For our two-month “anniversary” dinner, the person I was dating and I decided to walk down the street to a vegetarian cafe that had been recommended to us by several friends. We were both mostly vegetarian, but we had been known to occasionally slip up in that regard. This is sadly relevant.

We had the impression that this place was a friendly hole-in-the-wall with heartfelt vegetarian and vegan food, but they had recently done some rebranding to have more of a bistro feel, with bright white walls and linens, candlelight, and waiters in ties. Since it was an “occasion,” we were a bit dressed up, too, so it was all very charming.

We apparently didn’t polish our turd selves quite enough.

As we walked into the restaurant, which had just a handful of tables, we were asked if we had a reservation. We did not. The host/server (who could have been an understudy for Captain Peacock in “Are You Being Served?”) rolled his eyes.

Server: “Reservations are required since we only have a few tables.”

This made perfect sense, but we honestly were not aware of this fact.

Server: “Luckily, we can work you in this evening.”

We were taken to the shame table by the kitchen doors. Our friendly staff member returned with drink menus and food menus.

Server: “What would you like to drink?”

Date: “I’d like a few minutes to look at the drink menu, but could I perhaps start with some water, please?”

Again, our friend the server rolled his eyes.

Server: “We don’t have ‘water’. We have triple-filtered water from [Nearby Springs]. It costs [amount] per glass.”

That was good to know, but the eye-roll was confusing.

Date & Me: “Yes, please, that sounds delicious.”

When he returned with the ‘not water,’ he asked sarcastically if we’d had enough time to choose a drink. We had.

Me: “I’d like the Lavender Gimlet, please.”

He looked at me, shocked, and then replied, suddenly becoming very French:

Server: “Oh! You mean the le-VAHN-der zhim-LAY!”

I apologised and confirmed that that was what I wanted. He delivered the drink with great flourish, repeating, “Le-VAHN-der zhim-LAY!” several times for effect.

Then, I ordered dinner. I ordered the bibimbap. Before I ordered, I explained that I wasn’t familiar with this dish, so I’d probably mispronounce it. “Bye-bem-bahp” is what came out of me. “Bee-beh-BOHH” is how he corrected me.

Server: “I see you aren’t familiar with vegetarian cuisine.”

Me: “Oh, I’ve been vegetarian on and off for the past fifteen years or so.”

Of course, that was the wrong thing to say.

Server: “Oh, so you’re not a real vegetarian. See, we take things very seriously here. No wonder you’re unfamiliar with everything.”

And with another eye-roll, he disappeared.

My bee-beh-BOHH arrived in short order, and I consumed it and my Le-VAHN-der zhim-LAY in awkward silence.

The food was delicious, but the ridicule was a bit over the top. Our good buddy never checked on us again, though he did occasionally throw disparaging looks at us from the host stand. Interestingly enough, no further patrons entered during our entire meal.

Eventually, our friend returned, removed our dishes, and silently returned with the check. It’s hard to describe, but I had the impression that he didn’t believe we would be able to scrape together enough money to pay the bill, even though it really wasn’t outrageous.

The date completely fizzled out, and the relationship shortly behind it. In fact, the restaurant outlasted us by only a matter of weeks. I can’t help but wonder if the rapid transition from hole-in-the-wall to haute-haughty did them in.

I’m nearly forty years old and have always had a somewhat notorious reputation for being a teetotaler (exclusively non-drinker). I never drank in high school, on my twenty-first birthday, or even at my wedding. Never.

This story happened when I was about twenty-eight years old and had just moved back to my home state. I can play the piano quite well and used to play for various churches, so I was trying to see if I could find another gig playing at a local church. I went to a block in a town where I knew there were several churches and figured I would just pop in and ask someone if they needed my services. (This kind of approach works pretty well in small towns.)

The first church I visited was open, so I went inside, hoping to find a secretary or even the pastor. I did find a man inside, hovering around the pews and looking at the Bibles. He obviously wasn’t the pastor, but I thought he might know where I could find someone to talk to.

Me: “Hi there! Do you know where I could find the staff office or the pastor?”

The man glanced around the room in a friendly and helpful way.

