On a Saturday in the late 1980s, I left on a business trip and my wife drove me to the airport. With our two-year-old son on her hip, she returned to the car and found she had no keys. Believing that I had gone with her keys as well as my own was not a friendly thought.

She called AAA. (AAA is the American Automobile Association; they provide insurance, roadside assistance, and other benefits to their members.) They towed the car to a locksmith while she and our son sat in the tow truck with the driver. A new key was made. She drove home, knowing she had no key to the house. Finding nothing unlocked, she put our son to one side and broke a back window. In a phone call to me, she found ways to express her displeasure.

On Sunday, she looked into our other car, which was parked on the street, and saw her keys on the back seat. Rather than call AAA a second time that weekend for the same reason, she waited a day. During Monday morning rush hour, after the babysitter arrived to take care of the toddler, she braved a second call to AAA.

While waiting beside the car, she discovered that it was unlocked.

So, leaving the keys inside and using the push-button on the door, she locked it.

I have dinner with family in the city not far from my home, and then we go to a marketplace with lots of takeout food stalls. We decide to get ice cream, and there are two different shops, each with two vegan options. I’m allergic to dairy, so I’m pleased to have choices. I go to [Shop #1] where my family has queued up and, as I get to the front, I notice that the freezer case has a dozen open cartons of ice cream and no visible scoops.

Me: “Hi! Do you use the same scoops for all of your ice creams?”

Worker #1: “Yes, we do, but I can get a clean scoop if there’s an allergy.”

Me: “I do have an allergy, but unfortunately, all of the ice creams are contaminated.”

Worker #1: “I know! I don’t understand why people think getting a clean scoop will help when the other scoops have already been in there.”

I’m floored. Some shops get it and separate out their scoops so there’s no cross-contamination. But, in all my years of getting (or not getting) ice cream from shops with both dairy and non-dairy options, I have not once found a worker who understood cross-contamination when the shop uses shared scoops in “sanitizing liquid” (which means there’s residue from every ice cream on every scoop).

Me: “Thank you for that. Most people just don’t get it.”

Worker #1: “Yeah, I mean, I can try to get the ice cream from the back of the tub for you, but we know it’s going to have been touched by the other scoops. But it’s your choice; I can do it if you want me to.”

I thank him profusely but decline the offer. My allergy isn’t dangerous, but it’s unpleasant and does get set off by trace amounts.

So, off I go to [Shop #2]. It’s soft-serve, and each ice cream has its own dispenser. The two vegan options are in an entirely different machine. I have a slight concern about the toppings maybe having touched the dairy ice cream, but I witness the workers carefully pouring the toppings in a way that doesn’t seem to allow for cross-contamination. I want to ask them to at least change their gloves for my order, but I don’t want to be too much of a bother.

Me: “Hi. Could you please tell me if the waffle cone is dairy-free?”

Worker #2: “Yes, it is.”

I confirm that with her and then decide to order.

Me: “Could I please have the non-dairy vanilla in a waffle cone with almonds?”

Worker #2: “Would you like me to change my gloves?”

Me: “Yes, please!”

She changed her gloves, dispensed the ice cream into the cone, and placed the cone in a holder. Then, I saw her rummaging under the counter. I realized from her chat with the other worker that she was getting out fresh almonds. She found them and then loaded up my cone with so many almonds that I couldn’t even see the ice cream.

Again, I was floored. I thanked both workers several times and praised their allergy knowledge. They acted like it was no big deal because, to them, it wasn’t; it was just basic good practices. 

Maybe you thought this story would end in disaster. But sometimes people get things right the first time. And sometimes I end up with a delicious ice cream cone.

We are experiencing a nasty winter storm when the power goes out. We are staying open by flashlight to take care of urgent needs such as candles, flashlights, batteries, and such. We’re operating on a cash-only basis and escorting customers so nobody gets hurt.

A customer comes to my register with an inexpensive cell phone cable. I give the customer her total, and she tries to hand me a hundred-dollar bill.

Me: “I don’t have the change for that.”

Customer: “This is all I have.”

Me: “Then you’ll be getting coins, singles, and fives in change.”

She dug through her purse and pulled out a twenty! I think she just wanted to break that large bill.

Related:
A Storm Of Entitlement, Part 2
A Storm Of Entitlement

My supervisor is on the phone with someone from the IT department. This is a brief snippet from several hours of trying to explain various issues.

