My dad died, and this was to be Mom’s first Mother’s Day by herself as we kids lived out of state. I called a local restaurant chain and explained this. Note that this was long before food delivery apps and the like existed.

Me: “Is there a way for someone to deliver a meal to my mom? She’s about a mile from you.”

Manager: “You’re in luck. I’m the manager, and I think we can do that.”

I ordered her some nice food.

Manager: “What’s her name?”

Me: “It’s [Mom].”

Silence.

Me: “Hello? Are you there?”

Manager: “That’s my mother’s name, too. It’s my first Mother’s Day without her.”

I came to find out later that the two of them had a very nice meal together and reminisced about each other’s loved ones. Mysterious ways, indeed!

I am running the drive-thru two days after the great return of pumpkin spice lattes at my store. The truck that was supposed to be here last night to give us all the pumpkin goodness and other pastries never showed up, so we are vastly understocked. My manager is trying to get a hold of them to see where they are, and a fellow team member and I are just trying to hold it together, seeing as we are out of all pumpkin.

Pumpkin spice latte? No. Pumpkin muffin? Nope. Even our regular items are flying off the shelves, and by the afternoon, we have been yelled at, screamed at, and cussed at more times than I can count.

The drive-up dings to let me know we have someone waiting. I answer it, and the girl on the other side asks for a pumpkin spice latte.

Me: “Ma’am, I’m so sorry, but we are out of the pumpkin syrup at the moment.”

Customer: “Oh, no worries. Could I get a [completely different drink]?”

Me: “Ma’am, uh, we are out of that syrup, as well…” 

I brace for an explosion, but the customer laughs.

Customer: “Oh, dear. What about [another drink]?”

Me: “We actually have that one, ma’am.”

Customer: “Yay! Oh, and can I add a pumpkin muffin?“

Me: “Uh… you won’t believe this…”

Customer: “Oh, no.” *Laughs again* “Well, how about the new apple pastry?“

Me: “Uh…”

Customer: “Oh, wow, been that kind of day. What about a protein box?“

Me: “Well…“

Customer: “Oh, my gosh!” *Laughs again* “I am so sorry… Do you have a chocolate croissant?“

Me: “YES!“

Customer: “Yay! Okay, I’ll take one of those, then.”

Me: “Absolutely, and ma’am, I’m so sorry.”

Customer: “No worries!”

My manager hopped on the headset as soon as she heard me tell the customer we didn’t have something and heard the whole interaction. As the customer drives around, my manager says:

Manager: “She was so nice about that!

This customer pulls around, pays for her items, and makes small talk, mostly about all the items we are out of.

Customer: *Smiling* “Don’t let the muggles get you down; it happens.”

Me: “Yeah, well, you are the nicest one we have had today!”

Customer: “I used to work in retail, so I completely understand. Don’t worry; y’all are doing your best!“

We ended up giving her the pastry for free because she was so nice. I know it’s a small thing, but it really made our day to have someone not only understand what we were going through but not take it out on us.

Related:
Tell Me You’ve Worked In Retail Without Saying You’ve Worked In Retail

I have been out of the dating scene for quite a while; after someone went almost Hannibal Lecter on me, I noped out of that scene with a vengeance.

I recently paid off my car, which is a huge thing to me because I have struggled with debt for a while. None of my family lives close, and most of my friends are out of town, so I decide that I’m going to go celebrate at a local pub that has the best local beers.

When I get there, it’s about a five-minute wait, but then I get to sit right away. After the waiter greets me and comes back to bring me my drinks, this is where it starts to get weird.

A random guy about my age plops into the seat across from me. I give him a look, and he starts babbling about traffic and some other excuse and I should have called him if I knew I was going to be early.

I stop him — or try to — and tell him quite calmly that he has the wrong table, I don’t know him, and I’m not comfortable with him sitting down in my space.

He starts telling me that that is the whole point of a blind date and that he is now going to show me a good time.

By this time, the waiter has come back with my drinks and is looking back and forth at us. I stop the random guy again and let him know I didn’t make a blind date with him, I don’t know him, and I want him out of here.

The waiter immediately tells me to get my stuff and he will reseat me somewhere else. He sits me a bit closer to the bar, but the guy follows. As the waiter sets down the drinks, he tells me to hang on he’s going to go grab the manager.

What happens next is priceless.

The random guy sits across from me again and begins another monologue about how he can’t get a date and people think that he’s too pushy. (Gee, I wonder why?) Then, this absolute behemoth of a man who with a shaved head and tattoos over both bare arms and neck, holding a baseball bat, steps by my side and asks in a booming Russian accent:

Big Man: “This is man who likes to not understand no?”

I nod. The random guy goes greenish white but still tries to bluster about it being a blind date. The Big Man holds up a hand. 

Big Man: “Miss, this man is a date of yours?”

I disagree and let him know I didn’t have any plans to be on a date; I am out celebrating something by myself.

The Big Man nods and looks to the guy:

Big Man: “You have one minute to leave the way you arrived, or I will make new skylight with your body. Your choice.”

The guy tries to say that he wasn’t bothering anyone, and the Big Man stops him again.

Big Man: “You are wasting precious time to leave, and if we have to do my way, my friend, you will not be able to talk for long time.”

The guy decides that he is done with that and runs out of the bar so fast. The Russian turns to me and laughs a big belly laugh. Then, he asks me in the deepest Southern drawl I have ever heard if everything is all right.

When I laugh and ask about the accent, he shrugs.

Big Man: “People respect the Russian accent more than the Southern one, and I’m okay with it.”