Man: “Oh, um, I’m not sure. Why? What do you need?”

Me: “I’m here to speak to someone about possibly playing piano for Sunday services.”

Man: “Well, there’s about to be a meeting downstairs, if you want to go and talk to someone.”

Me: “Oh, thanks! That would be great.”

I followed him outside where he showed me the entrance to the recreation area of the church, located in the basement. We casually chatted a little bit more about where I’d moved from and how I used to live here, and he said he’d been coming to this church for a while now. It was a pleasant interaction.

A few more people started showing up and filtering into the church basement, so I followed them inside to find someone to speak to at this church meeting.

In the rec area, there was a table with snacks and coffee set up, with a circle of chairs, and I wasn’t sure who to approach about my query. I’ve always had really bad social anxiety, so I just sort of followed my new “friend” over to a couple of chairs and took a seat, waiting for some sort of prompt or indication of what to do, but I figured I could be comfortable and get the read of the room in the meantime.

In no time, everyone had grabbed a snack and some coffee and taken their seats in the circle. Then, the meeting started. And my heart sank to my stomach.

It was not a church meeting with church members and staff like I had thought. I was sitting in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

By that time, everyone, including me, was already situated, the room was quiet aside from the speaker, and I had already mingled a bit with a few of the people in the group beforehand. My anxiety spiked and I figured my best bet was to fake it and ride it out. 

Once the speaker finished his opening talk, they began the bit about going around the room, letting each person speak. And, being the new person in the room, of course, they wanted to start with me. I was mortified, but thankfully, my “friend” leaned over and whispered that I didn’t have to talk if I wasn’t comfortable. So, I stuttered some sort of polite-as-I-could-manage decline, and they continued their meeting.

I sat there for the entire thing, guiltily listening to everyone’s stories about their struggles with alcohol, and then I mingled some more at the end when people came up to talk to me nicely, congratulating me for coming and encouraging me to come back. Everyone was very nice… which made me feel even more guilty for accidentally being the biggest fraud in the room.

I left shaking with nerves and never went back to that church, and I made a mental note to try to be more mindful of future giant misunderstandings. But I’ve often thought of that group of people and always hoped they’ve been doing well.

I have another story from That Library In Ohio, where this story and this story happened, among others.

It’s a frigid winter day, and we are in the middle of getting hammered by a blizzard. I get up early and attempt to shovel my driveway. The snow is about two feet deep at this point, and it takes three shovelfuls of snow just to clear a one-foot-by-one-foot square to the concrete. I constantly check my phone while I work, figuring it’s only a matter of time before the library closes due to the weather. Every single local school in the area has long since closed; some did last night.

Instead, I (and the rest of the library staff) get an email from our director. 

Director: “I just drove into work, and I was able to do it fine. Since I could do it, you can all do it. The library will remain open so the children have a place to go today. I expect everyone to arrive promptly for their shifts.”

I let out some very library-inappropriate language. There was a travel advisory out for the whole county. Plus, I had just reached the end of my driveway. The plows hadn’t even been down my road ONCE. There were two feet of snow down the entire residential street until the main road. No one else had attempted to drive it; there was not a single tire tread to be seen. And more snow is falling by the moment.

Maybe it was possible for [Director] to get to work. She had a massive SUV beast of a machine with four-wheel drive. The vast majority of the rest of us, me included, drove little sedans. It was about all we could afford. You don’t get rich working at a library — unless you’re a director.

At this point, I just propped my shovel against the siding, took a picture of my street, and contacted my immediate boss. I told her it was literally impossible for me to leave my residence right now. The snow in the road was EVEN WITH MY CAR DOOR. Even if I had left right then, between the roads and likely getting stranded, I never would have made it in time for my shift. 

(It’s worth mentioning that [Director] was also the type of boss who would write us up for being one single second late clocking in. She made it so difficult that I have multiple accounts from coworkers who realized they were going to be late while en route to their shift and simply turned around, went home, and called off sick because there was less backlash for doing so.)

This might be the only time my immediate boss supported my decision. But perhaps she knew I would have contacted the union over safety issues had she tried to force me to come in.

