It’s Ridiculous To Agree

, , , , , | | Right | April 30, 2019

(I work at a store that ships packages. During the holiday season, the truck driver comes late for his end-of-day pickups since, naturally, he is busier with more deliveries. By this point, though, it is after the holiday season. Things are back on schedule, and the driver has come and gone at his regular pickup time of 5:30 when a woman comes in.)

Woman: “Hi. I know the driver has been coming late lately. Is there any chance I can get this package to go out today even though it’s after 5:30?”

Me: “No, sorry; the driver just left. This won’t go out until tomorrow.”

Woman: “He’s already left? Well, that’s ridiculous!”

(She then stormed out of the store with her package as I was thinking to myself, “It’s ridiculous that the driver left at his regularly scheduled time that you knew he left at?”)

Their Knowledge Of Limitations Is Limited

, , , , | Working | April 28, 2019

(Sometime after I cease attending a local university part-time, I get a parking ticket on campus in February of 2014. The statute of limitations on such tickets is three years in my state. Aside from a form letter, they make no attempt to collect it in that time, and there’s a three-and-a-half year gap in communications afterwards. About four years out, they apparently re-contract their collections account to a firm in another state, and they get rather aggressive out of the gate — threatening to garnish wages or intercept tax returns. I send back a letter initially disputing their claim — I have no recollection of the ticket by this time; initially, I am not even sure I owned the car in question at the time — and get all of the information from them. Okay, it’s valid… but time-barred. I call them, and this rough conversation transpires in May of 2018, four years and three months after the initial offense.)

Phone Agent: “Hello, [Collection Agency]. Can I have your name and account number?

Me: *gives them the information*

Phone Agent: “So, how much would you like to pay on the account?”

Me: “Actually, that’s the thing: this debt is statute-barred under Virginia law. There’s a three-year time limit.”

Phone Agent: “What year was the offense?”

Me: “2014.”

Phone Agent: “Oh, we have four years to collect, not three.”

(This is patently false, but…)

Me: “Well, the ticket was in February 2014. It is May 2018. So, even if you were correct, by your own admission just now, you’re out-of-statute.”

Phone Agent: *after a moment of silence* “Uh… we’ll make a note.”

(About a month later, the university tried to bill me for it again. I told them the same thing and they tried to pass the buck on the “oversight,” but they seem to have otherwise let the matter drop. We’ll see if that’s truly the end of it, but I feel like I may be dealing with this at odd intervals for a long time to come.)

One Born Every Five Minutes

, , , , , | Related | April 26, 2019

When I was very young, probably three or four, I couldn’t tell time. All of the clocks in our house were analog at the time, so it wasn’t really unusual, but it meant I had to just trust my parents when they told me how long something was going to take.

One morning I was up early, as young children sometimes are, and my dad was supposed to do something with me that day, but he was still in bed. I went in to wake him, and he told me to give him “five more minutes.”

Periodically, I would pop back in to ask if it had been five minutes yet — obviously not entirely clear on what those five minutes were meant to be used for — and was told no each time.

Finally, on about the fifth return to his room and being told it had not been five minutes yet, I loudly exclaimed that this was the longest five minutes ever.

My dad’s laughter finally got him up out of bed, and it wasn’t until much later that I realized that his “five minutes” had likely lasted closer to an hour.

Only Minutely False

, , , , , | Working | April 17, 2019

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.

We All Need A Daylight Savings Week

, , , , , | Learning | April 11, 2019

(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!”

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