I am a receptionist, sitting at a desk in the middle of a big open area about twenty-five feet back from double doors and about twenty-five feet from the cashier lines. I answer several hundred phone calls a day, plus directing customers who came to my desk who needed help.

Customers would also come to me wanting to check out the items that they wanted to buy. The only thing I could do was point towards the cashier line which were obviously in use which is why these people thought they could get me to ring them up. The only thing I had in front of me was a two-way walkie-talkie, computer, and telephone.

After eighteen months of over and over directing the stupid people to the cashier lines, I finally had had enough. A young fellow came up to me with his hands full of items he wanted to buy wanting me to check him out. I finally said what I had wanted to say for a long time:

Me: “Sir, no offense, but do I look like I have a cash register in front of me?”

Of course, about fifteen minutes later my supervisor came up to me.

Supervisor: “Did you really say that to that customer?”

Me: “Yes, I did. I’ve been wanting to say it for eighteen months.”

Supervisor: *Looking at me in desperation.* “Well, that customer called and complained.”

Me: “I figured he would but look at it this way: I have had enough of this. Just because the cashier lines get two or three customers at each register does not mean that everyone should come up to me and insist that I cashier them out when I don’t even have a cash drawer.”

I did promise him however that I would not do it again for at least six months. Eight months later I gave my three-week notice.

Related:
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 17
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 16
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 15
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 14
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 13

I went to a VERY small middle school that contained only sixth and seventh grade, and there were only five classes in each. I had the highest grades in my sixth-grade classroom, and I never got in trouble. When I say never, I mean NOT ONCE. It’s important to know that our school year is divided into blocks of six six-week sections, and we are at the beginning of the last six weeks.

Because we were such a small school, we only had PE two or three times a week as our teacher had to cater to all ten classes. On the day in question, I was chewing gum because one of the more popular students handed it out. My English teacher stopped me before we went to PE.

English Teacher: “[My Name], are you chewing gum?”

At this point, I was petrified of what she would say. I had seen her go nuclear over small things, and besides that, our math teacher, who we had just left, let us chew gum. I just forgot to spit mine out. I stopped chewing and cheeked it.

Me: “Uh… no, ma’am?”

About halfway through PE, the gym teacher saw me chewing gum while playing four square and told me to spit it out. I didn’t think anything of it until about five minutes after we went back in.

English Teacher: “[My Name], come here! [PE Teacher] told me that she had to tell you to spit out your gum. Not only did you break school rules by chewing gum outside during PE, but you lied directly to my face, so sincerely! You know what this means, right?”

Oh, yes, I knew. This meant I’d have silent lunch that day. For those not familiar, silent lunch is where you are sent to a table to eat alone, and in our school, you faced the wall and were not allowed to get up until everyone else has left. After that, you helped clean all of the tables.

Me: “Silent lunch today?”

English Teacher: “No, ma’am, [My Name]. You will have silent lunch all week, and I’m calling your mom.”

I should mention at this point that this was during the late 1990s when many clothing factories in the south were slowly closing. My single mom worked in one and received no child support. Our home phone had been cut off for a week now.

Me: “You can’t call my mom, ma’am.”

English Teacher: “What do you mean, I ‘can’t’? I’ll call her and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

Me: “Ma’am, we don’t have a phone.”

English Teacher: “Everyone has a phone, [My Name].”

Me: “Ma’am, we don’t now. It got cut off last week.”

Mind you, we were in a small classroom and my classmates could hear this. Bullying was a huge issue there, and my classmates already teased me as it was. I was ashamed as it was, and she just made it worse.

English Teacher: “I’ll write her a note and she can find a way to contact me tomorrow, or you’ll have silent lunch until June!”

She wrote a note, which my mom read and signed, and she hastily wrote a response that she could not make long-distance calls at work — she worked in North Carolina — and that me lying about gum was really not that horrible. My teacher called my mom at work, but predictably, they let her know my mom was not able to take phone calls unless it was an emergency.

Fast forward to the end of the six weeks. We had a “Good Conduct Party.” This was for students who did not get in trouble during the six weeks. I had always been able to attend, so I got in line for it. As I was standing there, my teacher walked up to me.

English Teacher: “Oh, no, ma’am, [My Name]! After what you did? You lied to me about that gum and not having a phone. You’re going to the Bad Conduct Party.”

This was literally a classroom where any students who had an N or U in conduct were sent to work on things that were not graded for two hours until the Good Conduct Party was over. The teachers always called it this to remind us it was not fun.

So, in summary, I panicked about chewing gum, was ratted out by the PE teacher, and was punished for not having a phone!

