My husband was the non-commissioned officer in charge of a large truck dock at a major Air Force base for several years before he retired from the military. The truck dock hosted regular potluck lunch events. It was my job to coordinate and run these events.

The civilian boss who was over the truck dock had a policy that ANYONE who entered the truck dock during these events was encouraged to stay and eat with us because we always had more than enough food. We once even had a group from the Danish military eat with us because their tour passed through the truck dock right before we started eating at a potluck.

The following happens when I deal with a dreaded “dependa” — the name for an annoying military wife who likes to throw her husband’s rank around. This dependa is the wife of one of his new airmen, and my husband is four ranks above the dependa’s husband. I have just invited several truck drivers who entered the truck dock to come over and eat with us because there isn’t an airman available to unload their trucks immediately due to the potluck.

This woman, who I have never met, starts yelling at me.

Dependa: “What are you doing?! Why are you letting dirty truck drivers eat with military people?!”

Me: “Umm, who are you? My husband is Technical Sergeant [My Last Name] and I am running this event.”

Dependa: “I am airman [Last Name]’s wife! You have no authority to let truck drivers eat with us!”

Me: “Oh, yeah, you’re the new guy’s wife! The reason why I am letting the truck drivers eat with us is that [Civilian Boss] told me to! We let the truck drivers eat with us while they wait for their trucks to be unloaded. I also know all of these truck drivers personally because they all come almost every day at lunch, anyway. I come to base to bring Sergeant [Husband] lunch every day, so I talk to them all the time.”

Dependa: “But truck drivers shouldn’t be allowed to eat with us! You are a disgrace to military wives!”

Me: “Hold on, let me call my husband over. You are way out of line!”

I call my husband over.

Husband: *To the woman* “What are you thinking?! My wife has been running these events for years, and you think that you can just barge in here as the wife of an E-2 and tell her what to do?!”

Dependa: *To my husband* “You have no authority over my husband! He is going to take your job in less than a year because you obviously don’t know how to run a professional military operation!”

Husband: “Are you threatening my job? Your husband is literally fresh out of basic training and technical school, and there is no way that he is going to make rank fast enough to even make E-5 before I retire in two years!”

My husband calls the airman over to us.

Husband: *To the airman* “Your wife thinks that she can just barge into my operation and tell my wife what to do! Control your wife now, or I will permanently ban her from the operation! She is disrupting an official event.”

The airman starts sputtering about how his wife is just really proud to be a military wife and that she just got too excited.

Husband: *To the airman and his wife* “I don’t care how proud she is! This is my operation and I will run it as I see fit, including giving my wife authority to run events in the shop! Take your wife and leave now! I will discuss this with you in private when you come back to work on Monday!”

My husband ended up banning the dependa from any future events because her husband couldn’t promise that she wouldn’t pull that stunt again. That was the first and only time that he banned a dependent from shop events.

Related:
Absolutely Trucking Mad, Part 5
Absolutely Trucking Mad, Part 4
Absolutely Trucking Mad, Part 3
Absolutely Trucking Mad, Part 2
Absolutely Trucking Mad

In my early twenties, I was doing technical support for a phone, Internet, and TV service provider. This was in an age long gone, before we had phones with Internet and such.

I get a caller who has lost both TV and Internet. While troubleshooting, we chat about random things, and during the conversation, she casually mentions that she and her husband are in their forties.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t fix the issue from here. I’ll need to dispatch a technician to troubleshoot on site.”

Caller: “How soon can he be here?”

Me: “He won’t be able to get there until Thursday next week.”

Caller: “Young man, if you don’t get him out here sooner, I’ll end up pregnant again!”

Housework was divided up between Mum and Dad according to who could do it best. So DIY, electrical work and the like went to Dad, and cooking, needlework and sew on went to Mum. Jobs they could both do equally well were jobs they shared and would do together. And as my sister and I grew older, we were (with much reluctance on our part) conscripted into joining in too. That’s not to say that Mum couldn’t do DIY or my Dad couldn’t cook; it’s just there’s a reason sis and I liked it when Mum got better so Dad didn’t have to do the cooking. 

Anyway, all that hasn’t got much to do with the story, other than to reassure you that when Dad asked Mum to do some sewing, it wasn’t because of some outdated “that’s women’s work” thinking, it was purely because Mum’s skills were of a very high standard, and that was definitely needed here.

