I am flying for work on an airline with open seating, the flight attendant is keeping everyone going with:

Flight Attendant: “Welcome to Cattle Car Air, MOOOve along to the back of the plane.”

There are two seats open in a row. I got the window seat, stashed my bag, put on my headphones, and was ready to pass out after a long work trip. I’m half asleep in my own little world when I get a poke from the other guy in the row:

Passenger: “Hey, they are asking if anyone is willing to move so a mom can sit with her kid.”

Me: “Huh, okay, whatever, do we need to move?”

Passenger: “Great, I’ll tell the flight attendant.”

He waves and points at me. The flight attendant comes over and says to me:

Flight Attendant: “Great, I have a seat in the back. We can’t take off till we get this settled.”

Me: *Only half awake.* “Uh, yeah, okay, I need my bag.”

Flight Attendant: “Don’t worry, point it out and I will get it. We have overhead room, but only middle seats left.”

Some people start clapping, and I’m confused and wondering if I’m dreaming. I found out later that there was a hold-up and some arguments in the back of the plane when I zoned out. The flight was close to being deplaned over unruly behavior, as they couldn’t find two seats together for the mother and toddler.

The attendant filled me in during the flight and insisted I get an in-flight drink on the house (Irish coffee, BTW). 

A month later, I got a thank-you letter and three more drink tickets; apparently, it really was some drama I missed.

Our management team gives us raises and bonuses, so that’s great, but they do ALSO give us the occasional pizza party. Since said pizza parties are not replacements for raises and bonuses, we all enjoy them, apart from one guy.

This one coworker scans the nine pizzas my manager brought into the office and says:

Coworker: “Why is there only one vegan pizza?”

Manager: “Well, you’re the only vegan.”

Coworker: “Yes, but why is there only one vegan pizza? Everyone else in the office gets multiple pizza options, and I only get one?”

Manager: “Actually, this pizza is half one flavor, half another, so you still get two options.”

Coworker: “No. To keep it fair, half the pizzas need to be vegan. Anything less is discrimination.”

Manager: “There are thirty people here, and you’re the only vegan, but half the pizzas need to be vegan?”

Coworker: “Anything less is discrimination. I’ll go to HR if this happens again.”

The following Monday, there was a memo sent around to the whole office that pizza parties were cancelled for the foreseeable future due to “accommodation technicalities”. Everyone knew what that meant, and everyone was majorly p***ed at the vegan coworker.

My other coworker (a friend) was so angry that he decided he was going to throw his own pizza party, paid for by himself, so he didn’t have to cater to any office rules. That Friday, he brought in ten pizzas, half meat, half vegetarian, but all made with real cheese.

The vegan coworker came by and saw all the pizzas and everyone enjoying them. He grabbed a plate and started to hover around the options. As soon as he realized that there was nothing for him, he went to the manager to complain.

Manager: “[Friend] did this on his own for his own reasons. It has nothing to do with the company, and there’s nothing I can do.”

For a few months after that, every coworker who had a special event (mostly birthdays) celebrated with a pizza party in the office. Never was a vegan pizza ever ordered. Every time this happened, the vegan coworker looked angrier than a mosquito in a mannequin factory.

Related:
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 12
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 11
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 10
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 9
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 8

Yesterday, I had a rare interaction at a grocery store.

I had gone to get several things and went through the register with very little wait. I got out to my car and realized I had forgotten a couple of small things. I went back inside and went to the aisle where they were located, but didn’t see exactly what I was looking for. 

I spent about five minutes deciding on what to get instead and headed to the registers. There were several open, and none of them seemed to have more than one customer, but every customer had a lot of items. I hate self-checkout, so I finally picked one where the customer seemed to have the fewest items.

I got in line and noticed they were a young family: Dad, Mom, toddler, and baby in a sling across Dad’s chest. They were still unloading their cart when Dad looked at me and saw that I didn’t seem to have much.

Dad: “Do you have many items?”

I showed him what I had, and he said:

Dad: “You know you can use the self-checkout rather than waiting.”

I kind of resented that he seemed to think I didn’t know that.

Me: “I hate self-checkout.”

He then looked at the Mom, then back at me, and picked up my two items and handed them to the cashier, who rang them up and put them in a bag.

Dad: “So you don’t have to wait for us, today your things are on me.”

I tried to thank him, but he was too busy with his family to pay attention, so I left. My total was less than $6, I think, but I was very grateful to this young family. I will look for an opportunity to pass it on in the near future. Maybe I will even do it more than once.

I’m talking to my friend/neighbor as he’s shoveling the snow out of his driveway. I plan to borrow his shovel when he’s done with it, so I’m chatting to him as he finishes up.

His other neighbor comes over while smoking a cigarette.

Neighbor: “Morning, [Friend].”

Friend: “Morning.”

Neighbor: “I wanna talk to you about the smoke coming from your chimney.”

Friend: “What about it?”

Neighbor: “Well, it’s drifting over to my house and causing my family breathing problems.”

Friend: “Well, you smoke.”

Neighbor: “Well, I smoke outside.”

Friend: “So does my chimney.” *Carries on shoveling, signaling the end of the conversation.*

On Sundays at my convenience store, an older, Baptist church-going, all dressed up in her brightly-colored dress and audacious hat-wearing woman, will come in and angrily, quickly, demand to speak to my manager.

Manager: “Hello again, ma’am.”

Customer: “Your idiot here won’t let me—”

Manager: “—Won’t sell you a roll of our quarters from our change safe. Like I tell you every Sunday, ma’am, those are limited in supply, and we don’t make change to customers like that. I keep reminding you to go to a bank during the week.”

Customer: “But I need them on Sundays! It’s to give to Jesus! What would Jesus say if he were here right now?!”

Manager: “Get the f*** out?”

Customer: *Gasps.*

Manager: “Oh, sorry. Is it more like ‘Get the f*** out, my child’?”

The customer gasps again, calls us blasphemers, and storms out. That seemed to do the trick as she must have found another convenience store to annoy the following Sunday…