When I am in college, I work at a restaurant for a little extra cash, and I do mean “a little.” I work the off hours, during the day on weekdays and the occasional weeknight, and I’m not even making enough tips to get up to minimum wage. The owner is supposed to pay me the amount it falls short, but I don’t realize that at the time, and he just marks that I get my tips in cash. The restaurant is only two blocks from my apartment and I often write during downtime, so I don’t worry about it too much. 

After months of barely making anything, Valentine’s Day comes up, which just so happens to fall on one of my weeknights. We have a fancy prix fixe menu and the whole restaurant is booked. The day before:

Owner: “I’m going to have another waitress come in to help you out since there will be so many customers tomorrow.”

I’m usually alone on that shift. I am a little disappointed but I understand. There are only around ten tables in the restaurant, so I could have handled it. 

Valentine’s night, we each start serving our half of the restaurant, but we also start getting orders for delivery with no delivery guy in the restaurant. I call the owner to ask him what we should do.

Owner: “Run the deliveries, and [Other Waitress] will handle the tables.”

Me: “I would be making hundreds of dollars in tips serving those tables, and if I run deliveries? Twenty at most. No.”

When I start giving my reasons, he acts like he can’t hear me and hangs up. I call him back and he doesn’t answer. I keep calling until he does.

Owner: “Run the deliveries or leave.”

I’ve finally had enough.

Me: “Okay.”

I hang up, leave the restaurant, and never go back. 

The owner keeps trying to call me, both that night and in the coming weeks, but I don’t answer. He has other waitresses call me for months — literal months — asking for me to cover their shifts because he says they can’t stay home when they are sick unless I cover them.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t work there.”

One time, the owner sees me walking in my neighborhood and swerves off the road onto the grass next to the sidewalk I am on to jump out and talk to me.

Owner: “We’re friends, aren’t we? Please come back!”

It got really creepy after a while. One time, he even sent me an emoji of two people salsa dancing with the message, “This reminds me of us.”

Needless to say, I avoided that restaurant like the plague for the rest of the time I lived there. I’d cross the street to not walk past it or go the back ways to avoid the main road. In the end, living two blocks away wasn’t as convenient as I thought!

While dropping off my kids at my mother’s for a sleepover, I get a text from my husband of eighteen years that says, “You know, I would be lost without you.” How sweet! Or, so I think. 

When I get home, he is sitting on the floor in our living room with five remote controls in front of him, glaring at our TV. We have a big-screen TV, soundbar, cable box, and several devices connected to the TV for streaming and gaming which he doesn’t know how to use very well. I am the tech queen of the house.

Husband: “I’ve been trying to get a movie on for when you got home, but I can’t figure out how to use the Firestick, I don’t know how to get to Netflix, and I don’t know what is and isn’t free On Demand. I sat here thinking to myself that you’d better not ever leave me or I’ll never be able to watch TV again! That’s when I texted you.”

Apparently, he’d only be lost without me when he wants to watch TV.

I find a note on my desk after lunch that has a patient’s name and contact info on it. It states that she wants to know about vision coverage for her glasses. So, I brace myself, because you just never know how conversations on vision coverage are going to go, and I call her.

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name] from [Optical Store]; I got a note that you have some questions about your vision coverage?”

Customer: “Yes, thank you for calling back. I just want an estimate on how much insurance will pay on my glasses.”

Me: “Okay, what is the name of your vision insurance?”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t have any yet. I’m trying to decide whether it’s worth paying for.”

Me: “Oh… Well, unfortunately, there are quite a few companies offering vision coverage and each company has multiple plans that can vary greatly, so I’m not able to give a ballpark figure on how much they will pay. I can, however, give you a ballpark price on glasses.”

Customer: “But I don’t want to know how much the glasses will cost. I want to know how much the insurance will pay.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m not able to come up with that number because there isn’t a flat rate that all vision plans pay. It varies greatly. Once you have coverage, I’ll be happy to look into those benefits and explain them to you.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous! How am I supposed to figure out whether it is worth paying for or not if you can’t tell me how much it pays?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to help with any coverage amounts until I have more information to work with. Like any other type of insurance, the coverage depends on the company and plan that’s chosen. Again, once you have vision coverage—”

Customer: “Fine, whatever…” *Hangs up*

Confession time: I made my daughter cry at Christmas a few years ago.

She was in the habit of very carefully, slowly opening gift wrap without ripping for later reuse and I’d always tell her to hurry and just rip it. One Christmas, as a joke, I wrapped a gift to her by ripping gift wrap into pieces about the size of quarters, then taping the pieces together around the gift box. I thought it looked cool: pieces of different themed gift wrap with the ripped, rough edges sticking out all around the box, kind of “fuzzy” and no need to avoid tearing wrapping that’s already torn up.

But she thought I was making fun of her; when she saw it, her head dropped and she cried slightly.

I apologized, but I’ve felt guilty for four years now. It’s hard being a parent; sometimes you go for a laugh but things don’t work right and then someone is hurt.

I am a singer in a duo. My partner and I are performing at a low-key music festival which many locals attend and where we are well-received. One old man, in particular, seems to be enjoying himself, loudly and tunelessly singing along with choruses. We encourage audience participation, so it’s not a problem. However, after maybe the second song of our set, he approaches us.

Old Man: “Could you let me have a microphone for a few minutes? You’ll be glad you did!”

My partner and I exchange glances at this odd request but try to keep things light.

Partner: “I’m not sure. We’re a little pressed for time as it is.”

This is completely true.

Me: “No promises; we’ll see what happens!”

Old Man: “Thanks so much! Everyone calls me ‘Captain Cranky.’ Just say, ‘And now a word from Captain Cranky!’”

We continue our set, hoping that this will be the end of it. However, after EVERY SINGLE SONG, the man shouts, ‘And now a word from Captain Cranky!’ or in some other way loudly asks to come to the microphone. After ignoring him for four or five songs and wondering why the staff at the festival hasn’t done anything, I decide to end the matter.

Me: “I’m so sorry, but we’re not going to have time.”

Old Man: “But these are my friends! I want to talk to them! This is my crowd!”

Yes, he is seriously arguing with a musician during her set at a festival.

Me: *Still trying to be nice* “I’m sure it is, but this is our set.”

Old Man: *Loudly* “Oh, that wasn’t very nice! That wasn’t very nice at all! I just wanted a few minutes!”

We finish the set uninterrupted. I later spoke to one of the staff members, who apologized for not being more attentive. Apparently, the staff did end up letting the old man get up and speak between sets, but I have no idea what he said. I later heard from my husband who was in the audience that other audience members were looking at each other and clearly felt uncomfortable with the man’s rude behavior.