(Our entry-level scanner is better than another company’s best-rated scanner; the other brand is by no means useless but we consider it to be only suitable for hobbyists and amateurs. Despite that, we do get compared to them by people that should know better:)

Caller: “Hi. How much is the new scanner?”

Me: “Well, it is [several thousand], before options.”

Caller: “What?! That is at least three times as much as the [Other Brand] one!”

Me: “These systems are designed and built to a certain standard, not to the cheapest price.”

Caller: “…”

Me: “Was there anything else I can help you with?”

Caller: “Can you drop the price?”

Me: “Can I drop the price by two thirds? No, I think your only option is to buy the cheaper brand.”

Caller: “No, I can’t. We bought one and it broke within two months, and when it worked the data was useless. Now there are loads of bad reviews online. Could you do a part exchange?”

Me: “For the broken budget scanner, I’m afraid not. Prices start around [several thousand]; should you need any assistance in the future please get in contact.”

(I hang up.)

Boss: “What was that about?”

(I explain.)

Boss: “Good call. We can’t help people like that. If price is more important than quality they are in the wrong job.”

(It turns out that the customer called back a few weeks later and paid up. We haven’t had any complaints.)

(I’ve worked in hospitality for several years. It never ceases to amaze me how people ask for the toilets. I’ve heard all sorts of questions.)

Customer #1: “Where are the facilities?”

Customer #2: “Where can I pee?”

Customer #3: “Do you know where the toilets are?”

(But my favourite of all…)

Customer #4: “Do you have toilets?”

(I normally say:)

Me: “No, sorry, we do our business from the bridge.” *pointing outside*

(Our restaurant is by the river, next to a vintage, pedestrian-only bridge. Normally, people laugh and then I’ll direct them to the restrooms. But not THIS guy. I tell him the line, and he laughs and said:)

Customer #4: “Oh, okay, I got it.”

(I thought he had gotten the joke and had finally seen the huge sign reading, “RESTROOMS – DOWNSTAIRS,” right in front of him. Next thing I knew, I was peeking outside and I saw this guy climbing on the bridge with his pants off.)

Easter is a four-day weekend in the UK, Friday to Monday. It’s Good Friday morning, and we are on the Eurostar heading to Brussels for a weekend break. Most of the other travellers will be doing the same, or heading back home after working in London. The train stops unexpectedly in the countryside. An announcement explains that there has been some sort of accident ahead, a pole has been hit, and there are live electrical cables across the tunnel entrance. We spend several boring hours as the buffet car sells out of everything. Eventually, we start moving again, with a brief unscheduled stop to pick up bottles of water. None of the passengers can get off, because we have been through emigration and are not legally in the UK anymore.  

All in all, it’s a frustrating start to the weekend.

When we finally reach the tunnel, we can see the workers who fixed the problem sitting near the tracks with a cuppa and maybe a smoke. It’s a well-earned rest for them after they were presumably called away from their families on a day off, and have spent the morning working hard under pressure as trains backed up across the French and English countrysides.  

One of my fellow passengers rolls her eyes and says, “Look at them, just sitting there doing nothing!”

I point out they are doing nothing because they have finished the job!

(My mom and I have a flight home to Canada scheduled to depart shortly before noon. Since we need to navigate public transit to get there and don’t want to risk making ourselves late, we wake up in the morning, pack, and head straight to the airport without eating breakfast. Once we are checked in and through security, we decide to find our gate so we know where we need to be. It turns out it’s down a long hallway, far away from all the shops and restaurants, but this is the reason we checked before relaxing, to be aware of this. Both at the check-in desk and when purchasing our tickets, we are informed that there will be one meal served on the nine-hour flight and we need to purchase in advance to guarantee availability, but we will have the option to buy it on the plane. It’s about an hour before takeoff and half an hour until scheduled boarding, but knowing it’s a bit of a trek back to the restaurants, I approach the gate agent before we leave to find breakfast.)

Me: “Excuse me, I was just wondering if you know if the meal served on board will be lunch or dinner.”

Gate Agent: “You’d need to purchase that in advance to guarantee we have them for you. Did you prepay for your meal?”

Me: “No, but we were told we could purchase them onboard if we changed our minds.”

Gate Agent: “We will have some meals available for purchase with credit card, but once those are gone, they’re gone.”

Me: “Okay, but do you know if they’ll be serving around lunchtime or around dinnertime? I ask because we haven’t eaten breakfast yet and want to know if it’s worth us running to get some now or if we’d have to wait until supper if we didn’t?”

Gate Agent: “You’ll have to talk to the in-flight crew about that. But now, you need to come in and prepare to board, because we’re going to start boarding soon.”

(She gestures to a small area behind the desk, separated from the rest of the terminal by a few glass panes, with only chairs in it where a few dozen people are already seated.)

Me: “But the plane isn’t scheduled to leave for almost an hour. We’re just trying to find out how long we’d have to wait if we decide not to go get food now because we haven’t eaten yet.

Gate Agent: “Like I said, you’d have to talk to the in-flight crew about that. But if you leave now and we’re ready to go and you’re not back, we won’t wait for you.”

Me: “I’m not asking you to wait; boarding isn’t even scheduled to start for half an hour.”

Gate Agent: “But we will have to close the doors. If you’re not back and we have everyone accounted for, even if it’s before our scheduled time, we have to close the doors; we can’t wait for you.”

(My mom just nudged me and said we were going to get food. Like I’m sure most people could say, my mom is the first person to tell me I need to check my tone when I don’t think I’m being unreasonable, but even she couldn’t understand why the agent was being so rude to me because she thought my tone was perfectly polite the entire time. She also pointed out the biggest flaw in the agent’s logic, that if we weren’t back, obviously not everyone would be accounted for.

We got breakfast and food to take on the plane and made it back in plenty of time. Lucky we did, because the flight attendants — who were lovely — didn’t serve the meal until almost supper time. When we got to the next airport, I was held up for hours in customs and we had to be put on a later connecting flight, so my mom used the time to write an email to corporate complaining about an issue with delays she had had on the way to London and about the unreasonable gate agent in London.

She didn’t mention the customs thing because she understood, but for some reason they wrote her a long email back a week later explaining how sometimes customs chooses to do secondary inspection and it can take time and the airline has no control over it. She just left it, though, because they addressed her issue in a separate email and said they have no influence over gate agents in other countries, even if they are wearing the Canadian airline’s uniform.)

I am currently searching for a job. I currently work full-time, so I need a bit of notice when it comes to interviews.

One day, I come back from lunch and sit at my desk. My mobile phone has been ringing continuously and it’s all from the same local number.

Calling back, I’m greeted by an irate and rude man telling me there is no way that I will ever work for his company! How dare I?!

As soon as he stops shouting, I ask him what his problem is. He quickly tells me that I missed a job interview that afternoon. I search my call history and email and inform him that this is the first time I am hearing from him. I have never even been invited to an interview.

Suddenly, the man goes sheepish as he realises what has happened.

It transpires that he had organised an interview and had spoken to HR, the team, and everyone in his company. However, he had neglected to actually tell me about the interview.

He then tried to rearrange an interview… after shouting at me and calling me a b****. I said no.

I’d say I dodged a bullet there.