(I’ve ended up in the ER waiting room with an excruciating spinal headache, due to a myelogram test I underwent four days earlier. This means I can’t have any part of my spine bent for more than a minute or so without the headache coming on and making me severely sick. I’ve been becoming severely sick the entire four days anytime I’ve so much as gone to the toilet, so I’ve been forced to be bedridden the entire time. The waiting room has nowhere to lie down, not even two chairs near each other without a non-removable armrest between them. I also know that if I stand in place straight up for more than a few minutes my blood pressure will drop and I’ll lose consciousness. For lack of any other solution, I’ve crawled to lie down on the floor in a semi-clean corner, with my head under one of the unused seats, to hide from the bright ceiling lights and be as much out of the way as possible. I’ve been waiting this way for over an hour. I carefully get up to ask the check-in nurse how much longer it’ll be. She can’t tell me; she can only say that I’ll have to wait some more. I go back to my place on the floor. In less than a minute, a security guard comes up.)

Guard: “Miss, you can’t lie on the floor here.”

Me: “What? I need to be lying down. If I don’t, I’ll become badly sick.”

Guard: “Well, but surely you can sit down, miss; there are seats here. You just can’t be lying down.”

Me: *bewildered at having to explain such obvious things in an ER waiting room, and after already having lain there for an hour without being bothered or bothering anyone* “I’m sorry, but I can’t sit anywhere. The reason I’ve come to the ER is that I have a specific condition where I become severely sick when I’m sitting. There’s no way I can physically be in that position right now. I have to be lying down so I don’t become ill.”

Guard: “Oh, well… But miss, there’s a rule that says you aren’t allowed to lie on the floor in this room. So couldn’t you please just go over right there and sit in one of these nice empty seats, anyway? There’s a rule, you see.” *looks at me expectantly like he’s making a perfectly reasonable suggestion.*

Me: “…”

(I checked later: there were no signs anywhere in the room stating such a rule.)

(I work in a pharmacy. I am filling in as an over-the-counter floor manager while our salaried management is out to meetings. Since I am an hourly supervisor, I am not allowed to do some things, like cash pulls or theft stops, but everything has been smooth throughout the day. It should be noted that at the time of this story, I am several months pregnant, but I am still getting around normally. I am crouching behind the counter for supplies when I hear a customer walk by.)

Me: *popping my head just over the counter* “Good morning!”

Teenage Boy: “Jesus! Uh… hi…”

(The kid looks a bit startled, but I don’t think much of it since I kind of came out of nowhere. I come out from behind the counter to see him flipping through the pegs of condoms. He is acting very sketchy, so I try to stay out of sight but where I can still watch him. Sure enough, he pockets a small pack of condoms. I cut the corner just as he is about to put another pack of condoms in his coat pocket. He drops them on the floor and I exaggeratedly struggle to bend over picking them up.)

Me: *poking my belly out* “Man, let me tell you from experience, I would not recommend this kind.”

(The kid practically ran out of the store, ditching the condoms in his pocket onto a nearby display on the way out.)

After a buyout, I’ve been temporarily acting as manager of a large group of employees. I’ve separated them into two groups, and each is coming to spend a week training at our headquarters. In preparation, I set up Google documents page with the training schedules, training reference information, maps, lists of contacts, information about the hotel, forms for travel reimbursement, and local information such as taxi services and restaurants. I then email each employee their specific plane tickets and hotel check-in information.

As I am in a supervisory role, this is not my job, but I choose to do this to make my employees’ training easier. Their point of contact for travel is a secretary at headquarters.

Almost immediately, I get the calls from people unwilling to glance through the documents that were provided. Two employees are specifically difficult.

[Employee #1] calls for every question on his trip. He has chosen to rent a car, and expects me to stay on the line with him and give him turn-by-turn directions around the town where the headquarters are located. Each time I tell him to use his company-issued phone for GPS, but he keeps calling. He also emails every morning asking me his daily training schedule. In response, I just keep re-forwarding the initial email with a note that information was already provided.

[Employee #2] just doesn’t read anything. He is scheduled to train with the second group, but having not read the email, doesn’t know that. Instead, he assumes he will be in the first group, books his own flight, and flies out to headquarters. I don’t realize there is an issue until he fails to show up at work on Monday. Then, I get a furious phone call from him complaining that he isn’t booked for a hotel. The secretary at headquarters manages to rearrange things so he can join training that week, but he takes to calling me for any question he might have. Over six days, this amounts to 49 different phone calls. Each has a question that was already answered in the initial email, or is local information he could easily Google.

Afterwards, the company brings on the permanent replacement manager. About a month later, the company decides to make cuts, and I am asked to work with this new manager to decide who will stay. After discussing our experiences, we decide that both [Employee #1] and [Employee #2] show the same lack of attention to detail and zero self-sufficiency in their normal workday that they displayed during the trip.

When they are let go, they have to turn in their phones. I know I made the right choice when I find out I was listed as “Queen Bitch” on [Employee #1]’s contacts!

