I work at a video game store. A man is standing at the counter holding a copy of Super Mario Odyssey for the Nintendo Switch, around when it first came out.

Customer: “Will this work on my son’s Xbox?”

Me: “No, sir. Mario is a Nintendo character, so his games only work on Nintendo consoles like the Switch.”

Customer: “But my son asked for this game.”

Me: “Then you’d need to make sure he has a Switch to play it on.”

Customer: “Well, I’m buying it anyway. My son is a tech genius. He told me he knows how to ’emulate’ things. He’ll just find a way to make the Xbox recognize the game.”

Me: “Sir, if your son can’t ’emulate’ a Nintendo Switch cartridge on his Xbox, you can’t bring it back for a refund once opened.”

Customer: “You won’t be seeing me again.”

The customer pays and leaves. He’s back that afternoon.

Customer: “He… uh… wanted Spiderman for the Xbox.”

To his credit, the customer doesn’t complain or demand a refund. He just buys the correct game and leaves, tail tucked.

Coworker: “How did he mix up Mario for Spiderman?”

Me: “Uh… they’re both red?”

My brother-in-law is single and owns his own home, in which he rents out rooms to his sister and a friend from high school. Bless my siblings-in-law, but they lack common sense, or really any sense. Meanwhile, his high school friend [Roommate] is very savvy and has become kind of the “mother” to these two knuckleheads — planning the shopping, cooking, and cleaning.

They have another friend, “Freddie”, who we ([Roommate] and I) are convinced is hobosexual (aka homeless) since he broke up with his girlfriend. However, rather than come out right and say it or find a new accommodation, Freddie mooches off his friends. This includes inviting himself to crash on my brother-in-law’s couch a couple of days a week.

At first, it is through excuses like that he is going to a rave or a party in the area. (Mind you, this is a gated suburb in Phoenix, so any rave is at least twenty minutes away.) Then, it is just that he wants to hang out. 

It is none of my business, and my brother-in-law has frequently taken advantage of his older siblings, so I just watch with great amusement as he is mooched off of for a change. [Roommate], however, is becoming frequently annoyed with having his living room and bathroom invaded and his food stolen by Freddie.

Brother-In-Law: *To my husband* “[Roommate] has been really cold to Freddie lately, and I don’t know why.”

Husband: “Well, friends fight.”

Brother-In-Law: “But I don’t know what to do, because Freddie is coming over to hang out tonight.”

Husband: “Maybe you can go to Freddie’s tonight instead?”

Brother-In-Law: “I would, but he says it is a mess right now, and he has to be on my side of town tomorrow morning anyway. I think [Roommate] will just have to get over it.”

Husband: “You know it is [Roommate]’s home, too, right? If he doesn’t want someone there, he has that right.”

Brother-In-Law: “Yeah, but it is Freddie. We have all known each other since high school.”

Husband: “And sometimes people get sick of each other and need space. It sounds like [Roommate] just wants to sit on his couch and veg for a Friday night without Freddie invading his ‘me time’. Not all of us are social butterflies, and he works in customer service all day.”

Brother-In-Law: “Yeah, but Freddie really wants to come over.”

Me: *Fully sticking my nose into it, muttering* “Wants to come over or needs a place to crash?”

Brother-In-Law: “What is that supposed to mean?”

Me: “[Brother-In-Law], when was the last time you hung out at his place?”

Brother-In-Law: “Not since the breakup, but he is a bachelor now. His place is bound to be mess.”

Me: “Only if he wants to stay ‘a bachelor’. Let me ask you this. Who moved out? Him or his ex-girlfriend?”

Brother-In-Law: “I dunno. Her?”

Me: “You never asked him?”

Brother-In-Law: “We are guys. We don’t talk about this!”

Me: “M’kay.”

Husband: “What are you getting at, anyway?”

Me: “Just that this man has spent the last six months sleeping on your couch every Thursday and Friday. And Saturdays and Sundays are spent at [Friend #1]’s. And Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays are alternated between [Friend #2], [Friend #3], and [Friend #4].”

Brother-In-Law: “So? He has just been lonely since the breakup.”

