(I’m on a ghost walk with a group, and everything has been normal except our guide is a little high-strung and makes several comments about how she’s quitting because she can’t take it anymore. It’s around 10 pm, quite dark, and we’ve just entered a courtyard of an ancient church.)

Guide: “This area is particularly creepy. Every time I’ve brought a group here, something has happened. Once I had a medium who told me she saw this entity standing behind me the whole time… It’s said that some lovers arranged to meet here to run away and be married, because their parents didn’t approve, but when the boy arrived, he found the girl dead… They once found someone hanging from this tree.”

(As the guide is telling us the haunted history of the church, I shift my weight and suddenly, my hip joint cracks and echoes loudly on the stones.)

Guide: “Did you hear that? Did you guys hear that? It sounded like a footstep. Haha, I told you something always happens here. Um, so, well, that’s pretty much everything here. Now, if we’ll all just go back the way we came. Right, so through here. And, uh, well, normally we go into this pub just down the street here and have a few, but, um, well, I have to be up early tomorrow, so, yeah. That’s the tour, everybody! Thanks. Thanks for coming. Bye, all!”

(She all but ran down the sidewalk and disappeared. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, tour guide lady; I hope your new job is a lot healthier for you.)

(My colleague has been on a call for a few minutes.)

Colleague: “I’ll just ask.” *to me* “How long does it take to get to Aberdeen?”

Me: “From where?”

Colleague: *blank stare before asking the caller* “Glasgow.”

Me: “By train or car?”

(Another blank stare before asking the caller.)

Colleague: “Car.”

Me: “About three hours, I think. I’ll check Google.”

Colleague: *shakes her head and addresses the caller* “About an hour.”

(I try to correct her, but she continues the call practically shouting over me.)

Me: *after hanging up* “Why did you say an hour?”

Colleague: “Because it takes about an hour to get to Edinburgh, and Aberdeen isn’t too far away.”

Me: “…”

(I had to pull out a map to show her how wrong her assumption was.)

Colleague: *realising* “Oh, I thought Aberdeen was there.”

Me: “That’s St. Andrews!”

Colleague: “Oh, well. Aberdeen, St. Andrews, it’s all the same!”

Me: “I think you should phone them back.”

Colleague: *scoffs* “No, it’ll be fine. She was just a nobody.”

(The “nobody” turned out being our new managing director, who was a little more than annoyed at finding out her journey was going to take three hours instead of one. My colleague tried to claim it was me who took the call, but I’m Irish while she is Scottish. I’m also male…)

(My company is switching to a new computer system. As such, many files need to be re-named to something that meshes with the new system. My boss works out of our main office in another town. I, via remote access, look after the computers at Office #2, which is in another town from the main office and my office.)

Boss: “Okay, I need you to get everything in [Office #2] on to the new system.”

Me: “I can’t do that.”

Boss: “Why not?”

Me: “You and IT keep saying you won’t grant me remote access to those files, because we’re too close to switching to the new system. You or [My Counterpart in the main office] will have to do that in the main office.”

Boss: “Gotcha.”

(Three months later. A call from the boss:)

Boss: “Hey, IT is telling me that [Office #2]’s files aren’t on the new system yet. What gives?”

Me: “I told you last time. I can’t do that from here. You need to do that in [Main Office].”

Boss: “Right… Right… Gotcha.”

(Three months later. Another call from the boss.)

Boss: “[MY NAME]! IT IS AGAIN TELLING ME THAT [Office #2] ISN’T READY FOR THE NEW SYSTEM YET! Why haven’t you re-named everything yet?”

Me: “I… KEEP… TELLING… YOU. I can’t do that from here! You need to do that in [Main Office].”

Boss: *finally getting it after all these months* “Oh. You’re saying that I need to do that from here.”

Me: “Yes.”

Boss: “So, like, how then? Do we have to re-make everything from scratch and re-send it all to [Office #2]?”

Me: “What? No! You have remote access to [Office #2]. Just dial in and re-name everything.”

Boss: “Ah. I see.”

(That afternoon. I get a call from IT.)

IT: “Yeah, [Boss] just gave us this work order, telling us we have to re-make everything for [Office #2] and re-send it to them. When we asked why we had to do that, instead of him just re-naming everything, he said you could explain it.”

Me: *facepalm*

(I am on a trip to D.C. with my parents and stop by a restaurant for lunch. This particular restaurant makes its own beer and has a sample deal where they give you a sample of six different beers in teeny shot glasses if you ask for them. My parents do this.)

Waiter: *bringing the samples to the table* “Here are your samples. Enjoy! Are you ready to order yet?”

(We do, and after he leaves with our order, we just chat, not touching the beers. The waiter comes back to check on us.)

Waiter: *seeing our full sample glasses* “Is there something wrong with the beer?”

Dad: “Oh, no, we just want to eat something first before drinking, or we’ll get drunk!”

Waiter: *gives us a confused look* “Okay…”

(He walked off, still confused. We noticed that a woman at a nearby booth that had arrived soon after us was already totally plastered and we looked at each other bewildered.)

(I am checking out a customer with a large trolley full of stuff. She is on the phone the whole time, speaking French and practically ignoring me the as I scan and pack her bags. She has random bits and bobs, including some rugs. When I pick up one of the rugs she unloads from the trolley and unroll it get to the barcode I am shocked to see a competitors name on the rug tag. I have to leave the till a moment and show my manager that a competitor’s rug has shown up in our stock.)

Manager: “We can’t sell it to her. It’s not our stock.”

Me: “Can I just scan another rug and sell it to her at that price, one the same size or something? They’re not going to get this rug back and we can’t keep it.”

Manager: “No, we can’t sell it. Just tell her what has happened and get another rug for her that looks the same.”

(I sigh, knowing he is right but that it would just be easier for everyone, and go to explain to the customer what has happened.)

Customer: “Why can’t I have this rug?”

Me: “Because it is from a competitor’s store and I can’t even begin to explain how it got here.”

(I unroll the rug and show her the tag. It clearly says the competitor’s store name on it. All the while she is holding her phone to her chest as I speak to her. I set the rug aside and finish scanning all her items and put them in the trolley for her. She then goes to remove the rug and places it in the trolley.)

Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t sell you that rug.”

(I pick it up and place it behind the till where she can’t get it; she gives me a dirty look.)

Customer: “Why can’t I have that rug?”

Me: “Because it is from a competitor’s store. I have no idea how it got here, but it is not our rug to sell. I’m sorry, my manager told me not to sell it. Can I get you another one, maybe?”

Customer: “Yeah, whatever.”

(She then goes back to speaking in French on the phone. I go and check the rug aisle but find there is nothing matching the rug in colour or size so I go back and explain to her the situation. She pulls the phone away from her ear.)

Customer: “Listen to me; I need that rug. Now just pick it up and sell it to me.”

Me: “I’m sorry. It’s out of my hands. Can I get you anything else?”

Customer: “Yeah, help me with my stuff to my car.”

(I do and find her trying to get a huge mirror and everything in a two-door coupe with the roof down. She doesn’t help me unload the trolley, doesn’t thank me at all or acknowledge me, so I sling the last bag on her seat and set off with the trolley back into my store. After I return to my till and served a few more customers she reappears.)

Customer: “Where the h*** is my rug?”