I’m a legal assistant. Half the attorneys I work for are well advanced in years. One day, one of them emails me the most mundane assignment: format and print a letter for him. I do so and take it to his office for him to sign. He looks it over, has no changes, and signs it… in bright purple ink.

I’m very confused because one of the most fundamental rules you don’t even need to be a lawyer to know is that you only sign legal documents in black or blue ink. Despite being nervous about how it might come off, I give in to the urge to question what I just saw.

Me: “Is it okay to sign this in purple?”

Attorney: “It’s blue.”

Me: *Pause* “No, it’s purple.”

Attorney: “It is?”

Me: “Yeah, a bright, pinkish fuchsia or lilac.”

He stared hard at his signature, looking as confused as I was… and that is how we both learned he’d become color blind. Rational or not, I felt horribly embarrassed, but he just laughed it off.

We keep our pens in their original, clearly-labeled boxes in the supply cabinet. He simply made it a rule never to take colored pens into his office. Whenever he passes by my desk, he’ll routinely pause, hold out a pen or paper with his signature to me, and ask, “This is blue, right?”

The area where I work has a fairly high homeless population, who will often hang around in the area, looking for people to pay for a meal for them. I will try to help out on occasion, but there are limits.

On this day, I get called back into the back office to find my boss — who is kind of a coward — a man in a suit, and an older man who I recognize as a vagrant I had to kick out of the store a while ago.

Boss: “[My Name], did you kick this man out two weeks ago?”

Me: “Yes, because—”

Vagrant: “You can’t treat people like that!”

He starts literally spitting in my face.

Vagrant: “I’m gonna have your job for this!”

I raise my own voice.

Me: “You were in the women’s restroom, giving yourself a bath from the sink!”

Utter silence falls, as my boss is basically cringing behind his desk, looking between us, and the man in the suit, who I’m guessing is a lawyer, is giving the vagrant man a look of disgust.

Vagrant: “Y-you don’t know about… Times are hard; I’ve got to do what I can and—”

Me: “Not in the women’s restroom where anyone can walk in, and not when there is a gym right across the parking lot that has publicly-available showers.”

At that point, the man in the suit picked up his bag from against the wall and just walked out, with the vagrant shouting at him as he followed. My boss continued to sit there, staring at me for a bit, before he actually pulled out a write-up sheet. After a few more moments of me just staring at him, he put it away and just waved me off to go back to work.

I work at a German-style beer hall with a pretty authentic Biergarten. Very early one evening, a group of guys in their twenties come into our Biergarten and sit down. They are lively and already a bit drunk. It soon becomes clear that they are a stag night group.

Male Coworker: *Sighing* “Well, any of you ladies want to switch sections with me? I doubt the bachelors will be thrilled to have a male server, and I am sure it will guarantee you all a good tip.”

Even though I am not a fan of bachelor groups, I volunteer since my section is still empty. I get them their beer orders and hand them some menus. A lot of the names of the dishes are authentic or near-authentic German dish names, which make them difficult for some to pronounce. I am a proficient German speaker, so I pronounce the dish names correctly.

Me: “So, gents, can I get you anything to eat?”

Drunk Patron #1: “I’ll have the Wiener Schnitzel.”

Drunk Patron #2: “Um, uh, what’s the Wasyoumacallit?”

I lean over to see where he is pointing.

Me: “Oh, the Würstlteller? It’s a platter with three different kinds of wurst—”

Drunk Patron #2: “Virgin Teller? Oh, my God, I will definitely have the Virgin Teller!”

Me: “Are you sure? Not everyone likes wurst—”

Drunk Patron #2: “Yes, yes, I want the Virgin Teller!”

He shouts to his friend across the table.

Drunk Patron #2: “Hey, buddy! Get the Virgin Teller!”

Drunk Patron #3: “I want the Virgin Teller, too!”

Drunk Patron #4: “I’ll have the Virgin Teller!”

Eight out of the ten guys at the table all order the same dish, barely reading the description and just going off on the mispronounced name of the dish. Part of me wants to speak more reason to them since most of our patrons typically end up not liking the wurst, but it is our second-most-expensive dish, so I figure that I can earn a better tip off of their drunken misunderstanding. 

When their meal comes out, another coworker and I put the dishes in front of the patrons. Most of them look confused about their meals.

Drunk Patron #3: *Looking disappointed* “I didn’t order this, did I?”

Me: “Yes, it’s the Virgin Teller. Enjoy!”

And yes, I did get an amazing tip from the whole fiasco.

I am at the drive-thru of a local fast food place, stopping to get myself a quick meal before work.

Worker: “Hi, welcome to [Fast Food Place]. How may I help you?”

Me: “Hi, I would like a double combo, large size, with lettuce and onion, and no cheese.”

The worker puts my order on the screen. I notice he has put the combo up as one WITH cheese.

Me: “Excuse me, I wanted that combo without cheese.”

Worker: “Sorry about that.”

He corrects the entry and it now clearly says, “NO cheese,” in red lettering.

Worker: “Will that be all today, sir?”

Me: “That’ll be everything.”

Worker: “Your total comes to $10.05 today, sir.”

I pull over to the window and give him the money. He immediately hands me my drink.

Worker: “Your food will be out in a moment, sir.”

He goes into the kitchen, and about a minute later he comes back to the window.

Worker: “Did you order the double with cheese?”

Me: “No. My order was a double with lettuce and onion, and without cheese.”

Worker: “Okay, one moment, sir.”

He goes back and grabs a sandwich from the rack.

Worker: “Here you are, sir.”

I check the sandwich to make sure it is correct, and then call him back when I notice it is not.

Me: “Excuse me, this is not at all what I ordered.”

Worker: “Are you sure, sir?”

Me: “I ordered a double with lettuce and onion, and no cheese. This is a triple — a plain triple with nothing on it.”

Worker: “I’m sorry, I can have a new one ready for you in about five minutes.”

Me: “No, I’m really tight on time and I need to be at work in ten minutes. Please remove one of the patties from this burger and put lettuce and onion on it, and I’ll be satisfied.”

I give the burger back to the worker. On his way to the kitchen, his manager stops him to talk, and he is visibly upset. The worker returns soon after.

Worker: “I am very sorry for that, sir. Here’s your burger. Have a good day.”

As I left the drive-thru window, I could faintly hear yelling from the kitchen. I checked the burger again and noticed that it had the lettuce and onion on it now, but it was still a triple. I’m fairly positive at that point that the manager made him upgrade my meal at no charge to make up for his stupidity in handling my order. I have not been back there since.

I work for a college bookstore. We sell college-branded clothing.

Customer: “Excuse me, do you have anything for the music department?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, but I’m afraid we are very limited. All we have is a T-shirt in these two colors.”

I take her to the section and point out the shirts; they are exactly the same except one is in navy and one is in a dark green.

Customer: “Do you have any hats?”

Me: “Uh, no, like I said, all we have are these two shirts.”

Customer: “Oh, okay… Do you have any music sweatshirts or hoodies?”

Me: “No, just the two T-shirts.”

Customer: “Okay… Do you have any white music T-shirts?”

Me: “No, we still only have these two shirts.”

I don’t know what she was thinking — that if she kept asking for new products I would just magically produce them?