A few years ago, I worked as a sales rep for one of the larger phone carriers in the US. It was a slow night and the store was empty when this guy came in. He wanted to upgrade his [Phone #1], which he had just gotten two months ago on monthly payments. He was not on our upgrade program. He had already decided he wanted [Phone #2].

At this point, he owed about $550 on [Phone #1] and the trade-in value was only about $100. I told him about this and he said he didn’t care. He then went on for ten minutes bragging about how he had just gotten a raise and was making crazy money and could afford to buy five [Phone #2]s.

I just sat there listening to him. I then told him that I wouldn’t recommend trading in [Phone #1] because he would still have to make monthly payments on the remaining balance, plus another monthly payment for [Phone #2], which was a more expensive phone. He wasn’t the primary on the account — his wife was — but he was authorized. I asked if his wife would be okay with it and he said that he didn’t need her permission to do what he wanted. He ended up trading in [Phone #1] and getting [Phone #2] and he spent over $400 on accessories. All along, I continued to recommend that he not do this.

Before making the sale or trade-in, I got my manager involved so he could talk to the customer and make sure the customer understood what he was doing. In all, I told him seven times not to do it, and my manager did twice. He still did it. So, after the sale, following the cover-your-a** procedure, I made notes in the account detailing everything that had happened.

Fast forward two days. The store gets a call and they ask for me. It is customer service; they have the wife on the phone and she wants to talk to me.

Me: “What can I do for you, [Customer’s Wife]?”

Customer’s Wife: “Do you think what you did was okay?”

Me: “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Customer’s Wife: “Do you think what you did was okay? Taking advantage of my husband?”

Me: “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Customer’s Wife: “You convinced my husband to buy a new phone and you took his two-month-old phone and gave him basically nothing for it.”

Me: “I understand. Ma’am, I informed your husband many times about what would happen and recommended multiple times that he should not do that.”

Customer’s Wife: *Raising her voice* “That is bad business and it’s unethical. You should not have sold him anything! I am a business owner, and I would never take advantage of a customer the way you did. If you knew it was a bad idea, it’s your job not to sell it.”

Me: “Ma’am, I made—”

She cuts me off.

Customer’s Wife: “Seriously, what you did is just unethical and wrong. Do you understand that? What you did is illegal. You can’t sell it to him if you think it’s wrong.”

Me: “I know—”

She cuts me off again.

Customer’s Wife: “You should not have sold it to him. We want the phone he traded in back! We are also returning all the accessories you sold him on. This is so messed up.”

I’m getting annoyed for being blamed for this; it’s clear the husband told her a different story. I don’t mention to her. People do things like this at least once a month.

Me: “Okay. I made every effort to help your husband. He came into our store bragging about how much money he’s making and how he can buy whatever he wants, even five of these phones. That said, I even got my manager involved so he could hear it from someone else. You—”

She cuts me off yet again.

Customer’s Wife: “Oh, even your manager was in on it. Wait until I talk to corporate about your store’s unethical tactics!”

Me: “Okay, ma’am. At this point, there’s nothing I can do for you on the phone. You can return the accessories, and if you’d like, you can talk to my manager about what happened when you get here. Anything else I can do for you?”

Customer’s Wife: “Tell me why you sold the phone to him and thought was okay to do?”

Me: “Ma’am, as I told you, you can discuss this with my manager when you get here. Anything else I can do for you?”

Customer’s Wife: “Yeah, answer my last question. This is just bad business.”

Me: “Once again, ma’am, there’s nothing on the phone I can do for you. We will gladly help you in the store when you get here. Have a good day.”

I hung up.

The one thing I was not going to tell her over the phone was that once her husband had traded in the phone, there was no way to get it back, as all trade-ins are final. His trade-in phone was already shipped out.

The couple came in later that day and the wife was pissed. The husband, however, didn’t say a word. My manager backed me up the entire time he helped them return the accessories. I couldn’t help myself; I went over there and started repeating everything that the husband had bragged to me about, and I even added the line about how he didn’t need his wife’s permission. The look she gave him when I said that was the best redemption I could ever have. He tried blaming everything on me and now I was able to bury him for it. After that, she lightened up a little. She then returned the new phone, removed his name as an authorized user, and bought him a flip phone.

