I worked in a cell phone store in the days before smartphones.

Customer: “I want to transfer the information from my old phone to my new one.”

Me: “I can help you with that. Is that phone the old one or the new one?”

Customer: “The new one. The old one fell off the Golden Gate Bridge.”

I pause and process.

Me: “Sir, I would need the old phone to be able to do that for you.”

Customer: “But I heard phones connect to the internet now! Can’t you… just, aim a satellite and transfer the data?”

Me: “No, sir, it doesn’t work like that.”

Customer: “What if I remembered exactly where I was on the bridge when I dropped it?”

Me: “Sir… you’re not understanding what the barrier is here.”

Over two decades later, and now we have cloud computing, but I hope it doesn’t give that customer an excuse to be losing phones off bridges.

I work in real estate. A friend of mine tells me they’re looking to buy a nicer apartment, and I end up having just the one for them. Her husband works in tech, so they get a million-dollar apartment (hey, it’s San Francisco), and I expect to get a healthy commission from the sale.

Except when my pay slip comes around, in which I am expecting to see it… nada. I bring it up with my boss:

Boss: “We can’t exactly go rewarding you with commission on an apartment you sold to your friends.”

Me: “Why? How is that any different from you selling that house to the owner of the golf club you go to?”

Boss: “That’s different.”

Me: “How?”

Boss: “He’s not my friend.”

Me: “But you were able to sell him the house because you knew him outside of work, right?”

Boss: “Yes, but that’s networking, not friends!”

Me: “I fail to see the difference in this instance. Do you agree that I sold the apartment and made the commission for the company?”

Boss: “Yes, but—”

Me: “—and so you’re saying because I knew the buyers in a non-professional context, I do not deserve my own commission?”

Boss: “You’re spinning words.”

Me: “No, I’m just calling out the hypocrisy. So, will I be able to tell my friends the good news that the company will be returning the entirety of the fees that they paid? After all, if I don’t deserve my commission, then neither does the company, right? They’ll be so thrilled; they’re saving for a new car.”

Boss: “We’ll talk about this later.”

We did not talk about it later, but I did get a check cut out for my commission by his confused secretary at the end of the day.

Related:
Commission Impossible, Part 2
Commission Impossible

I used to manage a high-volume single-location restaurant in the Bay Area. I was an assistant manager there, front of house. We had a chef at the time who was extremely hard-headed, even by chef standards. He made mistakes all the time, but always had an excuse and never wanted any criticism.

I was in charge of ordering for the front of house and bar, and he was in charge of ordering for the kitchen. We ordered a lot of things from the same supplier, so we could see each other’s items in the order before it got finalized.

One day, I’m going through the order to see if I missed any of what I needed. I noticed there are twenty cases of red onions (we don’t carry red onions, but frequently order small quantities of things for private events with specific menu items). I assume he meant twenty red onions. So, I called him up to clarify before changing it.

Me: “Hey, good evening, I think you added too many onions to the order, it should be—”

Chef: “—Why are you telling me what I need? You don’t know what I need, I know what I need, leave it alone and don’t call me on my day off.” *Click.*

He’s off Sunday and Monday; this is Sunday. I leave it alone, and the order auto-submits for next-day delivery. Since deliveries come in on Monday morning, the person who signs for it is usually a prep cook, not anyone in a decision-making role. So, I know that the twenty cases will very likely be accepted, since the kitchen staff knows not to bother the chef on his days off.

I roll in around 1 PM to close, and there are twenty cases of onions just packed anywhere there’s room. Each case, for context, is about 2′ by 1′ by 1′. It’s ridiculous. I say nothing and continue running the shift. 

My GM was p***ed when he found out we had twenty cases of an ingredient we don’t carry, when in fact my intuition was correct, and we needed about twenty onions for a private event later that week. 

Chef never said a word about it to me, but he’s not the chef there anymore, which is for the best.

I am at a family reunion in San Francisco when the hostess notices that we are running low on alcohol. She asks her son to go to the store and grab some more. Five of us went with him for lack of anything better to do. He was the oldest at thirty, and I was the youngest, having turned twenty-one three months ago.

As we pull up, it hits me that I don’t have my license with me. I wasn’t the driver, so I didn’t think to grab it. We’re a ways away from the house, so I feel bad having ruined the trip, as we will have to go back, get my ID, then come back to the store again.

I don’t say anything to the others. The whole time we are in the store, I’m frantically trying to figure out what to do. Leave to go sit in the car? Suspicious. Pretend not to be part of the group? The cashier saw us enter together. I keep my mouth firmly shut and don’t touch anything. The rest of my cousins and second cousins grab what’s on the list, hoping he just won’t ask when we get to the front. 

When it’s time to check out, the cashier runs his eyes over all of us.

Cashier: “Alright, I’m going to need to see ID for all of you.”

Everyone else starts pulling out their licenses. The cashier then gestures to the thirty-year-old and me.

Cashier: “Not you two. You’re good.”

On the one hand, I was happy that I hadn’t made the whole trip a wasted experience and kept my mouth shut. On the other hand, I was less than flattered that I apparently was pulling off forty-one at twenty-one.

The phone rings. 

Here at the front desk of this dental office, I have specific rules: Don’t answer the phone if a patient is standing in front of me. Well, right now a patient is standing in front of me, so I let the call go to voicemail. 

The phone rings again. A quick glance at the phone’s LED display tells me that it’s the same person; the call came quickly enough that [Caller] must have hung up and called again instantly. The patient is still standing in front of me, so I let it go to voicemail.

[Caller] hangs up instantly and calls a third time. The patient is still in front of me. 

[Caller] hangs up instantly and calls a fourth time. The patient is still in front of me.

[Caller] gives up for about thirty seconds, giving me enough time to discharge the in-person patient and carry out some other duties. As I’m returning, the phone rings. It’s [Caller].

Whatever it is, if it’s not important enough to leave a voicemail about, it’s not important enough to pick up, right? For an instant, I’m tempted to let it go. But then Customer Service Helpfulness asserts itself.

Me: “[Dentist’s Office], this is [My Name], how can I help you?”

Caller: “Hello, this is [Caller]. Remember me? I barged in yesterday and demanded an appointment. I also demanded service in Spanish, as my English is not good, requiring you to pull your coworker out of an ongoing dental operation so that I could get answers I felt comfortable with. It’s also why I’ve been calling endlessly instead of leaving a voicemail. In this way, I have disrupted your office for two days in a row.”

Me: “Thank you for that exposition. Yes, I remember you. We look forward to seeing you in an hour or so.”

Caller: “Can I postpone until next week?”