Me: “If you say so…”

Husband: “How do you know this anyway?”

Me: “Because unlike [Brother-In-Law] here, I listen.”

Doofus still hasn’t put two and two together, but hopefully, [Roommate] can find more understanding roommates.

My husband, my brother-in-law, a few of their friends, and I decide to go a concert at the Amphitheater. The tickets to see three bands on the lawn are like $25 each with free parking. It starts at 6:30 pm, and my brother-in-law decides to show up late since he doesn’t like the first band. 

My husband and I decide to get there on time and get food beforehand; while we don’t care about the first band, either, we can park and take our time. They don’t end up coming on until 7:00 pm, and they play for roughly forty-five minutes. Then, there is another forty-five-minute break for set up for the second band.

Halfway through the break, my husband texts his brother to see where he is. He replies that he is just leaving. To only his surprise, he hits Phoenix rush hour traffic and doesn’t end up making it until halfway into the hour-long second set. I assume all is fine.

Afterward, he starts b****ing about how bad traffic was and how the parking attendants didn’t seem to know what they were doing and there wasn’t enough parking, so he had to park in the back. Whatever. It is a problem of his own making, so I roll my eyes and ignore him.

My gracious husband points out that at least he saw two really good bands. Oh, no! That sets him off on another tangent about how bad the sound quality is and how the main band kept messing up. (The singer just had throat surgery and couldn’t scream at a couple of parts but was otherwise really good, all things considered. The only complaint I had was them figuring out his mic level for the first couple of songs.) 

He then whines about how the drinks were “as much as the tickets”. (They were $12-19 and appropriately priced for the amount of liquor in them — really, prices you would expect at a restaurant.) The kicker is that he is supposed to be the designated driver among his friends, so why he cares about what the drinks cost, I will never know. He whines about how crowded it was. He whines about literally everything. You would think the band killed his entire family and s*** on their corpses with the way he is complaining.

Eventually, my husband and I just leave in mid-tantrum. I am not even sure he notices.

To this day, I am convinced he is still in that parking lot b****ing.

This was overheard during a second-grade English class.

Teacher: “Remember, [Student], when writing, I before E except after C.”

Student: “But look!”

[Student] points at the alphabet banner that wraps around the classroom at the ceiling.

Student: “A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I! E and I always come after C.”

How can you argue with that logic?

A situation has come up at work where audio plugs are being broken off in the front audio port for desktops (for valid reasons not relevant to the story), and we don’t have needle-nose pliers that are thin enough to extract the wayward plugs from the ports.

I decide to order some from [Big Online Store].

I find a good option: a set of three of them in different configurations (normal, thin, and forceps-like) for a good deal. I place the order, and I’m told it will arrive the next day. Easy-peasy. No problem.

I receive the item the next day and verify the label on the box: a set of three needle-nose pliers.

I open the box… and find a ten-inch plumber’s wrench.

I check the order again, and I check the label on the box. Yep, they both say, “Set of 3 Needle-Nose Pliers.” With a big sigh, I reach out to [Store]. They say they’re sorry and they’ll send a replacement, next-day, no charge. The world is back on track.

The replacement package arrives the next day. I verify the package. “Set of 3 Needle-Nose Pliers.”

I open it to find…

…a Ten-Inch… Plumber’s… Wrench.

They didn’t just send me the wrong item. THEY SENT ME THE SAME WRONG ITEM, packaged the same way. Seeing it in that package, it looks like a ten-inch middle finger aimed at me.

I’m not proud of what happens next. I go full Entitled Jerk.

I contact the online agent with the title “STOP SENDING ME PLUMBER’S WRENCHES!” I choose the online agent because I know yelling might come into it, but every response is practically dripping with disdain and displeasure.

The poor agent offers a $5 credit, and I figure that is the most I am going to get. I apologize for my attitude, but I’m pretty sure I am her worst “call” for the night, and I’m not proud of that.

Two days later, I pick a different supplier and get the pliers I need. But I will never forget how I felt when I opened the second package and saw that wrench.

It doesn’t take much to turn a loyal customer into a jerk.