(My office is a large house that was built in the ’70s and has wide windows in what used to be the living room. Since my office is in that room, our neighbors across the street are able to see what we’re doing easily and are prone to report to our boss about odd occurrences they see. In other words, they’re nosy. The weather has been in the low 20s, so I wear a cardigan to work one day. It gets warm enough in the afternoon for me to take it off, so I stand up from my desk to pull it off. About thirty minutes later, I get a call from my boss, who is female.)

Boss: “Is there anything I should be concerned about?”

Me: “No. Should there be?”

Boss: *sounding amused* “[Neighbor] called me. She said she noticed you stripping in front of the window.”

Me: *laughing* “Really? She’d have to be pressing her face up to the window to see that. I pulled off my cardigan only. I have a black tank top on under it. How could she miss it?”

Boss: “I don’t know, but next time you decide to have a strip show in front of the window, let me in on the show, so I can freak her out.”

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(I work in tech support. My company has hired several temporary workers to help out with some data-entry stuff.)

Temp: “Hey, can you help me?”

Me: “Sure. What do you need?”

Temp: “I was working on a spreadsheet, and I saved it, but now I can’t find it.”

Me: “That shouldn’t be a problem. What was it called?”

Temp: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Okay. When did you save it?”

Temp: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Did you save it yesterday?”

Temp: “Maybe. I can’t remember.”

Me: “Tell you what; I’ll search your entire hard drive for every file ending in ‘.xls’ or ‘.xlsx.’”

Temp: “What for?”

Me: “You said it was a spreadsheet; I’m assuming you used Microsoft Excel to create it.”

Temp: “What’s Excel?”

Me: “Okay, never mind. I’ll search your hard drive for every file that was saved over the last few days.” *does so* “Here’s one called ‘Important Work.xls.’ Would that be it?”

Temp: “No.”

Me: “Okay, how about this one. ‘Important Stuff.xls’?”

Temp: “Open it and I’ll see… No, that’s not it.”

(Thirty minutes later:)

Me: *frustrated* “I’m really sorry, but I can’t seem to find your file. You’ve told me that all the ones we’ve found aren’t correct.”

Temp: “Well, that’s just great! I thought you were going to HELP ME!” *stalks off*

I am ordering business cards for one of my coworkers, who is notorious for having what my boss likes to call “small man syndrome” [he’s short, so he compensates with his attitude]. He rejects the first proof that I send him because he wants a second job title added to it. Yes, he has given himself a second role.

I’m gagging internally, but his manager has approved it, and I want to get rid of him, so I have the proof amended to what he wants. The printing company automatically corrects the spelling of one of the words in his second role to the British version. I send the updated proof to my coworker, who approves it. Then, five minutes later, I get a second email telling me that his second job title is spelled wrong.

Being non-confrontational, I email back, “Are you sure? S is the American way; Z is used in English.” His response is, “No, it’s an S. Read my signature.”

Oh, the email signature that you created?

Now, I’m pissed, but, like I said, non-confrontational. So I order the cards the way he wants them. Petty, yes, but I like to think that our educated clients will read them and laugh at him.

(When my mom was pregnant with me, she kept going back and forth on names. I share my last name with a fairy tale character. I’ve changed the names for privacy, but pretend my last name is White so that the joke translates.)

Mom: “I’ve been going back and forth between Christina and Meredith.”

Coworker: “I think you should name her Snow!”

Mom: “Erm… That’s a nice name, but—”

Coworker: “It’s a wonderful name! Snow is such a pretty and light name! How could you reject a name like Snow? You know, my [relative] had the name Snow.” *keeps rambling*

Mom: “[Coworker]!”

Coworker: “Huh?”

Mom: “Please tell me. What is my last name?”

Coworker: “Huh? It’s… OH, MY GOD. Do not name her Snow! Snow is a terrible name! Never name her that!”

(In south Louisiana, snow is rare. This weekend we had a record-breaking snow storm. The town I work in is a ten-minute drive away, and crosses a large river that has only two bridges over it. The main highway “new” bridge was closed first, then an accident occurred on the second, “old” bridge. I call my boss as soon as I see my snow-covered car.)

Me: “Hey, I don’t think I’ll make it in. My car is covered, the new bridge is closed, and there’s a wreck on the old bridge, so it’s closed.”

Boss: “No, the bridges are both open. You will be here on time.” *click*

(The department of transportation lists both bridges as shut. About an hour before my shift, the old bridge opens as the accident clears. It remains open for eight minutes total before someone else wrecks.)

Boss: *text* “Bridge open. Get here now.”

Me: *calls him* “There was another wreck and the bridge closed. Department of transportation says it’ll stay closed until the ice melts.”

Boss: “Well, you’ll just have to get in line so when it opens you can get here.”

(I straight up told him no, because it was too dangerous to try and drive in an unknown weather condition. I went in the next day, and he made me stay four hours late and basically told me I was at fault. Yeah, it’s my fault it snowed. And, I work in a grocery store.)

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