There’s an outside and an inside doorbell in my apartment complex. The outside doorbell is akin to a foghorn in sound and loudness, while the inside doorbell is more of a ringing of metal against metal. Both bells are mounted in the main hallway of the apartment, which is directly adjacent to my bedroom, but only the outside doorbell is connected to an intercom system allowing you to talk with the person standing in front of the apartment building so you know whether to let them in or not.

It’s a hot, humid night, so all the doors in the house are open. I’m alone in the house, and I’m blissfully asleep when the outside doorbell rings and rudely interrupts the dream I was having.

I pick up the horn for the com system.

Delivery Guy: “I have your order for [Restaurant] here.”

Me: “I did not order at [Restaurant]; you have the wrong house.”

Delivery Guy: “But this is apartment [number].”

Me: “I did not order at [Restaurant]. I was asleep. I would have known if an order was placed for my household. Please check the address again.”

I put the horn back on the intercom and return to bed. Unfortunately, I have not even put the covers back over me before the doorbell rings again.

Delivery Guy: *In a more insistent voice* “I have your order for [Restaurant] here. For [address]. That is this address.”

Me: “I did not order at [Restaurant]. I was asleep. Something has gone wrong. Please call your boss and confirm that you have to be here.”

I put the horn back, but something about the delivery guy’s insistence bothers me. I pick up my phone and check the messages I’ve received. There’s a message saying, “Your order has been made and the delivery is en route to your address,” from the restaurant in question. Given I have not put an order in, this confuses me, so I decide to call them.

Me: “Hey, I got a message that my order was en route, and a delivery guy just showed up at my house, but I have not made an order. Can I ask if it was made by phone or Internet or something? Are you sure you sent them to the right address?”

Restaurant: “No, no, it was the wrong address. We noticed after he was gone. He didn’t answer his phone while driving. Can you send him back?”

Me: “Yeah, but how did it happen?”

Restaurant: “You and another customer have the same first name and live on the same street. The kitchen is loud, and someone wrote the wrong number.”

Me: “Okay, human error. Can happen. Thanks! I already told him to call you, so if you let him know where to go?”

Restaurant: “Yes! Sorry for the mixup! You’re a valued customer!”

Me: *Merrily* “If I’m the first one you think of when someone with my name orders, I would think so!”

The delivery guy managed to find the right place to deliver the order to, so all’s well and only some sleep was lost.

I have always dreamed of becoming a mother, but unfortunately, five years of trying resulted in three (very early) miscarriages. I work in a department that is dominated by young women, so women get pregnant there all the time. I am also “blessed” with genes that I bloat up during every period, making me look at least three months pregnant. At least once a month, during my period, people ask me how far along I am or when I am due. They always apologise when I tell them I am not pregnant, but you’d think that by now, people would’ve learned not to ask a woman if she’s pregnant unless she tells you herself.

After my third miscarriage, I cry in my husband’s arms, and eventually, I tell him I dread going back to work just knowing people will ask me if I am pregnant. So, in an attempt to cheer me up and support me, he tells me what I can answer.

I return to work, and during my next period, a coworker comes to me. 

Coworker: “Oh, hi, [My Name]! How far along are you?”

I futilely hope it’s about something else.

Me: “What do you mean?”

Coworker: “I can see it! You’re pregnant, right? How far along are you?”

I remember my husband’s words.

Me: “Oh, I’m at my third miscarriage. And how far along are you?”

I’ve never seen someone turn white that fast, back-pedal, make up an excuse, and leave. I feel horrible for upsetting my coworker, but to be honest, it’s been five months now and no one asks me if I’m pregnant anymore.

I work as an office manager of a tech company. Most of the employees are programmers, so they should be good at logical thinking, right? Turns out not always. Most of the problems I have with them are caused by them not reading emails or signs around the office. However, some employees still baffle me.

On this one occasion, the office has been implementing hybrid work for a while due to a common reason since 2020. One of the programmers sends an email asking for a new monitor because her old one is acting up. That’s easy to handle, so we say yes and that she can take one home as long as she returns the broken one.

Then, she sends another email asking for “the so-called drawers we have in the office”. My team is so confused that nobody answers her email until she comes in the next day.

Me: “Hi! Are you here for the monitor?”

Colleague: “Yes. I have the old one here for you.”

Me: “Cool! Just leave it here and I’ll take care of it.”

Colleague: “Thanks!”

Me: “What about your other request? I don’t really understand it. Do you mean you want a monitor stand with space under it to act as a drawer?”

