter.

He must have really needed to go, based on how the remodelling crew overused the phrase “sprayed the wall” the next day.

The mention of two weeks ‘ notice and how the boss reacted in this story reminds me of when I gave notice for the job I had before my current one.

I had been working as a nanny for a family with four children aged seven to twelve, the older two of whom lived in the house half the time and spent the other half with their mom’s family (divorce and remarriage). I was to show up just after the parents left for work at six in the morning, get the children up and ready for school, and drop them off at the different schools they attended.

There was tension from the start, as the mother introduced me to the younger two boys as “Replacement Grandma.” Setting aside that I was about thirty at the time, she meant replacement for the grandmother who used to help with childcare duties and had died the month before.

I only saw the parents twice: during the initial interview and then during my “training”/orientation (here’s where breakfast foods are, etc). After that, everything was communicated by email. The younger two kids didn’t like that I treated their stepsiblings like human beings and took that out on me.

It was pretty clear after a couple of months that this wasn’t working out. The younger siblings didn’t like me because I would step in to stop them from bullying their stepsiblings, the parents would email me, not-quite-accusing me of stealing baking supplies (“maybe you took the flour home…”), the expectations were inconsistent, and so on. My husband pointed out that we didn’t need the money to the point of putting up with all this, so I emailed my two-week notice.

The mom’s attitude did a sudden 180, proclaiming that, sure, it may have been a little rough starting out, but things were fine! It was all working out so well! Surely, I wouldn’t want to leave! Because now she was faced with the reality of not having The Help around and having to explain to her job why she couldn’t keep her schedule.

I replied with a firm no, stating that from my prior experience as a nanny, I was simply not a good match for their family. Two weeks, which gave them the school’s winter break to look for someone else, and that was all I could commit to.

She replied with a sullen email calling out various perceived injustices, including that it was unprofessional not to give any notice before quitting. It was reminiscent of a man, having been turned down by a woman, negging her to try to change her mind.

Nope, two weeks. That is your notice. I included that her attitude, coupled with the way the family acted around me, made this an easy decision.

She then sent a missive disparaging everything she could think of and how she felt sorry for my husband having to live with me, and how she hated me, her husband hated me, her kids hated me, her pets hated me; it was honestly hilarious. I forwarded the email to my friends and a couple of families I’d previously nannied for; it was so absurd.

We all got a good laugh out of it, and shortly after, I landed the job I’ve been in for the past eight years now. If I have crossed paths with any of the family, I haven’t noticed; I’m not great with faces in the first place, and the only time they occupy my thoughts is when a story pops up that reminds me of them, and I laugh about it all over again.

When the initial lockdown was lifted during the pandemic, we didn’t always have staff to make sure people sanitized their hands, wore masks, or ensure that the store wasn’t over capacity. We put up big red signs on a pedestal, asking people to wait in the doorway; our store was small, so a cashier would be able to stay at the till and wave them in or ask them to wait a minute.

After a few weeks of people adhering to rules, the general public started going back to normal, even though rules were still in place. Also, people were always ignoring that sign, so I proposed an experiment.

Whenever I opened the shop, I would place it directly in front of the doorway and adjust the height so the red sign would be at the height of my own face.

Almost immediately, the results determined that people weren’t always just ignoring it, but instead, it had become invisible, even though it was red and face-level (I’m 5’6″). People walked straight into it and were absolutely surprised to find they had knocked something over. Hilariously, though, it made people read it (most of the time) once they actually picked it up, so it also worked.

My manager complained it wasn’t a good idea, but I kept doing it for weeks, partly because it made people pay attention to it when they knocked it over…

…but in truth, mostly because I found it hugely entertaining.

I work at one of the busiest stores in the state for a very big coffee chain. It’s always packed, but our regulars are the best.

One day, a guy in the lobby gets heated, something about whipped cream, one of those tiny things we could have fixed in a heartbeat. His voice carries across the café.

Before I can step in, one of our regulars in the drive-thru (a police officer who usually comes by in her squad car) happens to be off duty but still in uniform. She hears the noise, parks her car, and walks straight inside, not even waiting for her drink.

She doesn’t have to say a word. The man eventually calms down and leaves on his own.

Afterward, we try to give her a drink for free, just as a thank-you for looking out for us. She shakes her head, pays in full, and drops a $20 bill into the tip jar instead.

I know the cops around here don’t make a huge amount of money, but there’s just a weird (and awesome) bond we have with our regulars.