My wonderful family of four is on a trip to visit family and friends. Four years ago, on a trip with the same itinerary as this one, I booked our hotel as I usually do. I am what you would describe as “thrifty,” and I don’t like spending a ton on hotels when we are basically just sleeping there.

The hotel I booked for this leg of the journey was probably not the most high-class, and sure, it was not in the safest area of town. This was definitely a hotel where some acts of questionable legality and morality occur. In my defense, it was a very last-minute booking as we were supposed to be staying with family and there were very few options available under $150 a night.

The stay there ended up being fine, but it has been a long-running joke between us for the past four years.

We are now visiting for the first time in four years. I go to book the hotel.

Wife: “No way! It’s my hometown, and I am doing it this time.”

So, she pulls up a hotel booking site and starts looking at places, specifically looking for a place with a pool for the littles. She looks at one and reads the reviews and details.

Wife: “This one looks good, especially for such a low price!”

She even calls to make sure the pool is open because of the health crisis. I look at the photos and look back at her, thinking she is making a joke. She is not. I just smile.

Me: “Whatever you think, babe!”

Yep, you know what’s coming.

As we approach the hotel, I see a look of confusion slowly wash over her face.

Wife: “Wait, is this…” *Trails off*

Me: “Yep! It sure is!”

She booked us in the exact same hotel that she had been giving me grief about for four years. I laughed and laughed and laughed. She could not believe she did it, and she also thought it was hilarious. I am vindicated!

I’m working an early dinner shift at a fancy, fine dining setting. A four-top reservation comes in — two older married couples in their fifties. They get a table by a window, watching the beautiful sunset. The place is still empty, the piano is just starting up, and it’s a calm, lovely scene.

While they’re being seated, [Husband #1] is intent on the wine list and wants to order before I’ve left the table after my first greeting. He picks out a decent $80 cabernet for the table and I signal to my back waiter to switch out glassware while I head down into the cellar for the bottle. I come up and go through the pouring and tasting and then serve each guest.

As soon as I put the bottle down, the man takes it and empties it among the four glasses, so each of them has a red wine glass that is super full, and everyone at the table is clearly not amused. I watch as [Husband #1] chugs his glass in a desperate series of gulps. His wife is saying his name quietly while the other couple just sits awkwardly with their fifty-gallon wine glasses, trying to sip them without spilling.

I come back to see if they are ready to order. Everyone is, but [Husband #1] wants to start with another bottle. I sort of agree, noting everyone’s glass is full but his. Everyone orders food and he mentions the second bottle.

Me: “Would you like to wait for it to be served with the food, or should I bring it straight away?”

Wife #1: *Suddenly blurting* “[Husband #1], you’re an alcoholic.”

The man immediately gets red in the face and doubles down on the order.

Husband #1: “We’ll take the second bottle now.”

Then, the other woman looks up at me.

Wife #2: “He drove us here. If you serve him, he will be putting our lives at risk.”

Husband #2: *Flatly* “Our lives are in your hands.”

[Husband #1] is about to blow a gasket, his face is purple, and he’s sputtering. I just pick up the wine list and channel my best blackjack dealer.

Me: “I apologize, but I am not serving any more alcohol at this table.”

[Husband #1] slammed his butter knife into the table, making a ruckus, but his wife kind of calmed him down.

They ate three courses, totally silent the entire time. They didn’t say a word to each other or anyone. The tension was unbelievable. In the end, they let [Husband #1] pay, and he tipped me zero on $400.

But hey, I saved their lives.

I am a lawyer practicing in a pretty diverse area. I speak English, Sinhala, and Tamil, and I take meetings in all three languages.

I had this couple come to meet with me. The husband spoke Sinhala as his first language and had a smattering of English, but the wife spoke Cantonese as her first language and spoke decent English. It was very confusing. I still have no idea how they managed to get married without being able to communicate without a translator. A lot of pointing, I suppose?

The meeting went okay, with me relaying things in Sinhala and English and translating where necessary, but the final moments of the meeting were the most surprising.

Me: “So, is there anything else we need to discuss?”

Husband: *Looks bashful* “Um, would you mind telling my wife I love her?”

Me: “No?”

