I work at a local tabletop gaming shop. We have a “Library” section where people can try out games before they buy them. A guy has been sitting at a table for a while, staring intensely at the board for Ticket to Ride.

Customer: “So… how does the board know I’ve placed a train? Is there like a machine or a sensor that keeps track?”

Me: “It’s just cardboard, sir. You just put the plastic piece in the space with your hand.”

Customer: “That seems incredibly insecure. What’s to stop me from just moving my trains around when you aren’t looking?”

Me: “Well, usually, the fact that you’re playing with friends who have eyes.”

Customer: “So it’s not even interactive? I have to move all the pieces myself? This just seems like I’m doing all the work. The board needs to know if someone is cheating or not!”

Me: “I understand the concern, but we find that ‘human honesty’ is a lot cheaper to manufacture than a sentient map of Europe.”

The customer does not buy the board game. I think the customer has never played a board game, or seen Jumanji too many times…

The mention of two weeks ‘ notice and how the boss reacted in this story reminds me of when I gave notice for the job I had before my current one.

I had been working as a nanny for a family with four children aged seven to twelve, the older two of whom lived in the house half the time and spent the other half with their mom’s family (divorce and remarriage). I was to show up just after the parents left for work at six in the morning, get the children up and ready for school, and drop them off at the different schools they attended.

There was tension from the start, as the mother introduced me to the younger two boys as “Replacement Grandma.” Setting aside that I was about thirty at the time, she meant replacement for the grandmother who used to help with childcare duties and had died the month before.

I only saw the parents twice: during the initial interview and then during my “training”/orientation (here’s where breakfast foods are, etc). After that, everything was communicated by email. The younger two kids didn’t like that I treated their stepsiblings like human beings and took that out on me.

It was pretty clear after a couple of months that this wasn’t working out. The younger siblings didn’t like me because I would step in to stop them from bullying their stepsiblings, the parents would email me, not-quite-accusing me of stealing baking supplies (“maybe you took the flour home…”), the expectations were inconsistent, and so on. My husband pointed out that we didn’t need the money to the point of putting up with all this, so I emailed my two-week notice.

The mom’s attitude did a sudden 180, proclaiming that, sure, it may have been a little rough starting out, but things were fine! It was all working out so well! Surely, I wouldn’t want to leave! Because now she was faced with the reality of not having The Help around and having to explain to her job why she couldn’t keep her schedule.

I replied with a firm no, stating that from my prior experience as a nanny, I was simply not a good match for their family. Two weeks, which gave them the school’s winter break to look for someone else, and that was all I could commit to.

She replied with a sullen email calling out various perceived injustices, including that it was unprofessional not to give any notice before quitting. It was reminiscent of a man, having been turned down by a woman, negging her to try to change her mind.

Nope, two weeks. That is your notice. I included that her attitude, coupled with the way the family acted around me, made this an easy decision.

She then sent a missive disparaging everything she could think of and how she felt sorry for my husband having to live with me, and how she hated me, her husband hated me, her kids hated me, her pets hated me; it was honestly hilarious. I forwarded the email to my friends and a couple of families I’d previously nannied for; it was so absurd.

We all got a good laugh out of it, and shortly after, I landed the job I’ve been in for the past eight years now. If I have crossed paths with any of the family, I haven’t noticed; I’m not great with faces in the first place, and the only time they occupy my thoughts is when a story pops up that reminds me of them, and I laugh about it all over again.

I never believed these people existed until I encountered one myself. 

A gentleman came up to my register, buying a roughly $17 pack of dishwasher pods plus other odds and ends, and handed me a coupon for $2.50 off the dishwasher detergent. I scanned the coupon, and the $2.50 came off with no problems so far. After I complete the transaction and hand him his receipt, he looks it over, as some customers do, and finds a problem.

Customer: “The dishwasher detergent is the wrong price. The coupon was for $2.50 total price!”

I had not put the coupon in my till yet, so I showed him.

Me: “Sir, it was $2.50 off the detergent.”

After a few minutes of me trying to explain, he seems to understand and leaves, but is back moments later because:

Customer: “The coupon should have been $2.50 total! I want to return the detergent!”

At this point, I direct him toward customer service because I can’t complete returns on my till. Thank goodness he didn’t want the coupon back because that, I couldn’t do.

The weather has suddenly turned colder as we hit September. We’re discussing it one morning in the office. FYI, the office building’s furnace broke down at the beginning of summer, and it has yet to be fixed.

Coworker #1: “I swear, last week it was ninety degrees. Now I’m freezing. My car actually told me it was fifty-two this morning.”

Coworker #2: “That’s what happens when August clocks out.”

Boss: “Morning, team. How’s everyone adjusting to the weather?”

Me: “We’ve decided we’re all mad at the atmosphere.”

Boss: “Good. Stay unified. It builds morale.”

Coworker #2: “So does central heating.”

Me: “Which we’re still waiting for.”

Boss: “Scratch morale. Let’s all be cold together and build character instead.”

The furnace was fixed a few weeks later, when the surprisingly early onset of cold weather made the office temperature technically illegal, and the senior managers decided working from home was a more distasteful concept than having their workers attempt to type in the office wearing gloves.

My daughters’ middle school (grades six to nine, ages twelve to fourteen) got a new principal. He’s stricter than the previous one. For example, he instituted a no cell phone policy and a no backpack policy (both would be left in lockers or a staff-attended storage room).

The former I thought made sense because my daughters had told me how distracted their classmates often are (and my daughters share a flip phone anyway; they do the same extracurriculars, and neither is old enough to drive), but the latter confused me, and I wasn’t sure it had been totally thought out. I asked the new principal about it at the school’s open house, shortly before the school year started.

Me: “Hi, welcome to the school! I like your no cell phone policy; it makes a lot of sense with the different research I’ve read, especially [particular book about teen mental health].”

Principal: “I read the same book, and that’s a huge part of why the rule is in place.”

Me: “I’m confused about the backpack policy, though. Can you explain that one?”

Principal: “That’s just a matter of logistics. There are so many students enrolled that it’s hard for them to fit through the hallways during passing periods if they have backpacks on.”

Me: “Ah, I see. But… what about students with medical devices, like inhalers? Or the approximately third of your students who menstruate and will need to change a pad or tampon during the school day?”

The principal’s eyes went wide for just a fraction of a second, just long enough for me to be pretty sure he hadn’t thought about that.

Principal: “Oh, medical needs. Yes, of course; students can have a small bag or purse for carrying things like that.”

And a few hours later, there was an email “clarifying” that students were allowed to carry small bags for things like pens and pencils, pads and tampons, and medical devices. I’m glad I asked!