CONTENT WARNING: Death, Gun Violence, Racism

On Tuesday a week before Christmas, a coworker of mine was walking to school, and he was sadly shot and killed. My coworker was only fifteen years old and was a really good kid. It is clear when you walk into the store that the morale is lower and workers are not in a holiday spirit. Because of the color of his skin, not many people want to believe he was a good person.

However, the community around my job and his school are full of people who knew him and will not let anyone slander his name. These are a couple of interactions we had in the few days following his death being released on the news.

Customer #1: “So, was that kid from here?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer #1: “You know, that kid who clearly was part of a gang. Got shot by a rival gang and all that. Was he really from here? Do you guys really hire gang members?!”

Me: “…”

I just keep looking at the computer, trying to finish the transaction as fast as possible. The customer in line behind [Customer #1] speaks up.

Customer #2: “What is wrong with you?! He was a kid! And a good one at that. I knew him personally and he would never be a part of something like that, and if you think so, then you need to get out of here and never come back!”

Another time: a local news crew comes in to ask questions. I am in the back, so it’s not my experience. A representative from the news walks up to the deli counter and corners the workers as cashiers call for managers at the sight of them. 

News: “Excuse me, excuse me! Can you quickly answer some questions about the young boy who was slaughtered? Was he in a gang? Did he have a history with drugs? How do you feel that he was so horribly slaughtered right before Christmas?”

Three managers and the store owners came around the corner and the news team hurriedly ran out of the store. We had to have a meeting saying that we were to not say anything pertaining to our coworker’s death, as we got more information than the public did.

Luckily, we had plenty of good customers who saw his picture, knew he worked with us, and came in demanding to donate money to the family. We currently have a book with four pages full and still growing of people wanting to donate to the family and help with the grieving process.

I have been going by my middle name for almost my entire life. For the purposes of this story, let’s say my name is Robert James Smith, and everyone calls me James. 

This has usually not been a problem as long as I have my ID. Over the past few years, I’ve become a frequent flyer. TSA has never raised an eyebrow if my boarding pass says “James Smith” or “R. James Smith”.

Until this time. 

When we finally get to the TSA agent, she eyeballs me, my photo ID, my boarding pass, and then me again, as usual. She starts to wave me through but then stops herself. 

Agent: “Hold on a moment.”

She walks off, whispers to another agent for a bit, and then returns. 

Agent: “So, unfortunately, we can’t let you board today.”

Me: “What? Why?”

Agent: “This isn’t your name. I can’t confirm that you’re the correct passenger.”

She points to the boarding pass, which lists “James Smith”.

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. I go by my legal middle name, James. See, my photo ID says Robert James Smith.”

Agent: “It doesn’t matter. It may as well be a different name. You might as well be Joshua instead of James. You’re a completely different person.”

I don’t quite know how to respond to that given I look just like my photo ID, which has my full name, but I know better than to argue with a TSA agent.

Me: *Sighing* “Okay, how can I fix this?”

The agent looks surprised, as though she genuinely expected me to give up my flight and walk away. 

Agent: “I guess you’ll have to go back to the check-in counter and get them to reprint your boarding pass. Then just come find me when you’re done.”

I race back to my airline counter and explain the situation. 

Airline Employee: “Wait, what?! That’s ridiculous. Your name is right there on your ID. It looks like we just left off the first legal name.”

Me: “I know. James is my preferred name. I should have put my full name on the boarding pass, but this has never been a problem before.”

Airline Employee: “I’m honestly not sure how to fix this. Hang on.”

They end up having to call over another employee.

Airline Employee #2: “TSA is saying he can’t board because the name is wrong? That’s crazy. It’s not like the pass says Joshua and his ID says James.”

I couldn’t help but facepalm at that point. They spent another twenty minutes trying to figure out how to change my name in the system. At long last, they succeeded, and I thanked them and rushed back to security with my new pass. 