This is my grandmother’s story; my family has been telling the tale for decades. Grandpa himself told it to his daughter’s fiancé as a lesson in not underestimating his new bride. Grandma told it slightly differently to my mom when she and my father were engaged. This is somewhere between the two versions. It’s a lesson in “be careful what you wish for, as you just might get it.” Personally, I’ve always thought that it was hilarious.

My grandparents were very old school. Grandpa got a job working for John Deere as a teen and worked his way up the ladder to foreman, then manager. Grandma was a typical housewife in the 1950s and was held to typical housewife standards. She was to cook and clean and be prepared to entertain Grandpa’s business associates at a moment’s notice. It was her job to make sure the children were taken care of and never got in her husband’s way. She was expected to have dinner on the table at 5:30 sharp, when he got home from work. Her house and herself were to be impeccably kept at all times, etc.

They were progressive and well-off enough that Grandma had her own car. She was expected to use it to run the household errands and take the (four) kids to appointments and such. It was important that her husband not be bothered with such things. The household and family were her responsibility. He had a job.

One day, Grandpa arrived home from work, and not only was dinner not on the table, but Grandma wasn’t even there. The kids (teens at the time) hadn’t been fed. Their homework was still on the kitchen table, there were unwashed dishes in the sink, and a dozen other little chores hadn’t been done yet. Most importantly, Grandpa was inconvenienced.

He’d been home just long enough to let his frustration stew into anger when Grandma’s car pulled into the drive. He began shouting at her before she’d even had the chance to set down her purse or take off her jacket. He ranted about all the things she hadn’t done because she was out “running around” when she should have been home, taking care of the house and making his dinner. He worked very hard all day to provide for this family, was it too much to ask for a hot dinner when he got home? She’d had a very good reason for not being home, but he never let her tell it, accepting no excuses. But she was a “good wife,” so she intended to let him vent for a while, and then she would serve him supper and explain what had gone wrong.

Then, Grandpa screwed up. As sometimes happens when we speak in anger, he began to blame the wrong thing for his irritation. He began to blame the car and her access to it. He said something to the effect of, “You don’t have any business out driving around, anyway. You should be home. I should never have let you start driving in the first place! Women shouldn’t drive!”

“You don’t want me to drive?” Grandma asked calmly, retrieving her keys from her purse. “Fine. Then I won’t drive ever again.” And she set those car keys on the counter, put her things away, and served dinner.

And bless her heart, Grandma stuck with that declaration, no matter how much more difficult it made life. Grandpa had to take afternoons off in the middle of the week when a teacher scheduled a meeting. He didn’t get a moment’s peace on the weekends, between grocery trips and taking the kids to activities or doctor’s appointments or for haircuts or clothes. He had to drive Grandma to every Saturday salon appointment. Previously, Grandma had taken herself and the kids to church, letting him sleep. Now he had to wake up early on Sundays to take them all himself.

Grandpa was nearly as stubborn as his wife. He held out, expecting her to apologize and ask for her keys back. She never did. Instead, she simply rearranged the household schedule so that he could handle all the driving. Months later, after never getting a single weekend to relax, after having dinner pushed back nearly every day because he had to drive someone someplace, he finally gave in and apologized. He tried to tell her that he was wrong and that she should start driving again. He tried to tell her that he now appreciated all she did to make his life easier. He all but begged her to take those keys.

I suspect that Grandma had always disliked driving because she never did take back those keys. Nothing Grandpa said or did could convince her to get back behind the wheel. He’d said she had no business driving a car and she was going to hold him to that declaration, no matter what. For over fifty years, until the day she died, Grandma never drove a car again for any reason. Not after the kids graduated and moved out. Not after Grandpa retired. Even after Grandpa’s death in the eighties she still refused because, “My husband always said that women shouldn’t drive.”

Sadly, as with the start of most epic arguments between married persons, the details of the triggering cause have been lost to time. Grandma, telling the story forty years later, recalled that it had been a “one of those days” for her. She’d been making dinner and had it nearly ready when she’d discovered that she’d forgotten to buy something that seemed vital at the time. So she’d stepped out to fetch it, and one thing led to another until a ten-minute trip turned into nearly two hours, accounting for car trouble. The only part of said trouble that she recalled clearly was a flat tire, and only because Grandpa had to take the car to the shop to have the tire repaired later that week and he’d grumbled about how it was just another example of why women shouldn’t be driving.