(We’ve been out of a product all day, and I inform my coworker over the headset that I have just finished making some more.)

Coworker: “You said we’ve got cold brew again?”

Me: “Si.”

Coworker: “I don’t speak Taco.”

Me: “Oui.”

Coworker: “I don’t speak Croissant.”

Me: “Da.”

Coworker: “I don’t speak Vodka.”

Me: “Get out.”

(I am in the break room and [Coworker] comes in for something.)

Coworker: “Oh, hey, [My Name], my new neighbor knows you.”

Me: “Oh, yeah? Who is it?”

Coworker: “Uh…” *looking at his phone for the name* “Uh. His naaaame iiiissss…” *dragging out the words while he searches*

Me: *singing* “Lola! He was a showgirl, with colored feathers in his hair.”

Coworker: *joining in* “And a dress cut down to there!”

Other Coworker: *walking in* “You people are weird.”

(I’m the manager of a small copy center, which is part of a larger store. The store manager refuses to pay more than minimum wage for the work that needs doing in my department, and therefore, our only applicants for open positions are the sorts of people who have never used any of the print machinery before and are just in need of any old job they can get. We go through employees like crazy, because none of them can seem to learn everything that’s needed to work effectively in the department. Customers complain, important and high-dollar print orders are ruined, turn-around times or prices are botched, we’re left bending over backwards to make the problems right with the customers, and the new hires are let go. Rinse, and repeat. The most recent new hire takes the cake…)

Me: “Okay, [New Hire]. I need to go take my lunch break really quick. All I need you to do is take the packages out of THIS box, and put them into THIS cabinet.”

(Note that I have put the box beside the indicated cabinet, and I have showed her both the box and the cabinet she needs to put things into. It’s a super simple task, but having the new hire handle it will help her familiarize herself with how we handle delivered supplies, and where this particular product belongs in the shop. I ask the new hire if she’s okay if I leave for lunch. She says, “Yep!” and off I go to my lunch. Thirty minutes later, when I return, the box is still sitting where I left it, full.)

Me: “Uh, [New Hire], was the department busy while I was away?”

New Hire: “No.”

Me: “So… what happened to putting the packages into the cabinet?”

New Hire: “…I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to do.”

(After a couple more attempts at explaining, I actually had to take a ream of paper from the box, open the cabinet, and put it on the shelf before she grasped what I meant. And this gal was a high school graduate who had just started college!)

(My husband, two teenage daughters, and I have decided to go couch shopping. First, we visit a local furniture shop. The shop’s entrance is at the back of the building and require us to go down a steep flight of stairs.)

Me: “Wow, it’s a bit tricky getting down these stairs.”

Salesman: “Well, THAT’S why there’s a sign that say, ‘Watch Your Step.’ Not that I’d expect a woman to pay attention to a sign, ha ha!”

(The four of us, which, if you’re keeping track, included THREE WOMEN [as well as a very feminist guy] all stared at him in disbelief. He didn’t make a sale that day, partly because of that remark, and partly because his store’s furniture was ugly and overpriced.)

(The company I currently work for does this thing where employees can transfer to neighboring restaurants of the same company to work for a couple of days, even weeks. My general manager decides to transfer me to the one downtown. That restaurant is rumored to be the most dysfunctional yet, and I don’t want to take it straight from the horse’s mouth until I’ve actually experienced it. That day, I am completely clueless, because I’ve never worked the breakfast shift. Most people there are understanding; however, this cook from a different county isn’t taking any bulls*** from me.)

Cook: *throws sandwich on heat chute* “Here you go.”

Me: *looks at unmarked sandwich* “What’s this?”

Cook: *condescendingly* “Aren’t you supposed to know what it is, since you rang it up?”

Me: *speechless, packs food instead*

(This pattern continues well into the beginning of lunch. The cook makes a particular, well-known sandwich, with some adjustments, and just tosses it on the heat chute. And, not to my surprise, it isn’t labeled.)

Me: *waves sandwich at the cook* “What’s this?”

Cook: *sarcastically* “A dead cow between two burger buns, that we call a burger. But in [Restaurant] we call it [Burger].”

Me: *losing patience* “I know that, but we have at least 12 of these [Burgers] spoken for in the last 20 minutes, and I need to know which is which.”

Cook: *irate* “B****, CAN’T YOU READ?!”

Me: *finally fed up* “B****, CAN’T YOU LABEL S***?!”

(All is quiet, followed by a couple of “ohhs” from employees and customers nearby. I toss the burger back at the cook for her to see the unmarked wrapper.)

Cook: “I… um…”

Me: “Is this for drive-thru, front counter, or what? Because we are not f****** mind-readers.”

Cook: *huffs and walks away*

(I didn’t hear another word from her after the confrontation, but at least I found out why everything there was dysfunctional. This restaurant kept bringing in crazy people from other stores to work for them. Needless to say, when the manager asked me to come in the next day, I had no trouble telling them to f*** off.)