(The plane is sitting at the runway, waiting to take off, and the flight attendant’s giving her normal pre-flight instructions, but for the most part, people are ignoring her. She continues unfazed.)
Flight Attendant: “Remember to put on your own mask before helping children, those who can’t get their own, or those who aren’t listening.”
(Surprisingly, the flight was relatively quiet.)
(During my last job hunt, I also start looking for jobs out of state, as my family and I have decided we are tired of the extreme weather and local politics. I eventually get a job offer out of state, and as we are preparing to move, I get a call from a local recruiter, whom I haven’t worked with before.)
Recruiter: “What would be a good time for you to interview with [Employer]?”
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, but I’ve actually already accepted a job out of state. Thank you, though!”
Recruiter: “Oh… are you leaving immediately?”
Me: “Well, not for another week.”
Recruiter: “So, you still have time that you could interview with [Employer].”
Me: “I guess, but I’m not sure why I would?”
Recruiter: “Maybe they’ll make you a better offer!”
Me: “Are they offering six figures in their price range?”
Recruiter: “Um. No, but—”
Me: “Then, I’m sorry, but I’m really not interested. I’m very happy with the job I’ve already accepted, and we’ve already signed the lease for a new apartment.”
Recruiter: “Don’t you want to keep your options open if that job falls through?”
Me: “I’d rather be jobless there than here, so no.”
Recruiter: “Listen, you’d be doing me a favor if you did this interview. We want to maintain a good relationship with this client.”
Me: *realizing what’s going on, long pause* “You’re not going to guilt me into doing this interview.”
Recruiter: “That’s not what I’m doing.”
Me: *getting irate* “That’s exactly what you’re doing; don’t try to bulls*** me.”
Recruiter: “I don’t think there’s any need for that kind of language.”
Me: “And I don’t think I care about burning this particular bridge.” *hangs up*
Husband: *staring at me, wide-eyed* “What the h*** was that?”
(I guess knowing we were getting out of that place made me less patient with guilt-trips. I hate doing interviews, even for jobs I DO want. We’re quite happy in our new home and have no intention of ever going back.)
I’m the dumb one in this story. My baby had some breathing trouble and was hospitalized for a month and a half prior to surgery. One of the times I was staying overnight, a respiratory therapist I hadn’t met before came in to check the settings on the oxygen. I saw she had a cursive font tattoo on her arm. Confused, I asked,
“Does your tattoo say, ‘Thy will be donut’?”
The therapist showed me her arm and said, “No, it says, ‘Thy will be done’.” What I had taken as “donut” was the word “done” with a cross after it.
I was at a food court in a mall, sitting fairly close to the trash cans. Next to the trash cans, there were a couple of recycling bins, one for bottles and one for cans. As I was watching, a woman walked up and dropped her bottle into the bin marked for cans. There was a clinking as the bottle hit metal, and I could see her realize that she’d just dropped the bottle into the wrong bin.
After pausing for a moment, she then reached down and pulled the lids off both bins. I thought maybe she was planning to pull out her bottle and put it in the right container, but instead, she swapped the two lids, placing the lid marked for bottles on the container for cans, and vice versa. She then turned around and spotted me watching. She quickly looked away and hurried off.
I ended up walking over and switching the lids back, but I really have to wonder how you can get so stubborn that you feel the need to swap the lids on recycling bins to pretend that you are “retroactively right” in which bin you dropped your trash into.
This story is part of our Recycling roundup!
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(I work at a company that requires you to use an ID badge to get through the front doors. However, rather than having an automatic reader you scan, there is instead a manual, hand-held scanner that the person behind the reception desk will use to scan the ID. If they get the green light, they’ll then hit a button behind the desk to open the doors. On this particular day, I get to the desk while I am still trying to pull my ID out of my pocket. The lady behind the desk is someone who I’ve never seen before.)
Receptionist: “You need to present your ID.”
Me: *cheerfully* “Yep, sorry. It got stuck in my pocket.”
Receptionist: *rolls her eyes* “If you don’t have an ID, you aren’t getting in.”
(At that moment, I manage to pull it free of the fold it was stuck on, and hold it out.)
Me: “Right, sorry. There you go.”
Receptionist: *not even looking at my card* “You need a card to get in.”
Me: *slowly wiggling it back and forth* “Yes, it’s right here.”
Receptionist: *turns away and starts fiddling with her computer* “I can’t just let you in without an ID.”
Me: *frustrated at this point* “I know, which is why I have my ID right here.”
(She doesn’t respond, leaving me standing there with my ID out. After a moment, one of the security officers for the building comes over.)
Officer: “Is there a problem?”
Receptionist: *wheeling around* “He’s trying to get in without an ID.”
(The officer looked between the card in my hand and the receptionist, before reaching over and picking up the hand scanner. He didn’t say a word as he scanned my card, the light flashed green, and he then reached around and hit the door-open button behind the desk. Throughout all this, the receptionist kept looking at him, continuing to not even acknowledge that my card existed. I left at that point, and I haven’t seen that woman at the desk since then. I’m still not sure if this was some sort of weird power play on her part, or if her brain really was filtering out the existence of my ID card.)