During lunch at work, I lament to a coworker that I can’t find certain good restaurants around town, namely my disappointment that I can’t get good fried rice no matter where I go. Two days later, I get pulled into a meeting with Human Resources.

HR Lady: “Hello, [My Name]. Do you know why you’re here today?”

Me: “No?”

HR Lady: “Several days ago, someone overheard you being derogatory toward Asian-Americans, and we want to make you aware that we have a zero-tolerance policy for racism in the workplace.”

Me: *Panicking, confused* “Wait, what? Where? When?”

HR Lady: “The incident in question took place on [date] during your lunch break, when someone overheard you say, ‘There’s no decent Chinese around here—’”

The penny drops.

Me: “FOOD! Chinese FOOD! I was talking to [Coworker] about how I can’t find good fried rice for the life of me!”

She stares at me blankly before the context dawns on her.

HR Lady: “Ah.”

Me: “Yeah, I was talking about how I couldn’t find any good Mexican or Chinese restaurants. Ask [Coworker] if you want; he’ll vouch for me.”

HR Lady: “No, no, I don’t think that will be necessary. Given your good performance and behavior besides this incident, I think we can write this off as a misunderstanding.”

Me: *Exhaling* “Thank you.” *Gets up to leave*

HR Lady: “But on that note… have you tried [Restaurant]?”

I run through my mental list of disappointing takeout dinners.

Me: “N-no?”

HR Lady: “Try them. Best Chinese food you’ll find in town.”

I was relieved that the situation was resolved reasonably and that she was willing to listen and understand the context, as opposed to other interactions I’d had in the past with bosses who were determined to demonize their targets no matter what. Bonus? The Chinese food was excellent.

I wrote this story. Grandma has always exaggerated when she feels sick. She used to be a nurse, so you would think she would know better than to do stuff like this.

One day, my grandmother comes downstairs and complains that she has a cough. The problem is we haven’t heard her cough once. She’s not even fake-coughing. She sets up a virtual doctor’s visit, but since the doctor can’t really examine her, he prescribes her a cough medicine for her nonexistent cough. She then complains that it isn’t working. We’re doubting she’s sick since she never goes anywhere and she’s not showing any symptoms, but it is peak pollen season, so we suggest she take an allergy pill. She refuses.

A few days later, Dad finally hears her wheezing a little bit. Mom suggests she make an appointment to go in and actually see her doctor. Grandma has other ideas.

Grandma: “I want to go to the hospital. My cough is just terrible.”

Again, we haven’t heard a single cough from her this whole time.

Mom: “I don’t think you need to go to the hospital. If you don’t want to see your doctor, we can take you to urgent care. They’re less expensive than the ER and can probably help you out.”

Grandma: “No. I need to go to the hospital.”

Dad: “Fine. We’ll take you to the hospital.”

Grandma: “I don’t want you to take me. I want to go by ambulance.”

Dad: “Why?”

Grandma: “Because then I won’t have to wait.”

Mom: “You’ll still have to wait. We’re not calling an ambulance. You don’t need an ambulance. Ambulances are for real emergencies. If you want to go to the hospital, we’ll drive you there.”

Grandma: “I want to go by ambulance! I don’t want to have to wait!”

Dad: “We’re not calling an ambulance!”

Grandma disappeared upstairs. A little bit later, she came back downstairs with a bag. A few minutes later, an ambulance pulled into our driveway. She had pressed the button on her life alert and told the person, “I can’t breathe!”

Grandma walked out to meet the EMTs and told them to take her to the hospital. My dad went out and talked to them. The whole time they were examining her, she was talking a mile a minute and her oxygen was at 98%. The EMTs tried to persuade her not to go to the hospital by ambulance, but she insisted, so they had to take her.

She was highly upset when she spent all day waiting by the nurse’s station to be seen. She did stay in the hospital for several days because they couldn’t determine if it was pneumonia or heart failure. They did eventually diagnose her with heart failure and told her to go on a low-sodium diet, which has caused a host of other issues.

Related:
We Should Totally Just Drug Grandma! (Not Really)
We Should Totally Just Stab Caesar! (Salad), Part 2
We Should Totally Just Stab Caesar! (Salad)

I am having a rather boring day at work, and then the phone rings.

Me: “[Office], this is [My Name]; how may I help you?”

I am greeted by a very perky but slightly artificial-sounding voice.

Caller: “Hi! This is Bob Hilton calling from—”

Me: “Bot Hilton?”

Caller: “Hi! This is Bob Hilton—”

Me: “Bot?”

Caller: “Hi! This is Bob Hilton—”

Me: “Bot?”

Caller: “Hi! This—”

Okay, I’ve had a good laugh for the day. I hung up the phone and returned to work.