I wasn’t the only one. [Director]’s inbox was immediately flooded with messages from my coworkers who were in similar situations to mine and simply could not physically get to the library at all. [Director] wound up having to close for the day, not because of the weather (her words) but because she didn’t have enough staff to open the building.

Related:
Moving On To Greeter Things
Look Up Some Books On Work/Life Balance

I work as a cashier at a farm store. There are not many of this chain, and it’s fairly similar to two other chains; however, it is separate enough not to get it confused with the other two… especially since the signs on our building saying our name are massive.

We’ve only been open for about a year and a half, but these stories have happened throughout.

[Customer #1] walks up to the register, holding a shirt.

Me: “Did you find everything okay? And are you a rewards member?”

Customer #1: “No. I wanted a different shirt, but you guys don’t have it. Your store is just about useless.”

I ignore his snide remark and ring his shirt up.

Me: “All right, it’ll be [total].”

Customer #1: “That’s supposed to be 30% off.”

Me: “That’s the member-only deal. I can sign you up if you want.”

They throw the shirt across the counter and storm out.

Customer #1: “You all are useless.”

For this next customer, it was a few days after our sale began, so we ran out of a few of the products in our ad. [Customer #2] walked up holding an ad.

Customer #2: “I was told to wait by customer service for this item to be brought to me.” 

They pointed at a tool that is always kept in the back, in the warehouse.

Me: “Oh, sure! I’ll radio and see if they found it yet.”

I radioed, only to find out we were sold out.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, it seems like we’re currently sold out.”

They put the ad down and started to walk away.

Customer #2: “This is false advertisement. Why put something in the ad that you don’t have?”

Me: “Well, our other locations may still have it, and we probably had it when the ad came out, but we’ve sold out of a few things already. It is the Christmas shopping season, after all.”

Customer #2: “It’s false advertising. No wonder no one ever shops here.”

Our store was absolutely packed when he said that, but sure, no one shops here.

The next customer was a few months back when I was still staying over to help process our signs and set up for sales. We had just taken the last sales signs down the night before and didn’t have any sales running at this time.

[Customer #3] came in asking for a specific item.

Me: “Oh, we have that! I can show you where.”

Customer #3: “The one in your ad? I want the one that’s on sale right now.”

Me: “I’m sorry, we currently don’t have any sales running. Is it possible you have one of our competitor’s ads?”

Customer #3: *Scoffs* “No, it’s you! It’s this store. I want the one in the ad!”

I sighed, knowing how this was going to end.

Me: “Unfortunately, as I said, we have no sales running this week. I help do the ads, so I know what’s on sale and what’s not. A lot of people confuse us with [Competitor], so that’s why I asked if you had their ad and thought it was us.”

Customer #3: *Stomps* “No! It’s you! This store! I have the ad in my truck!”

Me: “Could you go out and grab it? If it truly is this store, then it’s a future ad and I would have to ask a manager if we’re allowed to do a price change.”

Customer #3: “Yes, I’ll go get it!”

[Customer #3] stormed out and never came back in. I looked up our main competitor’s current ad, and the item was in it.

I work for a rather large manufacturing plant in Ohio. While it’s a fairly clean environment, it does still have areas that don’t see much traffic and accumulate dust. I’m responsible for the computer hardware on-site and troubleshooting any related issues.

I got called on-site to this location outside of normal hours due to an issue impacting production. The end user had just the day before treated me like crap because I was not allowed to provide her with a free additional laptop charger simply because she did not want to transport hers back and forth between work and home. She ended up being the one to take me out to the floor and show me the machine with the issue.

Upon arrival, the keyboard was very dusty. No problem; I wasn’t really worried about it. [End User] decided it was too dusty and immediately grabbed the “canned air” on the same table as the keyboard and started to spray it without reading the label.

It turned out that the can had WD-40 (a lubricant) in it.

I was flabbergasted and did not really know how to respond. [End User] acted really confused and asked me what had happened.

Me: “I think you just sprayed the keyboard with lubricant.”

This was not the first run-in I had with [End User] and previous employees in my position had similar experiences. It was fun to see her do something so completely stupid. I’m not even sure she realized how stupid it was, to be honest.