The first TSA agent was gone. When I got to the front of the line, the new agent barely glanced at my ID before waving me on.

I almost missed my flight, but I learned my lesson. And my spouse and I now joke, “You might as well be Joshua instead of James,” whenever one of us is confused.

I work in a popular theme park at one of the busiest restaurants on the property. It’s spring break, and we are at capacity. There are about ninety mobile orders alone being prepared, and we have this gem come up.

Guest: “FOOD! I WANT MY FOOD! HOW MUCH LONGER DO I NEED TO WAIT? HELLLOOO?! I’VE BEEN HERE FOR OVER FIVE MINUTES! I THOUGHT THIS WAS QUICK SERVICE!”

Coworker: “Hi there. Yes, it is. We’ve got a bit of a wait. The line is very long, and we’re moving as quickly as we can. I do apologize for the delay.”

The guest begins yelling louder and banging his fists on the counter like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Guest: “I WANT MY FOOD! I WANT MY FOOD! FOOD! NOW!”

The lobby goes silent as everyone watches this spectacle.

Coworker: *Not missing a beat* “Right away. I’ll go ahead and try to push it through.” *Turns to the kitchen* “CAN I GET A RUSH ON ORDER [ORDER NUMBER]?!”

Everyone who was waiting in front of the guest just stared him down, and he took his food and did the walk of shame to go find a table.

The kicker? He had to stand up to eat because all the tables were occupied.

My mom was a nanny for a very rich couple for their two children. My mom was pretty much the constant in their lives and would sometimes even watch them overnight and on weekends. It got to the point that she had to sit them down and remind them that she wasn’t their mother and they shouldn’t call her “Mom”.

When I was eleven or twelve, my family went on a vacation to an amusement park known as the “happiest place on earth”. This was planned well in advance, so the couple had plenty of time to get other sitters.

We were standing in one of the parks planning our next ride when I looked into the crowd and spotted a familiar face.

Me: “Mom, look! It’s [Kid #1] and [Kid #2]!”

Mom: “Don’t be silly! They’re back home in Pennsylvania… Oh, son of a b****.”

It turned out that I was right! The couple, distraught over losing my mom for a week, booked an emergency trip to the park and had planned to just leave the kids with my mom.

In all honesty, I’m shocked that we even stumbled across each other randomly because we could have been in one of the different parks.

My mom made sure to confront her boss over this stunt.

Mom: “Listen, we can hang out for a little bit, but I’m not watching your kids. I already am dealing with mine and don’t have the energy for two toddlers. Take this time to actually make some memories with your kids and bond with them.”

I have an old, retired mobile phone that I use exclusively for banking. This is because I have noticed that my bank, despite all protestations to the contrary, sells my number to telephone marketing firms. As a result, the ringer is always off and I never check calls. Nobody I care about has this number.

One day, I haul this phone out of the drawer I keep it in and notice dozens of unanswered calls and an equivalent number of text messages, all from the same number. On a whim, I start scanning the messages.

Message #1: “Pick up, please!”

Message #2: “Please pick up; this is very important!”

Message #3: “Could you please call me back immediately? URGENT!”

Message #4: “Answer!”

Message #5: “Call me!”

Message #6: “G**d*** it! Why won’t you pick up?! This is a matter of life and death!”

Message #7: “F*** YOU! This is important!”

Message #8: “Die! Just die! F***er!”

Message #9: “Please call me! VITAL!”

And on and on. There are over 200 messages of varying degrees of desperation, many of which are crude and abusive. Fascinated, I click through to the voicemail and listen to the first message.

Caller: “Hi! This is [Caller] from [Insurance Company]. Are you getting the best deals on your auto insurance? Call me back for a free quote.”

Amazingly, I didn’t call back. The messages continued for several weeks before stopping completely with a final “F*** YOU!

Related:
Interesting Marketing Strategy You’ve Got There, Part 2
Interesting Marketing Strategy You’ve Got There