My company decided that it would sell our social club when land prices shot up. This was met with much anger as the social club was a massive part of their lives and had been for generations.

In return, the company offered a discount service, e.g., 2% off a laptop that you could probably find cheaper if you shopped around.

Even those who never used the social club weren’t happy with the replacement service; it was slow, offered limited benefits, and came with a huge amount of email spam.

After months of trying to make any savings whatsoever and failing, I am getting sick of the emails and I try to unsubscribe. Finding nothing on the emails or webpage, I contact them directly.

Me: “I want to stop the emails from your company, but I can’t find out how to unsubscribe. “

Representative: “I’m sorry, it is the company that signs you up; we can’t unsubscribe individuals. But have you tried the service? We offer many excellent—”

Me: “I’m going to stop you there, I have tried. It’s a worthless service to me. Thank you for your help, but I will be talking to my manager.”

Representative: “But if you look, you could make many savings. We have a special on diamond rings—”

I rarely hang up on people, but I did then.

I contacted my manager, who had his own misgivings on the service and many years enjoying the service club. He raised it to his manager. Apparently, enough people were dissatisfied with the service, so they brought in a representative to have a Q&A on “how to get more out of the [service]”.

It went down like a lead balloon. Every attendee asked had a bad experience or just couldn’t use the service due to its poor design or complete lack of worthwhile savings.

It was discontinued the following month and replaced with regular funded employee days. It’s not the same, but it does give a little bit of that social element that was previously destroyed without thought.

I’m ringing up one of our regular customers. She is an older woman who, while normally pleasant, is not very bright.

Regular: “I’d better get $10 in gas.”

Me: “Okay, which pump are you at?”

Regular: “Oh, I’m not at a pump yet. Just put me on, uh… pump three.”

I groan internally; I’ve had multiple times where someone will beat them to the prepaid pump and steal the gas. However, since it isn’t busy, I put the prepay through. As she is leaving:

Regular: “I said pump three, right?”

About five minutes later, I get called back up front; someone at pump four has hit the help button. I go out and, what do you know, it’s our regular, trying to pump the gas from the wrong pump!

Regular: “I prepaid. Why can’t I get the pump to work?”

Me: “Oh, I thought you said pump three! One second, let me move that over for you.”

I tried to move her prepay to pump four, only to get an error message: she’d swiped a card outside. I went outside yet again, reminded her that she had already paid, and went inside and finally got her prepay sorted out.

At least she’s nice, but man, do some people need more patience than others.

I’m planning to move from South Carolina to North Carolina and have reached the point where I need to look at houses in person. My brother already lives near my destination, so I’m going to stay with him while looking at houses with my realtor, whom I’ve only spoken to on the phone so far.

I’m looking for something fairly remote — as I put it, “Far enough from the neighbors that nobody will mind if I sing at the top of my voice in the middle of the night, and far enough from the road that my cat can play outside without any danger of getting run over.”

Two days before I leave for my brother’s, I call my realtor to plan our itinerary.

Me: “I’d like to start with [list of addresses]. They’re fairly close together and all looked good online.”

Realtor: “Okay, I can schedule those for [Day I plan to drive to North Carolina].”

Me: “That works, but I’ll be pretty drained from four hours on the road. Rather than both of us driving to each house, can I meet you at your office and both go in your car? I have a terrible sense of direction and I just don’t think I’ll be up to driving to three unfamiliar locations that afternoon.”

I have GPS on my phone, but I get very nervous if I don’t know the way to a destination ahead of time, and I have trouble following spoken directions, so I only ever use it as an emergency backup.

Realtor: “People don’t ask me that very often, but yes, we can do that.”

We talk a bit longer, and I hang up. I have a feeling that I’ve messed up somehow, but can’t put my finger on it at first. Then, I ask my mom:

Me: “Hang on. Did I just ask a man I barely know to drive me to three of the most isolated houses I could find in an unfamiliar state, specifically because I’ll be tired, out-of-it, and incapable of finding my way to or home from them on my own?”

It honestly hadn’t occurred to me until I hung up that that might be dangerous, especially since I’m a woman. My brother ended up taking me to view the houses, and the realtor was a perfectly nice guy, but I don’t think that conversation did me any favors in the “convincing Mom I’ll be okay living on my own” area.

I am helping a client design a sign.

Client: “I don’t like all those apostrophes. Take them all out.”

Me: “So, you want an intentionally misspelled sign?”

Client: “Punctuation isn’t important if the words are spelled right.”

Me: “I don’t think—”

Client: “I used to be a teacher; just trust me on this.”

Growing up, I was often subjected to violent backlash for not picking my words carefully or if an adult in my life did not understand what I was saying. It was rarely physical, and it wasn’t my parents or my maternal grandparents who abused me. It was just that my dad’s side of the family did not know how to talk to children, and very bright children at that. And I was extremely bright.

As a result, I learned to pick my words carefully. I also did not argue when they tried to blame me for what their spawn did. It didn’t do any good, anyway. Fools are very fortunate that I suffer them lightly.

I go to a doctor’s office whose staffing is a mess. It doesn’t matter when they schedule me, and it doesn’t matter how accomodating I am; they will call to reschedule and then blame me for picking “whatever time works best”.

The Friday before a Monday appointment, they call to reschedule. I miss the call because I am in a meeting but call them back immediately. I am sent to voicemail, so I tell them I am happy to change the time and to call me back.

Monday rolls in and I haven’t received a call, so I call back in the early morning… and later that morning… and in the afternoon. My appointment is at 4:30 pm, so I decide to show up and see what happens. I arrive at 3:15 pm, one of the suggested times.

Me: “Hi. My name is [Full Name]. My appointment was at 4:30 pm. I got a call Friday to reschedule. I tried multiple times to call back but I haven’t heard anything.”

Receptionist: *Nonchalantly* “Yeah, the recruiters aren’t in, and I have been here the entire time. In the future, if you want a 4:30 pm slot, you are going to have to schedule it for Wednesdays.”

I had to bite my tongue hard for once in my life. At least they took me.