I tend to get emails from people in the company I don’t interact with much, maybe 1-2 emails a year. This is because I have access to the database and am the only person with admin access. (My manager and their boss also have access, and they assist when I’m on PTO, but other than them, I do 99% of all requests.)

When I respond, I look at which department the person is in and what their title is, as this can affect the amount of information I can provide or update in the DB.

I am doing my normal thing and look to see who I’m responding to. I see their name is John Smith (not real name), they are in the department that is allowed to request changes, but I need to see their title to see if I need to have a manager sign off on it. And their title is “Turtle”.

Turtle?

Obviously, it appears that someone made a mistake somewhere, and knowing I have lots of job security, I respond with:

Me: “Hello,

Unfortunately, we are unable to process requests without having the Rabbits’ approval. Please resubmit.”

I insert a screenshot of their Outlook contact, with an arrow pointing to their title of Turtle.

Me: “Thanks,

[My Name].”

I received an email back with a screenshot of Daffy and Bugs Bunny with a sign that says, “Rabbit Season.” With their manager copied.

Before I have a chance to respond, the manager sends a screenshot of Elmer Fudd standing next to a sign that reads “Rabbit season,” but they’ve crossed out the word “Rabbit” and written “Turtle.” Along with a note that says “approved.”

I processed their request and didn’t think much more of it, but today, almost a year later, I got a new request from them. Their title has been corrected, but under their signature, it says, “Slow and steady wins the race.”

Customer: “I saw that you make customised water bowls?”

Me: “Yes, we can engrave your pet’s name on it.”

Customer: “Okay, I want one, but first I need to explain. My kitten likes to dig out any potted plant inside the house and then get inside the pot. He likes to curl up and hide inside any plant pot, and then just watch the house from inside it.”

Me: *Wondering where this is going.* “Okay?”

Customer: “And he’s also a little f****** dictator. He meows from his pot and expects us to bring things to him and do his bidding.”

Me: “Right.”

Customer: “So what I’m trying to say is that the cat’s name is Pol Pot and that’s what I’d like engraved on His Majesty’s water bowl.”

Back in 2000ish, my dad and I were at a convention. It ran stuff for seventy-two hours straight, so sleep was optional. 

It’s about 6 AM, and we’re headed up to our room. We got on the elevator, and an older couple joined us. They were not part of our ragtag convention. In an aloof voice, the man requested:

Man: “Please depress button three.”

Whereupon my dad looked at the display panel and started in with:

Dad: “You’re not all that great a button. You’re dimmer than the rest, you’re dirty, and completely out of alignment.”

Then he turned to the couple and said:

Dad: “There, that button should be depressed now.”

The woman was looking amused; the man looked like he was rethinking so many life choices.

A couple of years ago, I worked at a place where my boss loved Christmas. She was so disappointed that company policy wouldn’t let her put our tree up until after Thanksgiving. She’d be playing her own Christmas music in her office as soon as Halloween was over. That kind of person.

One year, [Boss] came across a bunch of reindeer antler headbands. She thought it would be cute to have the staff wear them. Company policy allowed “variations to the uniform in the holiday spirit, as long as it isn’t religious and does not obstruct logos or work function” (or something like that). So, for the month of December, [Boss] enforced a mandatory policy on the antlers.

Most of the staff was younger girls and liked that stuff anyway. I’m admittedly a Grinch anyway, but also… just no. I was a thirty-five-year-old man. I’m not walking around as an assistant manager with f****** antlers on for a month. One day? Christmas Eve, maybe? Sure.

I refused. I even offered to wear a Santa hat. But [Boss] thought it would be better if we all matched. To her credit, she wore them, but still.

[Boss] and I got along well enough in general, but after she shot down the Santa hat idea, I drew a firm line. I wouldn’t be wearing anything holiday-related at all. She went from being gently kidding to dead serious and said it would be insubordination and she would fire me for it.

I need my pride a bit more than a check. (Don’t get me wrong, I needed the job, but there is a line where I still have to be able to look at myself in the mirror with respect.) I told her fine. She could explain to corporate why she had fired a manager of four years. Was she sure they would take her side?

Realistically, they probably would have. But she backed down, and I had to “settle” for a written warning for “gross insubordination”. I refused to sign it.

Yes, I “won” in the end, but [Boss] was needlessly hostile for days afterward.

Add that to the growing list of why retail workers hate the holiday season.

My parents are bringing my younger siblings and me to the aquarium. One of the staff members is giving a talk about the crabs they have in the rock pool, with some live demonstrations.

Aquarium Staff: “And it’s these adaptations that make the crab such an effective predator. In fact, there’s a consensus among biologists that several routes of evolution all develop towards a crab.”

My dad, the long-suffered prankster, raises his hand.

Dad: “Scientists realised that and tried to speed things up by combining crab DNA with that of a cheetah.”

Aquarium Staff: “I bet things went sideways real fast.”

My dad stands there motionless. No one has ever stolen his dad joke punchline before. His face says it all.

Aquarium Staff: “I’m a dad too, mate. Plus, I work with crabs. Heard ‘em all. Anyway, who wants to see the giant spider crabs?!”

My dad was sulking the rest of the day.

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