(I’m the supervisor of a little retail print shop, and the store manager has recently hired a new employee against my better judgement. Her only qualification is that she sometimes uses Photoshop at home. However, her cousin works in a different part of the store as a cashier and put in a good word for her, so the manager assumes it is worth a try. Unfortunately, she can barely function in the role she is given. Despite my many attempts to walk the employee through the basics, even leaving printed directions and the phone numbers of other stores in the chain so that on-duty associates can help her if she gets stuck, she never improves. My store manager even sets her up with some online training courses to complete, to no avail. One day, while I am trying to find a customer’s order form so I can quality check it…)

Me: “Okay, so, up next we have Mr. Mc[Customer]. Let’s pull up his order.”

(I head to the filing cabinet — yeah, this print shop is slightly behind the times — and look for the document under M. There’s no form. Then, I look for it under N and L just in case it was off by one letter on accident. Still no form.)

Me: “[Employee], you filled out a form for this customer’s order, right?”

Employee: “Yes. And I filed it under his name.”

Me: “Can you show me, please?”

(The employee walks over, opens the cabinet, and pulls the form from the C folder.)

Employee: “Under C for ‘Mc[CUSTOMER].’”

Me: “Okay. For future reference, if a customer’s last name starts with ‘Mc,’ ‘Mac,’ ‘O’,’ or similar, that first portion of the last name counts, too. So, you’d file a Mc[Customer] under M, and an O’Sullivan would be filed under O, and so on.”

Employee: “Ooohhhhhhh.”

(Unfortunately, my attempt to explain didn’t help. This sort of conversation was a regular occurrence. I always tried to be super polite when explaining these things to the employee, but there were times I really wanted to lose my temper. She was still working there by the time I quit because the store manager felt too guilty to fire his cashier’s cousin, even though she was still struggling to handle her four-hour shift duties after almost a year on the job.)

(I’m an adult woman. My husband and I live in a home which is about 30 years old. The master bathroom upstairs has all original fixtures, so you can imagine they’re starting to look pretty shabby — and not in a “Shabby Chic” sort of way. We decide to remodel. The company we end up hiring to take care of the tub/shower and surround comes in and begins working. After a few hours…)

Me: “Hey, uh, I just looked at the shower liner you have there, and it’s not what we ordered.”

Construction Guy: “YOU SAID IT WAS THE RIGHT ONE!”

Me: “No, you asked me if mine were white, and I said yes. And then you brought in these. Ours are white, but they’re also [completely different pattern].”

Construction Guy: “No! This is not my fault! You said it was the right one!”

(He actually continues to argue with me over it for several minutes! I try explaining differently.)

Me: “Regardless of what you thought I said earlier, this is not what we ordered. Look here on my copy of the order form. See? It says four-inch by four-inch tiles.”

(Incredibly, the man still argues that it is MY fault! Exasperated, I switch tactics again.)

Me: “Okay, but I snapped a photo and texted it to my husband, and he said it’s not the right one!”

Construction Guy: *immediately calm* “Oh. Well, okay. We have to go back to the warehouse, then.”

(He calls his boss and admits over the phone that even though he had read our order form and saw the pattern and style name on our order, he STILL grabbed the flat white liner, anyway. Then, he tries to blame the problem on me AGAIN. While he is waiting for his coworker to go back to the warehouse to grab the right stuff…)

Construction Guy: “So, what do you do for a living?”

Me: “I’m self-employed. I do graphic design, web design, that sort of thing.”

Construction Guy: *condescendingly* “Oh. Well, I could do that, too, if I didn’t have to work in construction.”

Me: “Oh, yeah? Then why aren’t you?”

Construction Guy: “Well, I have to make money. You know. I can’t just stop working and do that.”

(He continues to belittle my line of work until I refuse to talk about it further. Finally, his coworker comes back, they finish the installation, and my husband arrives home in time to see the finished work.)

Husband: “So, why is the faucet leaking?”

Construction Guy: “Oh, that? It’s nothing. Here, I’ll fix it.”

(He dabbed some caulk over the point at which water was leaking. Later, we used the shower for the first time and water came pouring out of the downstairs walls below the shower! Turns out this guy half-a**ed the last of the work, and rather than fixing the leak, he just covered it up! THAT whole fiasco is a story for another day, but suffice to say we will not be using this particular bathroom remodel company ever again.)

(I am a food runner, which means that I don’t take orders, I just bring food to the table. Because of this, I don’t know who ordered what, so I just name the dish and ask who it is for. Today, I am bringing two women their lunches; one ordered a standard burger and added cheddar cheese, and the other ordered our garlic tri-tip plate with a side of vegetables. Obviously, they’re two very different looking entrees, one being a burger and one being a steak. I approach the table and hold the garlic tri-tip plate out in front of me with the burger behind and underneath.)

Me: “Good afternoon, ladies! Who has the garlic tri-tip plate with a side of veggies?”

Woman #1: *looks at the burger I am holding behind the tri-tip plate and SCREECHES at the top of her lungs* “OH, MY GOD, I thought this was an entree! And I can’t do cheese!” *continues screeching and whining indiscriminately, red-faced*

Woman #2: “[Friend], I ordered the cheeseburger. Your food is in her other hand.”

Woman #1: *beet-faced and stammering* “I… well… I didn’t know.”

(I set their food down without another word and walked away. Clearly, she came in that day looking to be angry about something, and the fact that her friend embarrassed her was retribution enough for me.)

(For years, we’ve had a certain brand of desktop computers and recently, my company decided to switch the whole office to laptops that we can connect to a docking port at each of our desks that connects to two monitors. The IT people work all day in the office, setting up each person’s ports and monitors. I notice that my monitors are reversed; in order to move from one monitor to the other, I have to move my mouse in the opposite direction — move left from the left monitor to work on the right-side monitor, instead of just moving simply left-to-right. I notify one of the IT guys and the following exchange ensues:)

IT Guy: “Huh. Weird. I don’t know why that’s happening. I’ll have to switch the monitors around.”

(He takes out his cutters and begins snipping the zip-ties off the bundle of cords running behind the desk.)

Me: “What are you doing that for?”

IT Guy: “I have to switch the cables first, and then move the monitors.”

Me: “Why don’t you just pick up the monitors and physically switch them? Put the left one on the right and vice versa?”

IT Guy: “Oh. I like your idea a lot better.”

(I am at my credit union depositing checks. They are displaying one of those small three-door smart cars inside the branch and another customer is talking to a teller about it.)

Customer: “D***, look at that little car! It’s supposed to save you money, right?”

Teller: “That’s right, sir. It’s a hybrid and get’s 107 miles per gallon.”

Customer: “So, it’s all electric, then?”

Me: “Yep, it gets 107 miles per gallon of electricity!”