I had a few bad managers over the course of my career, but the one who caused the most stress was the one who had no idea what we did and no interest in trying to understand.

All that mattered to her (and to this story) was that we didn’t have enough enterprise-wide visibility to suit her needs. She wanted her name to be known at the highest levels.

In meetings with other managers, she found what she hoped would be her claim to fame.

In order to get their software to interact correctly with the computer operating system and other tools, the developers had to configure “container” software specifically for their tasks, which was sometimes the last bottleneck preventing software from going into production.

Typically, each development team had one or two experienced people who helped the others work out the optimal configuration.

Our manager decided that we could boost our visibility by becoming the enterprise-level experts on container configuration. Instead of having ad-hoc experts in each group, every group would come to us for best practices.

When we asked how much lead time we had to get trained and maybe hire a few people who already had some idea of “best practices”, she told us that the announcement had already gone out to all departments and that we were the enterprise experts, effective immediately.

I recently came across the note where I wrote down her exact words.

Manager: “How do you think anybody gets to be an expert? They tell people they are, and people come to them for help.”

A few days later, I was sitting at a computer at a remote site reading a manual and explaining to a developer that this was the first time I’d ever seen the configuration form we were filling out. Not long after that, I was explaining to his manager how I’d become an expert by decree, and that I did, in fact, know just how stupid that was.

Our status as the enterprise experts didn’t survive that first encounter, but our manager did get name recognition, albeit short-lived. We had a new manager pretty quickly.

Customer: “I want [item], but I don’t want anything made in China!”

Me: “That might be difficult, sir, as quite a lot of our electronics are assembled in China.”

Customer: “Find me some, or you’re not getting my business!”

Me: “May I ask why you don’t want anything made in China?”

Customer: “I don’t want to support those [Asian slur]s! I support American businesses only!”

Me: “I see. Sir, I note you’re using an iPhone.”

Customer: “Yes, I am! They’re an American company!”

Me: “Yes, they are, but would you mind reading what’s on the back of your phone for me?”

He puts on his glasses and reads aloud the small text on the back of almost every iPhone: “Designed by Apple in California. Assembled in China.”

I hear about people going pale all the time, but I think this is the first time in my entire life I have ever actually witnessed it. Finally, he erupts into a rage and storms out.

Customer: “You’re all f****** communists!”

My grandmother calls me.

Grandmother: “My computer simply won’t turn on!”

After an hour of trying to talk to her on the phone, I make the two-hour trip to go see her.

Me: “Show me how you’re turning on your computer.”

Grandmother: “I’m not an imbecile, [My Name]. I know where the ‘On’ button is.”

She holds down the power button. And holds it… and holds it.

It turned out that she had been holding the power button down until it made a full power cycle and shut itself back down, never thinking to let her finger off the button.

I work in a small public library where one of my jobs is to walk the floor and help patrons find books or any other resource they need. While working there I start taking medicines that have the unfortunate side-effect of me gaining weight, so a lot of patrons/staff notice, and a few decide they just have to say something about it.

Patron: “Oh, I haven’t seen you in forever, just look at you absolutely glowing!”

Me: “Ah, hi, and thank you. How are you?”

Patron: “I’m doing great, I bet you’re just so excited!”

Me: *Absolutely confused.* “Huh?”

At this point, the patron comes into my personal bubble and stretches her hands out to each side of my stomach.

Patron: “So when are you due? Do you know the sex yet?”

Still shocked I gently grab her hand and then look her straight in the eyes.

Me: “I’m not pregnant, I’m just fat.”

Patron looks mortified, she takes her hands away in an instant.

Patron: “Oh, well…I…I, bye.”

The patron leaves the library and I never saw her again.

Related:
Better Have A Big Fat Apology, Part 12
Better Have A Big Fat Apology, Part 11
Better Have A Big Fat Apology, Part 10
Better Have A Big Fat Apology, Part 9
Better Have A Big Fat Apology, Part 8

It is the middle of the night at our airport and most eateries are closed. Most red-eye passengers are settling for whatever the vending machines can produce. Our airline has a delayed flight coming in, so I am manning the helpdesk to assist those passengers when they arrive.

From my airline’s helpdesk, I overhear two passengers arguing in front of a cup-noodle vending machine.

Passenger #1: “Is that it? Just, candy and soda and noodles?”

Passenger #2: “Well, what did you want?”

Passenger #1: “Like, roast beef, with some mashed potatoes and gravy. Maybe some waffles.”

Passenger #2: “That’s impossible.”

Passenger #1: “Why?”

Passenger #2: “Because those aren’t replicators, and this isn’t Star Trek.”

Not a wild interaction, but enough to cause me a chuckle.