He ended up getting me a dessert on the house to celebrate, and I’ll definitely be back!

Related:
In Soviet Russia, Accent Speaks You
Doris, Archenemy Of Boris, Orders A Footlong
Anatoli, Cousin To Ivan And Boris, Is The Hero We All Need
Larry: Friend Of Boris

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CONTENT WARNING: Blood, Serious Injury (Mentioned in passing)
 

When I was nineteen, I worked as an attendant in a laundromat in a very poor neighborhood. I dispensed change, cleaned up, did drop laundry, and pressed military uniforms. Although the owner had a chain of stores, he did not treat them all equally. Because the store I worked in was in a poor neighborhood, even though it was very busy (and therefore profitable), the owner neglected this particular store. There was no air conditioning, and in the summer, the indoor temperature reached 120 F (48.9 C), a third of the machines were broken, and the place was generally a dump.

However, because it was a military town with many soldiers and wives of soldiers willing to work for minimum wage (at best), employees had little choice; the job market there was chronically depressed.

Then, the paycheck I was depending on bounced (four days after my employer bought a new boat).

Two days later, I was given my pay, but the damage was already done. Because I had deposited my first check in good faith and then paid my bills, my checks bounced. Everything from my rent to my gas, water, and electric bills was returned with fees. My employer’s bad check cost me over 400 dollars — 400 dollars I could not afford.

I had been making an attempt to be fiscally responsible and had not accepted any of the crazy high-interest credit cards being offered to young people in the 1980s, but under the circumstances, I took a card from the pile of junk mail and got a cash advance to cover the fees my employer had saddled me with. As a young person with a very low income, it took me a long time to pay that card off.

Of course, I couldn’t quit right away; I had too many bills and Lawton, Oklahoma has a terrible job market. In the end, I moved to New Mexico to get away from the minimum wage economy.

On my last night on the job, someone was stabbed at my laundromat. I vividly remember my employer chiding me not to leave until I cleaned the blood off the sidewalk.

I heard from friends over the years that he continued to bounce payroll checks.

Today, my former employer sits on the City Council.

About fifteen years ago, I was working in a call center for a Very Big Cell Phone Company. This VBCC had call centers all over the USA. I happened to be working in one in the Midwest on the swing shift.

It was near the end of my shift one night, so almost 1:00 am, and things were winding down. My last call beeped through, but the customer’s account didn’t automatically pop up on the computer screen. This meant one of two things: either this wasn’t an actual customer (yet), or it was a customer with a lost or busted phone. I was hoping for the first but, sadly, it was the second.

So, I girded my loins, steeled myself, and prepared to do what I could to help. I got her cell number so I could pull up her account, and I saw that she had wisely purchased the replacement insurance. I used my best, Compassionate Customer Service Voice™ and assured her that she would get a replacement phone in five to seven business days.

She was not happy about this, and I get it. But there was nothing else I could do.

Customer: “I want my phone now!”

Me: “I understand. And I empathize, but the replacement phones are sent through the mail. It takes five to seven business days for it to arrive. I’m sorry.”

Customer: “No! You will give me my new phone now! I’ll pick it up at the store!”

Me: “Ma’am? You’re in New York. It’s 2:00 am there. There isn’t a store open, and even if there—”

Customer: “Then wake someone up, and make them open the store for me! I need this phone, now!”

This conversation went round and round in circles for about five minutes. It had been a long day, it was the end of my shift, and at that point, my friends were waiting for me so we could all go to a local twenty-four-hour breakfast place and blow off some steam. (It’s Tulsa, Oklahoma; there wasn’t anything else open at that time of night.)

I kept trying to explain to her the simple fact that I couldn’t instantaneously get her the replacement phone, and she kept interrupting me, demanding she get it RIGHT NOW!

I was starting to get pissed, and I was about to sacrifice my job if I heard the word “NOW” one more time.

Customer: “WHY WON’T YOU GIVE ME MY PHONE NOW?!”

And there it was…

I took a deep breath, found my center, and then, with a firm but calm tone to my voice that belied the fury boiling inside of me, I said:

Me: “Ma’am, I sincerely apologize, but all of our transporters have been infected with a computer virus. You don’t want me to beam you a mutated phone that would bite off your ear and then embed itself into your brain, now, would you? No, you do not. So, you’ll just have to wait patiently while we use twenty-first-century technology to get your replacement phone to you in five to seven business days. I am ending this call, now. Thank you, and good night.” *Click*

I logged off, grabbed my coat, and stood up, ready to finally leave…

And there was my supervisor, standing in her cubicle, giving me the stink-eye. She gestured for me to come to her, and like a dog that knew it had done a Bad Thing, I slunk across the call center.

Supervisor: “You do understand that I’m going to have to write you up for that, right?”

I nodded.

She looked around, and no one but my friends were looking in our direction. Then, she reached down and tapped a key on her keyboard. Then, she tapped a second one. Then a third. Then, she looked up at me, and a smile twitched on her lips.

Supervisor: “We’re just going to pretend this never happened, okay?”

Me: “Ma’am?!”

Supervisor: “Yeah, you lasted longer than I would have.” *Chuckles* “And I have to admit, that was a pretty creative comeback.” *Becomes stern again* “But never, ever do that again.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. No problem!”

That was not the first time — nor would it be the last time — that my smart mouth overruled my idiot brain when dealing with an Entitled Jerk. I’m honestly surprised I’ve never been fired for it. I’m retired now, so I beat the odds.

I should’ve used my luck on the lottery, instead.