It’s the beginning of the Christmas season. There is a lot of Christmas product to put out as well as the regular items going faster due to the increase in foot traffic. As I’m shelving, I get a slight tickle between my shoulder blades, so I reach back and give it one good, satisfying scratch before getting right back to stocking. A second or so later, I feel another hard scratch, which is startling as my hands are accounted for, and as far as I know, I’m alone up front.

Startled, I jump and cry out. My foot gets caught under the flatbed cart I’ve got the boxes on so I fall over, into the wall next to me, where I take down every single hook within my silhouette. I finally end up on the ground, surrounded by socks and some of the small boxes I was stocking.

I look up to see who did that and see a middle-aged woman looking down at me. Amazingly, she looks surprised, as well.

Customer: “Sorry. I thought you might not be able to reach.”

Me: “Please don’t do that.”

Customer: “I was just trying to help.”

My brain is still trying to catch up to the situation.

Me: “Okay, but… please don’t do that.”

Customer: *Shrugs* “Sorry.”

She left shortly after that. I don’t think she bought anything. I considered making a “Please do not touch the employees” sign, but fortunately, it was never necessary again.

It is the middle of December, our busiest season for both in-store and online orders. A customer calls to complain about an order she had shipped.

Me: “Good afternoon, [My Shop]!” 

Customer: “Yeah, my name is [Customer] and I just got an order that I placed on your website; you sent it to me! Why would I want all these boxes sent to me?!“

Me: *Looking up the order* “Ma’am, it looks like you used [Customer’s Address] as the shipping information for each box.”

Customer: *Irate* “But why would I send them all to myself?!”

Me: “I don’t know, ma’am. Did you receive a confirmation email for the order?”

Customer: “Of course!”

Me: “And did you verify that the information was correct on that email?”

Customer: “I don’t have time to read things! And I don’t want all these stupid boxes; I’m allergic to chocolate! You have to send them where they were supposed to go!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but as far as we knew, you had told us where they were supposed to go in the original order… so that’s where we sent them.”

Customer: “Well, I can’t be expected to know that. Why would you send all these boxes to my address? You have to send new ones to the right addresses or my Christmas is going to be ruined! I spent all this money and you screwed up the order!”

I was too disgusted and exhausted to continue the conversation. I handed the phone to my husband, who ended up refunding the customer all of her shipping fees. Three years later, I still twitch whenever the phone rings in December.

I used to work at a grocery store but got a different job and left. I’m still on good terms with everybody there, so when I go in I chat with them. The store also has a sub station that my family loves.

One evening, we’re feeling lazy, so I offer to go to the store to get subs and milk since we’re out. I place my sub order online since that’s the easiest way to make sure everyone gets what they want on their sub. My brother and I have the same base sub, but they’re on different kinds of bread and I have more toppings on mine. My dad has a completely different kind of sub but the same kind of bread as my brother.

Once I get home, I realize they gave me the wrong kind of bread on my sandwich. It’s not the end of the world, but I don’t particularly like that kind of bread. Having worked there, I know what a formal complaint does at the store level, but I also don’t want to just ignore it, so I decide to call the store and explain what happened.

Brother: “You’re really going to complain?”

Me: “Yes, they messed up my order.”

Brother: “Entitled.”

Me: “It’s not being entitled to inform them of a problem so they can be mindful in the future.”

Brother: “No, you’re being full-blown entitled. You complained to someone yesterday and you’re doing it again today!”

Me: “You mean when I ordered breakfast and my food was left off the order because of an app issue?”

Brother: “Yes!”

Me: “That’s different. That was a technical issue.”

Brother: “Don’t complain over nothing.”

Me: “They messed up my order!”

Brother: “Deal with it.”

Mom: “[Brother], imagine if they put onions on your sub. How would you feel?”

Brother: “I’d just pick them off or give it to Dad.”

Me: “What if they gave you Italian seasonings because I had Italian seasonings on mine?”

Brother: “I’d throw it away, but I wouldn’t complain.”

I walk away and call the store. The manager picks up and I explain what happened and that I’m not mad; I just want them to be more careful in the future. She says she’ll talk to them and offers me a free sub in the future.

Me: “[Manager] offered me a free sub. I probably won’t take it, to be honest.”

Brother: “Entitled.”

I tried to eat the sub as intended, but I ended up just picking out the meat and toppings and throwing away about half of the bread.

This is a story about my friend and her husband. [Husband]’s father came to the USA from Europe shortly before World War II. The family only had enough money to send one of their two (very) young sons and [Husband]’s dad was the younger one and he got to go along with his mother. They never saw the family again. [Husband] grew up without paternal grandparents as his grandmother died early on, and because she really didn’t know how to go about searching for them, no one knew what became of the family in Europe.

[Husband] is notorious for going on vacation and driving past restaurants, scenic views, and motels because “there might be something better around the bend.” [Friend] says they have sometimes done nothing but drive their whole vacation, and the conversation often goes like this:

Husband: “Gee, that looked like a nice restaurant. Too late to turn back now, though. There’s something better around the bend.”  

One day, they are on a trip through New England, looking for a place to stay the night, and [Husband] is driving along, doing his usual:

Husband: “Oh, oops, that looked like a good place, but we’ve passed it and it’s too late now.”  

They pass a place that looks very homey and cozy, and [Husband] makes his comment and keeps going. I have often wondered HOW they could go a whole week of vacation doing this, but [Friend] seems to think things are fine. They continue driving, and half an hour or more later:

Husband: “I can’t stop thinking about that last place. It’s like a place I’d really like to stay and it looked so inviting.”

And to [Friend]’s surprise, [Husband] turns the car around and goes back to the inn that is now about forty-five minutes away.

She sits in the car while he goes in to see about getting them rooms. And she sits and waits, then waits and sits. Then, she starts getting worried because [Husband] hasn’t come back yet.

FINALLY, almost half an hour later, he comes out.

Husband: “Come with me. You won’t believe it.”

I’m sure everyone can figure out where this is going, but to finish the story, [Husband] and the owner had the same very very unusual last name. They started talking and comparing notes… and [Husband] discovered that he was talking to one of his first cousins. Years after the war, his uncle had finally come to the US. The uncle couldn’t find a trace of his mother or brother, gave up the search, and settled down.

[Friend] said that they spent most of their vacation getting to know various members of [Husband]’s rediscovered family and having a great time doing so.  

Unfortunately, the experience never did — completely, at least — change [Husband]’s habit of driving on without stopping, but at least he had relatives to visit from then on.

This happens many years ago with my first cat. I’ve already had her as part of the family for several years, but when I move out on my own, she becomes my sole responsibility.

One day, I am rubbing her belly like usual and I feel a strange lump. I can’t figure out what it could be, so I call the vet in order to have her checked out, worried it might be a tumor. I take her in the next day and the vet looks her over.

Me: “Is she going to be okay?”

Vet: *Giggles* “Yes, she’s totally fine. That’s her belly button.”

And that’s how I found out my cat had an outie!