I’ve gone into a popular Canadian fast food chain to get some food on my way home from work.

Me: “Hi. Can I please get a grilled chicken sandwich with cheese and bacon, with a [side] and [drink]?”

Cashier: “No problem, that’ll be [price that’s almost $10 more than what it should be].”

I look at the order screen and see she’s rung in the chicken sandwich combo without cheese or bacon, and a separate bacon cheeseburger.

Me: “Sorry, no, just the chicken sandwich combo, with cheese and bacon on it.”

Cashier: “Right, a grilled chicken combo and then a bacon cheeseburger.”

Me: “No. Just the grilled chicken. I want the cheese and bacon on the grilled chicken. Just the one sandwich with [side] and [drink].”

Cashier: “Yes, that’s what I have here. The grilled chicken sandwich combo and a bacon cheeseburger.”

Me: “That is not what I’m asking for. I just want one grilled chicken sandwich, and I want the grilled chicken sandwich to have cheese and bacon on it.”

Cashier: “So, two grilled chicken sandwiches and a bacon cheeseburger.”

Me: “No. There is only one chicken sandwich. That’s the only sandwich I want, and I want it with cheese and bacon on it.”

Cashier: “So, you want the bacon cheeseburger as a combo, too?”

I’m seconds away from just walking out.

Me: “There is no bacon cheeseburger. At all. I do not want a bacon cheeseburger. I just want my grilled chicken sandwich to be made with cheese and bacon on it.”

Thankfully, another employee can sense my agitation and comes over. I repeat my order one more time in front of the second employee. They can definitely tell I’m annoyed, but I’m still maintaining a polite, if firm, tone.

Employee #2: “[Cashier], they want cheese and bacon on the grilled chicken sandwich. Not a bacon cheeseburger.”

Cashier: “That’s what I put in!”

Employee #2: “Just let me do it.”

They shoo the cashier away and start ringing everything in properly.

Employee #2: “Sorry about that. I have no idea why that happened.”

Me: *Starting to relax* “It’s okay, I don’t mind clarifying my order, but I really don’t know how else I could have said it.”

Employee #2: “I understand. Thank you for letting me help make it right.”

I don’t necessarily hold it against the first cashier, but if someone is saying they didn’t order something, why keep insisting you’re correct?

I work for a company that installs insulation into homes. We get a call from a contractor that hires us frequently, asking about insulation that was installed incorrectly into a home they built, and trying to get it fixed. Looking up the address, I see that we quoted the job but didn’t do any work there.

Me: “It looks like we didn’t actually install the insulation in that project.”

Contractor: “I know. Your quote was quite high, so we hired [Competitor] to do it, and they did a really bad job…”

He spends several minutes describing the problem again.

Me: “Okay. We can come out and get you a quote for repairs.”

Contractor: “But I thought there was a guarantee. If we need repairs, you are supposed to do it for free.”

Me: “Yes, we guarantee our own work, and if we had installed something incorrectly, we would fix it for free.”

Contractor: “Well, [Competitor]’s work is also guaranteed, so don’t you have to fix it for free?”

Me: “No, they have to fix it for free. We don’t guarantee work that we don’t do.”

Contractor: “But I don’t want them to do it. They did a really bad job. I want you to do it!”

Me: “We will do it — for a fee. We are happy to come out and have a look and let you know how much that will be.”

After another twenty minutes of this, he finally agreed to have us quote an actual price to do the work. The owner decided to take a little pity on him, as he does do a fair amount of work with us, and the quote ended up being less than $300, which would cover the materials and most of the labour, although we would probably end up losing a little money on it.

After the work was complete and the bill was paid, he emailed us a bill for $4,200! It was for the removal of the damaged areas, the assessment, and the replacement of the finishes. My boss ended up calling him and spending forty minutes explaining to him why we were not responsible for the damages to a house caused by other people doing work poorly.

No good deed goes unpunished.

It’s the dead of winter, it’s almost 8:00 pm, I’ve just finished work five hours late, and I’m exhausted and hungry. The day has been a nightmare from the start and I’m at the end of my rope for dealing with nonsense. I’m not angry, just worn out. I stop off at a sandwich shop on my way home.

I get in line behind a gaggle of fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds. No biggie, I haven’t eaten since lunch, so what’re a few more minutes?