(I own a Puli, an uncommon breed of dog known for its coat texture. They aren’t born with that coat; it takes about a year for the cords to form, and for a few months while the coat is in “transition,” they look like a shaggy, curly-tailed poodle in dire need of a haircut. I am used to having people who work with animals immediately know about the breed and be so glad to get a chance to see one in real life. I have just moved to a new area and am seeing a new vet for the first time, as I think she might be getting an ear infection. The technician calls me into an exam room and starts asking the basic questions, ending with:)

Tech: “…[Dog] sure looks like she could use a haircut!”

(My dog is about eight months old, and very much in the transition stage.)

Me: “Yeah, at this age they do look terrible, but in a few months it’ll be much better.”

Tech: “Do you even brush her?”

Me: “No, that’s not how the coat works.”

(I get ready to give the usual brief overview of how the cords are formed and the work that goes into the coat at this stage, but the vet walks in right then.)

Tech: “Okay, I’m going to take [Dog] to the treatment room and get her weight and vitals.”

(The tech leaves, and the vet starts the usual conversation with professionals of, “Oh, wow, I’ve never really seen one, so that’s what they look like young, etc.” This goes on for a while; I don’t think anything is strange, because at our previous vet whenever [Dog] went into the treatment area, the whole staff had to come and see her. I can hear the sound of clippers turning on in the back, and think it must be another patient getting a haircut. Then, the doctor runs out of stuff to talk about and says:)

Vet: “Well, I’ll go back and see if I can rescue [Dog] from her new fan club so we can start the exam.”

(He opens the door to treatment and screams:)

Vet: “OH, MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING?!” *turns back to me* “I am so sorry; I really don’t know what to say. This is inexcusable. I cannot believe…”

(I push my way past him and see [Dog] on a table, with two very scared-looking teenage assistants standing next to her, and a straight line of shaved fur running from nape of neck to base of tail. [Dog] is happily wagging her tail, apparently glad to be introducing me to her new, bestest best friends.)

Assistant #1: “[Technician] said to start shaving her because it was going to be such a long process… but the fur isn’t coming off in sheets like with the dog you showed me on last week, so I stopped and…”

Vet: *who has been babbling this whole time* “This is unforgivable; I’m stunned. Obviously, there will be no charge at all for today. In fact, there will be no charge for any service [Dog] needs, ever, for the rest of her life. Wait. [Tech] said, what?!“

Assistant #2: “Her exact words were, ‘Poor dog, just look at this coat. Another stupid owner who bought a doodle-poo and thinks it’s a real breed. You two get started shaving this mess; it’ll likely take an hour or more.’ And then she went to take a cigarette break. I thought she’d gotten the haircut approved.”

Assistant #1: “What did we do wrong?”

Vet: “You mean, besides doing a treatment without the owner’s permission? [Dog] is a Puli.”

([Assistant #1] instantly pales; [Assistant #2] looks confused.)

Assistant #2: “That isn’t a poodle mixed with a collie, is it?”

Assistant #1: “Remember last week when [Other Staff Member] and I were talking about rare breeds we would probably never see in real life? This is one of them; they are famous for their awesome fur.”

Assistant #2: “Oh, crap.”

Me: *having a hard time staying angry because of my very happy dog* “It’s okay; she isn’t a show dog, just a pet. And at least you didn’t start on the side; I mean, once it starts growing out again, it’ll almost look like it was an intentional haircut.”

Vet: “I just can’t believe that she would do something like this without permission; she should know better. I assure you this is not how we do business.”

Me: “I can tell. I would just like to look her in the face when you tell her she doesn’t have a job anymore.”

Vet: “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

(Watching that horribly ignorant woman get fired was one of the more satisfying moments of my life.)

(I’m a twenty-something woman who unfortunately looks much younger, and I’m infamous for my innocence regarding life in general. I have just been hired at a very well-known grocery store that sells everything under the sun. It’s really late and quiet, and I’m cashiering the only lane that sells cigarettes. The nearest cashier to me is a good seven lanes away. Suddenly I see two boys in their late teens literally push a younger teenage boy — who is holding something behind his back — into my line and run off. Immediately suspicious, I prepare myself for a problem.)

Me: “How can I help you?”

Kid: “Uh, well… I just wanted to buy something.”

Me: “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Anything I can help you with?”

(The kid gets really, really nervous and suddenly plops a small box onto the conveyor belt. It’s some sort of medicine or something, unfamiliar to me, but it doesn’t prompt for a “see ID,” so I ring it up without fanfare. The kid just stares at me. It’s getting awkward, so I hurry the transaction along.)

Me: “That’ll be [price].”

Kid: “Aren’t you embarrassed?”

Me: “Uh… Should I be?”

Kid: “Like… that I’m buying this. And only this. And we’re young, and alone, and you’re a girl.”

Me: “I… What?”

(Kind of confused and creeped out at the same time, I kind of smile and nod, then repeat the price. I can hear his friends on the other side of the register lane trying not to laugh.)

Kid: *suddenly throws up his hands and marches toward the exit doors, leaving the box with me* “DANG IT, GUYS! I TOLD YOU IT WOULDN’T BE FUNNY! I’M NEVER LISTENING TO YOU AGAIN!”

(Cue boisterous laughter from the other two guys as they ran after him. I just stood there, realizing that I was a part of a joke, but desperately confused. Joke’s on them I guess, as I had no idea what the product they were buying was! My manager popped up right then to tell me to take a break, and I was never more happy to do so.)