There is an upscale restaurant here where you get your food by going to various cooking stations. There are stations for steaks, roast chicken, vegetables, desserts, coffee, etc. You collect what you want and then pay at the end.

The coffee station lists various fancy coffees, including Cafe au Lait for $2.80 and Cafe Latte for $2.95. One is of French origin and the other Italian, and both are espresso with hot milk.

I catch the barista’s attention.

Me: “What’s the difference between these two coffees?”

Barista: “Fifteen cents.”

As I expected.

This took place during the heatwave during the summer of 2018. I tend to run hot naturally. I was working in a public space with no AC, and I was tired of having my shoulder-length hair dripping with sweat at the end of every shift.

When I was younger, I used to be in a number of alternative subcultures. I have had every single weird hairstyle my very thin and fine hair will support and I’ve had every unnatural hair colour that can be bought. All the hair experimentation ended up damaging my hair a fair amount, so by the time I hit my thirties, I just stopped messing around with it and let it grow out in my natural mousy brown, cut straight with bangs. It’s not too exciting, but it’s comfortable and practical.

The summer of 2018, however, was straight-up torment, and I figured that it might help a little if I got an undercut — long on top of the head and buzzed really short on the sides and back.

I went to my usual hairdresser, sat down, and explained to her how I wanted it done. She gave me a strange look.

Hairdresser: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Absolutely. It’s just too warm for long hair right now, but I’d like to keep a little of it, you know?”

Hairdresser: “I’m not sure I’m comfortable giving you this kind of haircut.”

I get it. My wild youth is over, I work as a librarian, and I dress more conservatively than I used to, so I probably don’t look like an undercut kind of person, so I tried to reassure her.

Me: “Don’t worry. I used to be a punk rocker. I’ve actually had this hairstyle before, only then, I had it dyed in red and black tiger stripes and I used ungodly amounts of hairspray to keep it up.”

The hairdresser gave me an even stranger look.

Hairdresser: “No, I don’t think so. This won’t suit you at all. I’m just going to give you the usual trim, okay?”

Me: “Actually, I’d really like the undercut. I don’t care if other people think I’m pretty or not; I just want to feel comfortable in this heat.”

Hairdresser: “But it’s going to look horrible on you! What if you don’t like it?”

Me: “Oh, it’s just hair. It’ll grow out.”

Hairdresser: “No. I don’t think you should have that hairstyle. It’ll make your face look fat. I’m going to give you a trim.”

And that is how I ended up changing hairdressers!

I’m fixing up the always messy clearance section when my boss comes over to see how it’s going. We talk about how messy the customers are, especially with the clearance section, and she drops this gem just before she walks away.

Boss: “When I get home, my husband always asks me, ‘Did you at least make it to the car before crying today?’”

In Scotland, if you are selling your house, you are required to pay to have it surveyed yourself. However, the sellers are only obligated to get the most basic survey. When I was buying my first house, I decided to pay for an enhanced survey myself. I did not have any idea how badly this would confuse my mortgage company.

First of all, they kept misfiling the letters and evidence I submitted in support of my mortgage. Then, they entered my phone number incorrectly in their system, and despite phoning them and updating it repeatedly, they didn’t change it so I didn’t get notified that things were missing.

This led to the survey I instructed becoming outdated, so I was informed that I needed to get a new one. I spoke with the surveyor, who told me that they had had problems with my lender accepting updated reports before and to double-check with them that they would definitely accept the updated report. So, dutifully, I did this and explained that I would be paying for a refresh of the survey they already had. I asked if we could confirm that this would be acceptable. The agent I spoke with was very confused about why I asked; of course, it would be fine. I’m sure you can see where this is now going.

£200 and two weeks later, I received a letter telling me that the report was unacceptable because it was completed by the same surveyor who provided the initial report — a complete conflict of interest, apparently. I submitted a complaint and had this conversation with the mortgage company agent.

Agent: “I’ve reviewed your case and I don’t think we’re at fault.”

Me: “How can you possibly say that? I specifically phoned you to confirm that this survey would be acceptable before I instructed it and your underwriter told me it would be. Now you’re telling me that I need to pay another £200 to get someone else to do it.”

Agent: “Ah, well, I’ve listened to the call, and you didn’t specifically ask if it was okay to use the same company again.”

Me: “Maybe not in those words, but I mentioned them by name. you must have heard that. Surely your underwriter should have spoken up if using the same company was a problem? Frankly, I think you should pay for the survey.”

Agent: “I see we’ve already paid you £100 compensation due to the delay in processing your application. Frankly, I wouldn’t have given that to you and I think you’ve already received more compensation than you should have. If you want to pursue this further, then please submit a further written complaint, but we will not pay for the survey and I see nothing further for us to discuss.”

Me: “This is outrageous and I absolutely will be following this up.”

I hung up and called the surveyor to tell them the bad news. They were actually so apologetic about their role in the confusion that they fully refunded me for the survey and helped put me in contact with another business who sorted it out for me very quickly for the original sum agreed. I was amazed that it all got sorted out in the end, no thanks to my mortgage company!

I am staying at a hotel in NYC with my friends. Being an early riser, I’m ready to go by the time they’re waking up, so I go downstairs to get us all breakfast while they get ready. I go a bit overboard; I have an armful of food and three smoothies, which I try to balance on the plates. 

Obviously, this is stupid, and they topple over in the hallway, spilling onto a stranger’s door and onto the carpet. I try to clean it up with my napkins, but to no avail. I call the front desk.

Me: “I’m so sorry, but I spilled a smoothie in the hallway, and I need some help with it.”

Front Desk: “You need someone to come clean your room?”

Me: “No, it’s the hall. In front of room [number].”

Front Desk: “You’re staying in room [number]?”

Me: “No, the spill’s in front of [number]. I just need someone to come bring me some cleaner so I can get it up before they wake up.”

Front Desk: “Before who wakes up?”

Me: “The people in [number]. I don’t want them to step in the smoothie as soon as they leave, so I want to clean it up now.”

Front Desk: “Who’s in [number]?”

Me: “I don’t know! Can you please send someone up here, to [number], please?”

Front Desk: “Um… all right.”

A cleaning lady shows up a few minutes later.

Housekeeping: “This is your room? Are you locked out?”

Me: “No, I spilled my smoothie and it got on these people’s door. I don’t know them. I just don’t want them to wake up to a sticky door and a smoothie in the hall.”

Housekeeping: *Pauses* “Where are you from?”

Me: “Mississippi.”

Housekeeping: “I see why they were confused. We don’t do all that here. You can go back to your room now.”

Me: “Oh, okay. Do you not need any help?”

Housekeeping: *Exasperated* “No. This is my job.”

I guess by NYC standards, I am annoyingly helpful.