I was admitted to the hospital for a life-threatening illness. The doctors were amazing and saved my life. Because my recovery was critical, I was put in a private room and monitored closely by the nurses. Of course, my room had a sink in the bathroom, and in addition, it also had a sink close to my bed to serve the nurses and the constant bandage changes, etc. All the drugs and antibiotics they were giving made me nauseous all the time. The nurses were also great; if I had to go to the bathroom or throw up, they would help me to the bathroom and stay with me if needed.

One day, I was feeling pretty good, and then suddenly, I had to throw up. No warning, it just came rushing up my throat into my mouth. I clamped my mouth shut, slipped painfully out of bed, stumbled two feet, and grabbed the edge of that sink and up it all came. The nurse came and helped me, cleaned me up, and put me back in bed.

She called one of the nurse’s aides and asked her to clean up the sink. As I lay back down in bed and the nurse left, the nurse’s aide began scolding me for making a mess in the sink. What did she want me to do? Just lean over and blow chunks on the floor? Because that’s easier — mopping and cleaning the floor. If cleaning a mess in a sink is your limit, then you need to find a whole other career real fast!

It’s 2002 and I’m a bill collector for some clothing store credit cards.

Customer: “Can I have my interest rate lowered?”

Me: “The only way to have it lowered is if you qualify for the Soldiers and Sailors Act.”

Customer: “Awww. Why do they get a lower interest rate?”

Me: “Because there’s a war going on.”

There are two agents in the office; I can only take payments for the one I work for as, when I type in a name, only his customers will come up. The other agent is busier than ours, so their customers will sometimes try to pay with me instead of waiting.

A guy comes up and gives me his name. The last name comes up, but I am unsure of the first. I repeat it back to him and verify the address. He pays and I give him a receipt.

He comes back later.

Customer: “You stole my money! It’s not showing in the system!”

Me: “Can I see your receipt? I’ll try to find where the money went.”

Customer: “No! You’ll tear it up!”

Me: “There are several people in the office. Do you really think I’d tear it up in front of all of them?”

I took the receipt. The money was applied correctly… except it was to his son’s account. It took some time to figure it out. His son had insurance with our agency, and he had insurance with the other agent. They had similar first names and the same address, so my bad. I apologized and called to have the money moved over and I showed him what happened.

Not the end.

He called the police on me for stealing his money… and sat outside until they came… and they laughed at him.

At the library where I used to work, we had a policy; if you had a library card, you could not use a guest computer. Our guest computers required a photo ID. Also, we were a very small library in a very small town surrounded by a larger city so our guest computers were minimal and you could only be on them for thirty minutes, max. A lady came up with a friend of hers. She had a card but her friend did not.

Patron #1: “What would my friend need to use a guest computer?”

Me: “She would need to show an ID to get on.”

Patron #1: “She does not have her ID with her. Can we use my ID? I have a library card, but can we still do that?”

Me: “If you have a card, then we would not be able to use your ID to get you on a guest computer.”

Patron #1: “I will just let her use my card, then.” *Walks away*

A few minutes passed and the lady came back up a little frustrated.

Patron #1: “It won’t let me log on.”

Me: “Let me check your account.”

I scanned her card to see if she had any fines. Fortunately, she didn’t, so I just reminded her of what numbers she used to log on.

Me: “It looks like all is right with your card. Just a reminder, you will be typing the whole card number for the username and then typing in the last four digits for your PIN.”

She walked away again to try and get her friend online. After a few more minutes, she came back up.

Patron #1: “It’s still not working.”

Me: “Did you type the whole number in the username?”

Patron #1: “Yes!”

Me: “And typed in the last four numbers for the PIN?”

Patron #1: “Yes! It’s still not working! Just get me a guest pass!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am but—”

Patron #1: “I know! Just get me your manager!”

I already knew what the problem was because it happens all the time. She was most likely just typing in the number wrong because with some of our cards the numbers can be a little small for some people.

Me: “One minute, ma’am, I can help you. Let me just walk over there with you.”

I walked over with her and took her card. I typed in all the numbers for the username and then the PIN and pressed enter. She was now logged in.

Patron #2: “Wow, you must have the magic touch!”

Patron #1: “What did you do?”

Me: “Typed in the correct numbers.”

Some years ago the hotel I worked for screwed up — completely our fault. The exact details of how it happened escape me, but we basically fouled up a group reservation from one of our better corporate accounts. Instead of five rooms for two nights, we had two rooms for five nights. To say that they were not happy is an understatement. We tried our best to fix things, but there wasn’t anything to be done.

Three guesses who got to be the one who told the extra three guys about their rooms?

I was, of course, apologetic to the point of scourging myself and pouring lemon juice in the wounds. I begged forgiveness on behalf of our hotel, the brand, and the franchise owners as I gave them the walking documents for the hotel down the street. Was there anything — anything — we could do to make this up to them?

Guest: “I dunno. A keg of beer?”

This was met by some chuckling, as they went up to make the most of the situation. In the morning, the owners called. They never call. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve even seen them.

Owners: “Did they say if there was anything we could do to make this better for them?”

Me: “Well, they said a keg of beer would be nice.”

Owners: “Done.”

That got a raised eyebrow, but I didn’t think much of it. Sure, okay, they’ll fix things up, no worries. I hadn’t expected them to take it literally.

So, it was with great surprise that I came in to work to find a keg of beer in the pool area.

The owners had made good on the beer; a keg of the local microbrewery’s very excellent suds — a real German-style lager— was the centerpiece of a party involving the businessmen. All was forgiven, and everyone was having a great time, including my manager.

Manager: “Hey, man! Come have some beer!”

Me: “Um, I’m going to be on shift?”

Manager: “Eh. It’s okay. Just this once. But don’t overdo it, all right?”

And so that was how I got to maintain a solid two-beer buzz for an entire shift. The businessmen went to bed around midnight, leaving about a fifth of the keg in need of some love and affection. Very, very good beer.

Pretty much the best shift ever.