I take my daughter to the doctor for her seven-year-old check-up. A nurse takes her vitals, and while he’s entering them on her chart, my daughter starts to get bored and wiggly. She needs a distraction. She’s wearing knee socks with pandas on them, as well as a shirt and a hat with pandas. You get three guesses about what her favorite animal is, and the first two don’t count.

Me: “Can you count how many pandas are on one of your socks?”

She twists her leg around to get an accurate count.

Daughter: “One, two…” *a bit later* “…sixteen, seventeen!

Me: “So many pandas are on both socks? What’s seventeen plus seventeen?”

We have a bit of back and forth as she figures out that she needs to carry the one, finally resulting in the correct answer of thirty-four rather than her initial answer of twenty-four.

Me: “Now add the ones on your shirt and hat.”

Daughter: “Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven!”

Me: “Wow, thirty-seven! pandas!”

She then looks at me, very serious, and speaks in somber tones.

Daughter: “But Mom. There are more. There are millions of pandas in my heart.”

I am a Robot Design judge during a First Lego League (now called FLL Challenge) competition. This is a robotics competition for older elementary-schoolers and middle-schoolers. The teams of kids build and program Lego robots to run various challenges on a board for points. While the majority of robots struggle to semi-reliably do one to three of the easiest missions, every year I see a few really amazing robots doing truly impressive feats on the board.

While each team gets two or more adults to aid them, the actual building and programming of the robot are supposed to be done entirely by the kids. Adults are there to give general guidance and keep the kids on task. They can help the kids figure out the missions and how they’re scored, help kids learn how to program, help them figure out why things didn’t work, and maybe provide the occasion small suggestion, but the robots are supposed to be the kids’ work.

Me: “I’d like to talk to someone about the code. Which kids feel like they know the programs best to explain them to me?

Kid #2: “[Kid #1] and his dad did most of it.”

Me: “Okay, [Kid #1], I see you used a My Block. Can you explain how it works?”

“My Blocks” are what they call functions, basically small self-contained bits of code that can be called over and over again by other parts of the code.

Kid #1: “What’s that?”

Me: “This paper here. Can you explain this program?”

Kid #1: “Oh, is that the thing for following lines? Dad wouldn’t let me do that one.”

He turns to one of the coaches who are sitting in the room but have been asked to be quiet while we judge the kids.

Kid #1: “Dad, how does it work?”

Sadly, we had to give the team a failing score on programming due to adults clearly doing the work. “Luckily”, their robot still didn’t follow lines well and ultimately was nothing special — a bit better than the worst robots but not by much. That meant we could still allow them to compete; we knew they would score poorly enough that we wouldn’t need to worry about how to handle a potentially unfair advantage of an adult helping. We try not to punish the kids for the adults misbehaving if we can avoid it; the competition is supposed to be about celebrating their work first and foremost, regardless of how their robot does, not making them feel bad about it.

The extra irony is that very well-written, fully functional line-following programs are easily available online, and so long as you credit your source, you’re allowed to use a program like this. After all, we would hardly be preparing kids for a real programming job if we discouraged code reuse. If the dad had just suggested they look online, they could have legally gotten more reliable code than whatever he wrote.

Still, this is what I love about judging middle-schoolers, they are so shockingly honest. On the occasion that I judge Core Values, which is mostly focused on teamwork, I’ll always ask if the kids worked well as a team, and I’ll always have at least two teams flat-out tell me they didn’t, despite knowing this is the one thing we’re judging them on in that room. Got to love the forthrightness of kids.

Related:
Faith In The Future Of Humanity: Restored!

It’s the final day of tax season. To cover a shortfall, I’m working at two offices in one day. Due to a client going over and a huge traffic jam, I am late to arrive at the second office — by five minutes. I’m scheduled to be there at 3:00, and I park the car at 3:06.

Upon opening the door, I’m confronted by a big guy. I’m a short woman, not very big.

He has a large briefcase full of documents. I apologize for being late, and he starts complaining about it and chewing me out. He keeps escalating; at first, it’s in a normal tone of voice, but it keeps getting louder and louder. At first, I’m apologetic, but as he goes on and on, I ask him:

Me: “Do you want to get your taxes done or would you prefer to complain about my timeliness?”

He calls me a “worthless b****” and starts getting downright nasty. It’s now 3:20, and our appointments are only an hour long, anyway.

Me: “Get out.”

He demands my card so he can complain about me to corporate. I take my cards, put them in my desk, and lock it.

Me: “No. I refuse to tell you my name. You have treated me with nothing but disrespect since I arrived. And with how long you’ve gone on to complain about my being late, we are now even later. Even if we started doing your taxes right this second, they would not be done before the next appointment.”

He practically turns bright purple in anger. Now he’s yelling loudly enough that he’s probably hurting his throat. I’m learning all sorts of new swear words. But that’s okay; I’m done with him. I just smile and wait for him to leave.

My coworker, a large man, comes tearing into the office and shouts at him to leave now. When the man demands that [Coworker] give him my card to complain to corporate, [Coworker] hands the man HIS card.

