A few years ago my husband I traveled from Ireland to the USA to complete a coast-to-coast road trip. One day we stopped for lunch in a restaurant that sold every variety of soda you can think of.

At the time, I had seen a lot of talk online about the Mexican version of a popular soda; people were going crazy over it because it apparently tasted so much better than the American version. The restaurant had the Mexican version in stock — at an inflated price of course — and I decided to order one to see what the fuss was about.

My drinks arrived and I took a sip, only to find it tasted exactly like the soda at home. I asked my husband to try it, too, and he said the same thing. That’s when I realised that the Mexican version of the soda is made with real cane sugar, just like in Ireland, and the American version is made with fructose corn syrup. I basically traveled all the way to America to pay through the nose for the same drink we can get at home! My husband still hasn’t let me live it down.

(I work for a local non-profit that includes a thrift store that funds our work. We have a box truck that we use to pick up donations from people. We will pick almost anything with a few exceptions. The other day I answered the phone:)

Lady: “I would like to schedule a pickup time. I have a washing machine to donate.”

Me: “Great! Let me get some information from you. First, is the machine in working order?”

Lady: “No, but I figure that you could part it out or recycle it or something.”

Me: “I’m very sorry, but we cannot schedule our truck to pick up broken items. If you want us to have it you will have to find a neighbor or a friend to help you get it here.”

Lady: “No one will help me and I really wanted to give it to you guys.”

Me: “Ma’am, I am sorry but it costs more to send the truck to your house than we could get by recycling the metal in the washer.”

Lady: “But I really wanted to give it to you. I guess it will just have to send it to the landfill if you don’t come get it.”

Me: “I am sorry, but we cannot pick up non-working items because it costs too much.”

Lady: “Well, I will just have to send the machine to the landfill. The new machine is being delivered tomorrow and the old washer has to be gone and I really wanted to give it to you guys.”

Me: “I understand that it is important to keep it out of the landfill. Who are you buying your new washer from?”

Lady: “[Big Box Store].”

Me: “That is great news because I know that they will take your old washer away and recycle it for you. That way it won’t go to the landfill.”

Lady: “But I really wanted to give it to you guys.”

Me: “Ma’am, with fuel costs and labor costs it would cost us about $50 to pick up your washer and we might get $5 for recycling it. We simply cannot pick up broken items. But [Big Box Store] will take it to recycle it for you when they bring your new one.”

Lady: “But I really wanted to give it to you guys.”

(I tried a few more times to explain the logic of why it did not make sense for us to lose money when it is hard enough as a charity to raise the necessary funds to perform our work. I just kept getting the response. “But I really wanted to give it to you guys.”)

Me: *at this point starting to lose my patience* “Surely you see that it doesn’t make sense for us to spend $50 to send our truck to you when we will only get $5 for your broken washer.”

(Recycling is not our charity work; alleviating poverty is.)

Lady: “But I really wanted to give it to you guys.”

(At this point I did not know what else to say that would get my message across to her so I just told her one more time that we would not pick up her broken washer and hung up quickly. I am still puzzled as to why she wanted to gift us her broken washer that would cost more money than we could make from it.)

(What was supposed to be a slow, peaceful night shift has turned hellish. A woman is assaulted in our elevator, and as the police are wrapping that up, two women run in frantically because their friend who is staying with us is trying to commit suicide in her room. By the end of the night I’m exhausted from dealing with police and EMS, and I just want to go home. This is the first call I get when people start waking up in the morning:)

Me: “Guest Services. [My Name] speaking; how can I help you?”

Guest: “What are your breakfast hours?”

Me: “[Times].”

Guest: “Okay… also, I have just, um… a ‘comment.'”

Me: *already knowing she really means “complaint”* “Oh?”

Guest: “Yes, well, when I got to my room last night, there was only one washcloth, and we needed two.”

(I can’t even respond for a second, as I would have been so beyond caring about even a legitimate complaint, never mind one this inane.)

Me: “Well, I’m sorry about that. Do you want me to have someone bring you another?”

Guest: “Well, we don’t need it now. We needed it last night. I just thought there ought to have been two when we got here.”

(There is an expectant pause. I will give discounts for a lot of things, but being too dumb to call and ask for a washcloth when you need one is not one of them.)

Me: “Well, I’m sorry about that, ma’am. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you today; have a good morning!” *click*

(At least when I repeated the interaction to my manager, I got to hear her response: “Well, if you needed it so badly, you should have called and asked for it, you dumb b****.”)

(I work the night shift, which is usually when the ridiculous stuff happens. You have to be 21 to rent a room at this hotel, because we offer complimentary drinks with every reservation. This conversation happens at about 4:30 in the morning.)

Young Man: “Is there any way I can get a room here tonight?”

Me: “Sure! Our rate is [price].”

Young Man: “Yeah, sure, that’s fine.”

(He hands over his ID, and I see that he’s only 19.)

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, but you have to be 21 to rent a room here.”

Young Man: “Oh… Well, is there anything I can do about that?”

Me: “Er… I mean if you have someone 21 or over to check you in, but other than that, no.”

Young Man: “I mean, I have another ID…”

Me: “Dude, I already saw that you’re under 21. I could lose my job.”

Young Man: “Oh… Okay.”

(He wanders off towards the elevators. I have an idea that this isn’t over, so I keep an eye out. Sure enough, about ten minutes later, he and a young lady reappear and swiftly disappear into our pool area. The pool is closed, but there are bathrooms down there, too.)

Me: *over radio* “Front Desk to Security…”

(They had a fifteen-minute romp in the bathroom before security broke them up and gave them a stern talking-to about discretion. They were more embarrassed than anything, and the guy actually apologized to me on his way out the door. I almost felt bad for the c**k-block, but if another guest had found them I’d be the one getting the earful.)

Years ago, my wife and I were the target of a civil suit. When we arrived at the court for the first hearing, the lights in the courtroom were out and not a soul was in sight. We checked the date and location on our paperwork. We were in the right place at the right time. After some hunting we found the judge’s office and were ushered into his private chambers. Had we not done so, it would have been a judgment against us. The other lawyers were there and smirking, but apparently put out that we found the location of hearing. At the time it didn’t go well, but the plaintiffs made some nasty goofs and the whole issue was dropped. I would have forgotten about the whole issue but I mentioned the judge to a friend of mine I’ll call Waldo.

Waldo was a nut. I say this in a kind way. He was one of the infamous “advisers” in the early days of the Vietnam War. Later in life he became a major advocate for rights and freedoms. To say that he liked to stick it to “the man” was an understatement. One time he went as far as pulling over a cop to warn him of a taillight out. Another time he had the sheriff’s office raid a bank for failure to respect a warrant.

But when I told him about the judge, he said he knew exactly who that was. He was in the same office I was in and complained that the hearing wasn’t public. The judge smugly declared that the office was public. After the hearing, Waldo left and was halfway out of the building when he got a crazy idea. He headed back to the judge’s office, waltzed past his secretary, and barged right into the chambers where the next “public hearing” was taking place. The judge naturally blew his top and asked Waldo what he was doing, barging in like that. Waldo calmly answered that the judge himself had said that this was public. Infuriated, the judge had to tolerate his presence.

Thankfully, laws of Karma caught up with the judge and he was ousted for that nonsense, and a few other bits of malfeasance.