From the start, the teenagers are snotty and entitled, almost deliberately trying to fluster the cashier. I think about saying something, but with the mood I am in, it wouldn’t go well. Instead, I just walk out and go to another location of the same chain not too far away.

I walk in, and thankfully, this one is quiet. I must look about as good as I am feeling because the man behind the counter strikes up a conversation. I don’t go into detail or mention anything about the other shop, but it is nice to have someone listen for a minute.

We chat a bit more as he cashes me out, and by the end, I have a smile on my face — or as much of one as I can manage. I thank him for the food and for listening, and I finish my drive home.

When I open the bag up, I find that the employee slipped in a handful of extra cookies. He went out of his way to make my awful day better.

It’s been a few years since this happened and I still haven’t forgotten it. Whoever you are, thank you. I hope the world has returned your kindness.

Related:
And That’s How The CEO Cookie Crumbles
And That’s How The Stolen Cookie Crumbles
And That’s How The Ninth Cookie Crumbles
And That’s How The Cookie Infuriatingly Crumbles
And That’s How The Cookie Mathematically Crumbles

Before the recent health crisis, I decided it was time to seriously consider entering the housing market. I started saving diligently and attending open houses of all sorts to get a sense of what was out there.

I found one listing that seemed fantastic. It was well maintained and recently updated, it had lots of space, and it was a great price. There was an open house coming up in a couple of days, so I decided to attend.

I walked in and the listing agent was there to greet me. She had a bright and bubbly tone that was almost on the verge of off-putting.

Agent: “Hiii, thanks for coming! Feel free to have a look around, and let me know if you have any questions. I do have to let you know, though, that there was a suicide in the garage!”

Me: “Uhh… Okay, thanks.”

I understand that it has to be disclosed, but the “server telling you about the daily special” tone was really weird.

Reading Not Always Right, I have always been a bit skeptical of people who are willing to destroy their own life over petty entitlement — that is until I actually ran into one.

I’m a lawyer and I had been working with a woman on a very specific court application that almost nobody in my city does, not because it’s hard, but, without going into details, solicitors consider it barrister work, and barristers consider it solicitor work. Importantly, this lady can’t sell her house without first filing this application.

This lady came in with her elderly father who is also on title with her.

The woman had been fine over the phone, but when she came in for a meeting to review the draft application and sign off, she was already huffy and looking for a fight.

The first thing she did was complain that this process was taking so long. It wasn’t. In fact, I had fast-tracked it because I was handling it as a favor to my boss.

Then, she complained that she had had to wait because I was sick and my boss should have been handling it. It had been delayed two days in a months-long process and she had been updated the whole time.

I started the actual meeting by describing how we needed court guidance on the application because it was very unique and each judge has their own way of handling it. She immediately took that to mean that I had no idea what I was doing. She complained that she wasn’t paying for me to get an education and she wanted a competent lawyer, not some moron.

Her dad managed to get her calmed down enough that she would listen to what I was trying to say, but I had to warn her to be more respectful.

Next, her middle name was spelled wrong. It was spelled the way that it was spelled on the documents we were trying to submit as evidence, but she spelled it another way. And I should have known that. Again, she went off shouting that I was totally incompetent and she never wanted to work with me; she wanted to work with my boss. After her screaming fit, she was reminded, much more strongly, that she would behave respectfully or be asked to leave.

Her father pleaded sadly to just get it signed and go, but he looked like a defeated man already.

Next, she got mad that the property address which she had given us as her address was not actually her address — which, again, we should have known. This time, she didn’t stop at the insults and berating. She got up and left, dragging her father out and shouting that she would be calling my boss to complain.

The father shook my hand and apologized before following her out the door.

I told my boss what had happened and he gave me a free hand to bill her for my time and fire her as a client. I will have to see if she calls my boss, but he’s far less patient with entitled people than I am, so I can guarantee it won’t go well for her.

But, coming back to the beginning of my story, this tantrum is going to cause serious problems in this woman’s life. She torpedoed her application at the eleventh hour, after basically all the work had been done. This means that she is not only going to have to pay for the work I did, but she will also have to go out and find another lawyer to do the same work over again. And I wasn’t kidding about very few people doing this kind of application. I can think of maybe two or three other lawyers who would do it. They all have hourly rates at least double mine, and they book six months in advance. She won’t be selling her house for a very long time.