Colleague: “No. I meant the drawer we have under our desks. I have a similar desk at home but it doesn’t have a drawer and I don’t like seeing my things on the desk.”

Me: “You mean the one attached to the desks?”

Colleague: “Yes!”

Me: “Well, there are a few problems with that. One, it is installed on the desk. They were bought as a set so we don’t have any spares lying around. Two, it’s fragile and around a meter long. Is your desk even the same size?”

Colleague: “I don’t know. I thought we could just try it first.”

Me: “I’d rather not. And the third problem is that the furniture has been bought by the company taking over our building. Even if I let you take one drawer off, you need to bring it back in a month, anyway. Have you looked around online?”

Colleague: “No. I just love the drawers we have here so I thought I should ask first.”

Me: “I’m sure you can find something on [Webstore].”

Colleague: “I don’t like them. But I’ll look around.”

Me: “Okay.”

Six months later, I’m still bewildered. At least she’s not unreasonable like another colleague who demanded the kitchen never ever use cilantro (even on other people’s food, not only on hers) because she doesn’t like the taste.

My mother and sister are living together in Indonesia and I live in the Netherlands. I video call them every weekend so they can see my son. It goes swimmingly until I start potty training my son by following a method that includes a phase when the kid has to go bare-bottom so the parents can react fast enough to run and grab the potty for him to pee.

Me: “Hi!”

Mom & Sister: “Hello, [Son]!”

My son walks away to grab a toy car.

Mom & Sister: “OH, MY GOD! WHY IS HE NOT WEARING PANTS?!”

Me: “Potty training.”

Mom: “But I can see his lower part!”

Sister: “Oh, my God! I can see the cracks!”

Me: “Yes. Humans have butt cracks.”

Mom: “[Son], you need to wear pants, or your birdy will fly away!”

Me: “It’s called a penis, and it’s attached to his body.”

Sister: “I’m afraid he will bump his thingy.”

Me: “So, a piece of thin cloth will protect it from a bump?”

Sister: *Laughs* “Now that makes me sound unreasonable.”

Me: “Oh, just a tad.”

They kept freaking out over it, and I had to cut the call short. I can kind of understand why my mom freaked out; she has only had two daughters and my dad passed away decades ago. However, my sister is a general practitioner. I expected her to be unfazed by human bodies. I was wrong. No video calls until I move on to the pants phase, then.

CONTENT WARNING: Abusive Parenting

I’m a daycare teacher. Parents bringing their kids to daycare come in all attitudes and entitlements. Some are blatantly unaware of just how badly they come across.

One mom practically runs into the classroom with her three-year-old son being dragged along. I say, “dragged,” because it really isn’t far off. He stumbles and falls twice along the way.

Mom: “Well, here’s [Son]. He has a fever, but I can’t take care of him and I’m already in a rush for a meeting.”

Me: “Are you sure about this? He doesn’t look quite well.”

Mom: “Well, what do you want me to do about it? I need to go. Bye!”

[Mom] darts off without even a hug or a kiss. I can already tell he probably won’t be able to stay here for the day because there’s only so much attention we can give to a single child before we have to get a parent to pick him/her up.

I lay him down on the couch and make him comfortable with a blanket and some water before submitting him to having to take his temperature. It’s well over 39 degrees Celsius (102 degrees Fahrenheit) already, and under any circumstance, that’s well over the limit that protocol has us call the parents to pick their child up and take care of him.

Of course, [Mom] doesn’t pick up her phone, but in her defense, she is probably still driving. I leave her a voicemail message and a text message to come to pick up her child. 

Despite my calling her every fifteen minutes, there’s no response for an hour. [Son]’s temperature has now spiked and passed the 40°C/104°F mark. After calling another two times, I’m ready to put on his coat and take him to a doctor (which means leaving the other children under the care of only one teacher, something that’s actually illegal in this country).

Just when I start to do so, [Mom] comes barging in and completely breaks the serenity and peace of the group (while simultaneously waking two sleeping children).

Mom: “How dare you disturb my important workday by stalking my phone and interrupting my meeting?! Do you even have a clue what I do?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, I really am. But your son is so ill and weak that he really needs to see a doctor. But perhaps even more important, he needs to be with a parent. We cannot take care of him and he needs to go home with you. His well-being is more important than anything else right now.”

[Mom] actually gets in my face and snarls.

Mom: “Do… you… really think my well-being is ever important to him when I have a headache?”

At least she had the “decency” to carry him outside instead of dragging him along again. Man, do I feel sorry for that poor little man.