Supervisor: “Some job titles with Roman numerals were entered incorrectly into the database. Instead of I, they’re ending with L. Like Admin Coordinator Two was supposed to be Admin Coordinator uppercase Eye-Eye, but instead, it’s lowercase Ell-Ell. Is there something you could do to fix that for all of them at once?” *Pauses* “It’s supposed to be Eye-Eye, but instead it’s Ell-Ell. Look at Admin Coordinator Two.” *Pauses* “You do know the difference between an I and an L, right?” *Pauses* “Set it to all uppercase, and you’ll see it. It’s two Ls.” *Pauses* “Could you just change all the job titles with numbers to Arabic numerals? Right now, some of them have Arabic numerals, and some of them have Roman numerals, and some of them end in Ls, and it’s really confusing.” *Pauses* “Yeah, change it to Admin Coordinator Two.” *Pauses* “NO, NOT MORE ROMAN NUMERALS!”

On Monday, he has to explain to his boss’s bosses why we’re behind on our project. It’s going to be a long week.

I work in an office, and I’m training a new guy in his first couple of weeks on his job. It’s gone well so far. He listens to instructions, asks questions when he doesn’t understand something or needs clarifications, and is slowly but surely working his way up to being a decent worker.

One day, I’m in the breakroom for lunch with some nachos and a separate little dish for the salsa. I am eating and looking at my phone when [New Guy] comes in and, apparently — I’m not aware of him looking at me at first — watches as I dip a chip, take a bite, and then dip the same chip again.

New Guy: “Ew, did you just double-dip?”

I look up and blink at him.

Me: “Uh, yes? I’m the only one eating these.”

He crosses his arms like a child.

New Guy: “Well, what if I wanted some?”

Me: *Staring at him* “…First of all, you ask. Like an adult would do.”

New Guy: *Puffing up* “Well, I’m not going to ask now. You double-dipped.”

Me: “The answer would have been no anyway; they’re my lunch, and I wasn’t planning on sharing. You’re not entitled to a chip.”

New Guy: *Suddenly shouting* “Well, why not?! Would it have killed you to be nice?! My mother always shared her lunch with me when I came to her office! Why can’t you?! I just want some stupid chips!”

I just keep staring at this point, confused and a bit insulted by this guy’s entitlement that, from my perspective, has come literally out of nowhere. My lack of response just seems to make him even angrier, as he storms out of the room, kicking the table on the way out and almost sending my nachos to the floor, but I catch them and the salsa before they make a mess. I turn to look at the door, hearing his stomping footsteps as they retreat down the hall, and I catch the eyes of another coworker who poked her head into the room after hearing the commotion.

I can only shrug when she asks what happened, explaining that I just said I wasn’t going to share my lunch with him.

Coworker: “I think he’s heading for [Boss]’s office.”

Me: “Okay, well, let’s see how that goes for him.”

I go back to my nachos.

About ten minutes after the end of my lunch break, I’m called into [Boss]’s office. [New Guy] is nowhere to be seen, and when I enter the room, [Boss] just looks tired. He motions for me to sit.

Boss: “Just so you know, you’re not in trouble. I sent [New Guy] home because he cursed at me, but please, give me your side of the story.”

Me: “Not much to tell. I basically told him I wasn’t going to share my nachos with him and… he freaked out.”

Boss: *Nods* “Yep, that’s what he told me, too. He used more… colorful language… including a slur I won’t be repeating.”

Me: *Blinks* “Like what? Something racist?”

Boss: “No, it was more that he insinuated that you were a trans person, and he used the… insulting term.”

Me: “Because I wouldn’t offer him some of my nachos?”

Boss: *Shrugs helplessly* “I’ve already started the paperwork to terminate his employment here. I don’t care how good a worker he’d have ended up being; that behavior was unacceptable. The fact that it was over some nachos is just the cherry on top.”

Me: “Is it bad that I’m kinda happy that he exposed that side of himself early before it was a future problem?”

Boss: “No, I was going to say the same thing; The termination paperwork is easier if it’s still the probationary period. You can head back to work now. Go ahead and take a bit of extra time for a break if you need it.”

Me: “Nah, he didn’t really upset me that much. I was just confused.”

[Boss] and I shared a chuckle before I headed back to work.

The next day, I heard from [Boss] that [New Guy] sent an email as soon as he got home saying, among other things, that he quit. [Boss] gave me the cliff notes that, basically, [New Guy] apparently didn’t think he’d done anything wrong and didn’t understand how I was so selfish when I had “so many” chips and “wouldn’t miss one”. The cherry on top of the letter, [Boss] said while laughing, was that he ended the whole rant with, “And I hope [My Name] never gets to share her lunch with anyone, because apparently she’s entitled to every bite.”

[Boss] offered to print it out and laminate it for me, but I declined; I’m content with having my own nachos and eating them, too.