Coworker: “Complain about me. Now get the f*** out the door before we call the cops. You are officially trespassing.”

The man took a step back… and [Coworker] took a step forward. The man kept yelling, and [Coworker] yelled back, and each time the man took a step back from the force of [Coworker]’s shouts, [Coworker] took a step forward until he’d herded the man to the door. [Coworker] pointedly opened the door, practically shoved the man out, closed the door, and locked it.

Corporate did call us about the chain of events later, but when we explained what happened, they just shrugged and said, “Couldn’t be helped. We don’t condone that behavior, but it was probably necessary,” and we didn’t get written up.

I work as a supervisor for a company that provides television service in the United States and a few other countries. The company that owns mine also owns a few others, including a “sister” cell phone service company that we have no direct communication with.

Today is a busy day, so all hands are on deck. This means that supervisors are taking calls until the queue is knocked out. On my third call, I encounter a woman who angrily begins by saying:

Customer: “My cable bill is too high! I want to sign up for cell phone service so I can get a discount!” 

We have no direct connection with the cell phone provider, nor have we ever offered a discount on our services for customers who use said provider.

I ask her to clarify, and she snaps back:

Customer: “I want to get a cell phone through [TV Provider] so I can save on my bill!” 

Since some television providers do offer cell phone service, I first verify that she is, in fact, our customer.

Me: “Ma’am, we don’t offer cellular service, but I can give you the number for [“Sister” Cell Phone Provider].”

Customer: “No, I don’t want cellular service from them; I want it from you so that I can save on my television service!”

I advise her again that we do not offer any phone service directly, but I add that if she wants to lower her bill, I can go over her service with her and see if there are any savings to be had. 

She then starts yelling, claiming that we do offer cellular service and that she wants to talk to a supervisor.

Me: “I am a supervisor, ma’am. I’m willing to dial the number for [“Sister” Cell Phone Provider] to save you time.”

She becomes outraged.

Customer: “You’re lying! I’ll just call back; someone else will give me cell phone service. You’re losing a sale because you’re stubborn!”

Me: “You are welcome to call back anytime and we will always try to help, but, again, we do not offer cell phone service.”

At this, she screamed at me and ended the call. 

I sighed, made notes on her account about the encounter, and went on to my next call. I REALLY hope that no one else has to deal with her level of stubbornness anytime soon.

I’m just starting my shift waiting tables when an older couple — [Grandma] and [Granddad] come in. I introduce myself, get their drink orders, and head off to put them in. While I am waiting at the bar for the drinks, I notice the hostess motion toward a young couple with a baby to indicate that she is seating them in my section.

While I am getting the drinks, [Grandma] slips into the restroom. She comes out just as I pick up the drinks and head toward her table. Along the way, the hostess stops me.

Hostess: “The older couple at the booth? I had to move them to the six-top on the side.”

Me: “Okay. Why?”

Hostess: “They are now with the young couple I just put in your section, and it’s the only place they could all fit and have a high chair.”

Me: “Gotcha. No problem.”

I head back to hand off the drinks and talk to the young couple and walk into… I’m not sure what.

Grandma: “Oh, I see how it is. I leave for two seconds and you pick up a younger woman.”

I can see [Granddad] holding the baby and playing with her. The baby squeals and says what I think is “Grandma.” She lunges at [Grandma], and [Grandma] takes her from [Granddad].

At this point, it spirals out of control. A woman from a nearby table interjects.

Woman: “What the ever living f*** is wrong with you? How can you possibly object to him holding a baby? A baby?!”

Woman’s Son: “Mom, it’s a joke. Please…”

Woman: “It’s not funny! No one should act like this. This is what’s wrong with the world. She’s just upset because he’s playing with his granddaughter, and she’s probably jealous because it’s his first wife’s granddaughter.”

Baby’s Mom: “No, she’s her biological granddaughter. These are both my biological parents.”  

[Woman] shrieks something incomprehensible. The tirade continues with both the younger couple and [Woman]’s son trying to get her to be quiet.

Finally, the baby decides to start screaming and crying. [Grandma] is doing her best to calm her, along with help from [Baby’s Mom], but the baby is not having it.

My manager comes to see what is going on.

Manager: “What’s the problem here?”

Woman: “This evil shrew is abusing a baby! Listen to the poor thing cry!”

Woman’s Son: “MOM! Enough! Leave those poor people alone. She’s not doing anything wrong, and that baby is crying because you are screaming.”

My manager spends a very brief time getting the story and then does something I never expected.

Manager: “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. We will have your food packed up and brought to the hostess stand where you can pay.”

Woman: “Finally!”

Manager: “I meant you. These people haven’t even been able to order yet. You have disturbed multiple other tables this evening.”

After an unreasonable amount of arguing and her son trying to shut her down, [Woman] finally heads off, screaming about calling corporate.

Manager: “Sorry, folks. That was bizarre and unacceptable. We’re comping your drinks and dessert tonight. Please, I hope you can stay, but if the baby is too upset, I completely understand.”

By then, the baby was settling down so everyone stayed. The rest of their meal was blessedly quiet and uneventful. [Granddad] paid for everyone and left a very generous tip.