For many years, Dad was in the Royal Naval Auxiliary Service. The RNXS was a voluntary organisation under the control of the Royal Navy. Even though it was voluntary, uniforms were provided, and neatness was expected. There were ranks, and progress through the ranks depended on your training. After completion of a particularly difficult training course (something about communication or radar; I forget what), Dad was presented with a badge that required sewing onto the sleeve of his uniform jacket.

Dad was so worried about it going on the sleeve even slightly out of alignment, he asked the highly skilled seamstress that is Mum to sew it on. He donned the jacket, Mum pinned it in place, Dad asked for it to be adjusted a bit, Mum re-pinned it, Dad was happy with it, took the jacket off, and Mum stitched it there. 

As any of you who has ever sewn something, pinning is pretty good, but as you start applying the stitches, the badge can still move a bit. And so when Dad put it back on, he noticed it had moved a little. So he asked Mum to move it a bit. Mum unstitched it, and the whole re-pinning process happened again.

And again.

And again.

I forget exactly how many times Mum sewed that badge on. It was always a little bit to the left, or up a bit, or it wasn’t quite square. With the benefit of about thirty years of hindsight, I’m wondering if Dad was so nervous about giving a bad impression, that he was starting to second guess himself to the point of paranoia? After all, those who wore this badge had a level of seniority, and with that came an expectation of high standards.

Mum wasn’t exactly enthralled with all this extra sewing, but she also wanted to make sure Dad presented himself properly to his superiors at the next meeting. Eventually, Dad was happy with the position, much to Mum’s relief. Dad was relieved too, as he knew the hard work Mum was doing, and I think he felt guilty each time he asked for a repositioning.

When Dad came back after the next meeting, Mum had to know.

Mum: “Was the badge alright?”

Dad: “Er…. yes, but… um… sorry! It was the right height on the sleeve, and it wasn’t twisted, and it was the right distance from the front of the body when my arm was straight down. But…”

Mum: “Yes…?”

Dad: “It was the wrong arm!”

Dad had to sew his uniform after that.

I’m performing a client tax interview. The clients are a middle-aged woman and her equally middle-aged husband. They have two children who are in college and are not along with them today. I need birthdates to finalize taxes.

I ask the clients when the wife’s birthday is. She opens her mouth to answer, but the husband speaks first.

Husband: “I don’t know.”

His wife sighs.

Me: “Okay. When’s your birthday?”

Husband: “I don’t remember.”

I sigh.

Me: “How about your children’s birthdays?”

Husband: “I don’t recall those, either.”

Me: “Do… do you know anyone’s birthday?”

Husband: *Proudly* “I know my dog’s birthday!”

His wife snorted like she was trying to repress a laugh and then handed me a sheet on which she’d written everyone’s birthdays… except the dog’s.

We sometimes need to travel for work, and when the global health crisis hit, we were stuck with lots of unused airline tickets. While the airlines gave us travel credit, they are in the name of the passenger, so while I paid for their ticket, it is each employee who has the credit.

Talking with our clients, it appears we’re going to be meeting virtually for the foreseeable future. Rather than let the travel credits expire and have no value after December 31, 2021, I told our team that they can use them for personal travel; I’d rather see them use them for a vacation than for them to go to waste.

Remember, the credits are only in the name of the original passenger, nobody else, so my employees can use them for themselves but not other people, e.g., spouses, children, etc.

After announcing this, I got an email from [Employee]’s wife, who already contacted me asking for a free color printer earlier this year.

Wife: “I think it’s nice that you’ve given the employees the option to use the company airline tickets for personal travel, but it’s only good for him, not me, and not our kids. I was wondering if you’d consider offering some sort of deal for us, like 50% reimbursement, so we could all go on vacation.”

WTF?! At a minimum, I’m paying for 25% of their vacation airfare, but that’s not good enough! I emailed back with a curt message.

Me: “No. This was offered as a token of appreciation for the hard work everyone is doing. Going forward, please do not contact me in the future unless it is an emergency regarding [Employee].”

I then called my employee and told him that, barring some emergency involving his grave illness or death, I didn’t want his wife emailing or calling me ever again. Despite my tone that, in hindsight, was probably harsher than it should have been, he was very apologetic and said she’d written to me without his knowledge.

You know what they say: no good deed goes unpunished.