I worked in a personnel office, inputting timecards for the working week, which ran from Monday to Sunday. This info would go up to the payroll department for processing.

We got two new employees who worked the night shift, from midnight to 8:00 am, five days a week, but those days varied. We could never get the supervisor to understand that if the employee started work at midnight Sunday, that was actually the start of the next week; i.e. a Monday shift. So, we had these employees getting four days of work one week, then six days the next week, one of which was overtime. The employees were unhappy that their pay wasn’t steady week-to-week, even though they were getting more money overall, and the company was unhappy that they were paying unnecessary overtime.

I started inputting their hours starting at 11:59 pm on Sunday evening and ending 7:59 am Monday, which solved the problem. Everyone happy, right?

No. I got written up for falsifying timecards.

(I’m in class at 2:27 pm, and my teacher is giving a test. It’s almost over.)

Teacher: “Right, you have ten more minutes.”

(He writes 1:27 on the board plus 10 equals 1:37.)

Classmate: “It’s 2, not 1.”

(The teacher looks at her and then at the board, sighs, and fixes his mistake.)

Classmate: “Daylight savings time, remember?”

Teacher: “Did that happen this week?”

(Later, he is explaining his two extra credit assignments, which are to go to events and write quick papers about them.)

Teacher: “This one is happening tomorrow, March 27th. This one is happening this Friday, April 5th.”

Class: “That’s next Friday.”

Teacher: *looks at them and then looks closer at the date* “Oh, it’s next week. I’m an hour behind and a week behind!”

(The trading card shop closes at 12 pm almost every night. My boyfriend works there so I am frequently there hanging out till close. The other night I hear this exchange in the front of the store.)

Customer: “Could you please move your bags? I need this area to sort cards.”

(Several others are playing cards there and just stare at him.)

Manager: “It’s 11:30. It’s a little late to start sorting cards.”

Customer: *checks watch* “Actually it’s 11:20.”

Manager: *with a look of murder in his eyes, very sarcastically* “Oh, sure, then. That extra ten minutes will give you plenty of time to sort.”

Customer: “What?”

Manager: “Never mind. Come back tomorrow and you can sort; it’s a little too late.”

Customer: “Oh, I’m sorry. I have a split personality disorder and one of them doesn’t understand sarcasm.”

(Everyone waited for him to laugh… but he was serious.)

(It is about twenty minutes before we open and I am vacuuming the front of the store. I hear a noise and look up to see a man peering into the door window and rapping on it with his keys. I turn off the vacuum and then unlock and crack the door open.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

Customer: “Are you open?”

Me: “We open at 11.”

(The sign with our hours is literally next to his face.)

Customer: “What time is it?”

Me: “10:40.”

Customer: “Oh! Okay. I guess I’ll come back.”

(I close and lock the door and go back to what I’m doing. Ten minutes later, one of the things I have to do before we open is to drag a bunch of furniture out front and “stage” it so it looks attractive. Since I’m alone, I do this ten or so minutes before open because it takes a while, but I don’t prop the door open and I leave all of the lights and music off inside. The man approaches again as I’m wrestling a picnic bench out the door.)

Customer: “OH, GOOD; you’re open.”

(He goes inside before I can say anything. I get the furniture outside as fast as I can and don’t bother staging it so I can be inside with this early customer. A few minutes before 11, I put the sandwich sign out and go about turning on the lights, music, and logging into the sales computer.)

Customer: “You forgot to turn on the lights! Must be having a frantic morning!”

Me: “Well, I usually don’t turn them on until we open.”

Customer: “I guess you didn’t expect a line of customers at the door this morning.”

Me: “I usually don’t expect customers in the store before open, true. It makes it difficult to finish opening the store properly.”

Customer: “Guess you’ll start earlier next time, eh?”

Me: “…so, was there anything specific you were looking for today?”

Customer: “Nah, I’m just browsing, thanks.”

(He left a few minutes later and, fortunately, it was slow enough to let me finish the rest of the opening duties between customers, before noon.)

(I am in high school. I play basketball and often travel to different cities within my province for games. Towards the end of the season, I injure one of my knees and can’t play the end-of-season championship. I still want to travel and see my team play, but as the bus is overcrowded, and my dad has planned to come to see our games even if I am injured, I am going to make the ten-hour travel with him in his truck. The mother of one of my teammates asks my father if she and her eleven-year-old son can travel with us. My dad accepts, and we agree that we will pick her up from the elementary school where she works at 4:00 pm. At 4:00 pm, she’s not there. At 4:15 pm:)

Me: “That is ridiculous. Why is she taking so long?”

Dad: “Maybe she had some kind of trouble. Let’s wait a bit more.”

Me: “Yeah, but if she was going to take longer, she could just come and see us and tell us how long it will be.”

(This is before cell phones.)

Dad: “I know. It’s bugging me, too, but I agreed to give her a ride, so let’s wait a bit more.”

(She finally comes out of the school at around 4:30 pm.)

Friend’s Mother: “Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I had to wait for a student’s mother, and then we took a few minutes to catch up. But now we just need to go to my place to get my son and our bags and we’re all set!”

(Okay, it was bugging us that we had to wait while she “caught up,” but at least it’s over. Or so we thought… Once we pull over into her parking, she says…)

Friend’s Mother: “Okay, I just need a few minutes to get our things.”

(So, we wait… and wait… Soon, it’s 5:15 pm, more than an hour after we were initially supposed to leave.)

Me: “Let’s just leave. We waited long enough.”

Dad: “That wouldn’t be nice. I’ll just go and see what this is all about.”

(And so he goes. He comes back two minutes later, visibly fuming.)

Me: “What’s going on?”

Dad: “You’re not going to believe it. Not only was their luggage not ready, but they were rooting through emails so she could find the address of her brother they’re going to stay with! They were not ready at all!”

Me: “So, we leave now?”

Dad: “No, they’re coming. They had their coats on.”

(Finally, two minutes later, they’re in, but I just cannot understand how she feels it is okay to make us wait for over an hour, when we are the ones to give them a ride. The road is long, and once we are close to our destination, we get lost, thanks to my father. My father finally figures out where we are and drives us to our hotel.)

Friend’s Mother: “Why are we going to the hotel? You need to give me a ride to my brother’s place first! It’s in [Suburb].”

Dad: “Listen, I don’t know this city very well, but I know your brother lives on the other side of town. It’s about 3:00 am, and I’m not going anywhere. Take a taxi.”

(Later, he told this story to other players’ parents and learned that she had pulled off similar stunts with most of them, so they all refused to give her any more rides. My basketball team got eliminated from the championship on the first day, so she expected us to leave soon after. My father stayed a day and a half longer and watched every game of the championship, just to spite her.)