(My stepfather has just died, eighteen months after a stroke. It has affected the whole family, especially my 11-year-old son. We go out to the cinema ten days after this happens, as an early Christmas treat. My son has been upset in the car.)

Employee: “What’s the problem?”

Son: “My granddad died. It’s so unfair!”

Employee: “Life’s unfair. Get used to it.”

Me: *angry* “How DARE you say that to a child?”

Employee: “He’s old enough not to cry in public. Besides, life isn’t a bowl of cherries. Time he stopped being a child.”

(My son is weeping by this point, not caring about making a scene. The manager comes up.)

Manager: “Is there a problem, sir?”

(I explain.)

Manager: “Well, was he in a nursing home?”

Me: “Yes, but I don’t see what that has—”

Manager: “Best that he died, really. Do you know how expensive it is keeping an old person alive in this economy? He won’t be a drain on resources.”

(Hands me my tickets.)

Me: “Are you so thick that you really think we’ll stay after what you both said? Give me my £12 back or I’m getting the police because I’m definitely not coming back.”

Manager: “No. You already paid. There’s nothing wrong with this cinema so there’s no need to refund you. See the movie or get out.”

(I only go in because my son has wanted to see this movie for a long time. He kept crying loudly throughout, so we were told 30 mins in that we had to leave because we were causing a scene. They refused to refund my money or the cinema card I purchased sometime prior. On top of all this, my son had to go there again two days before Christmas because his friend’s mother invited him for his friend’s birthday. We have not been back.)

(We are in the process of selling a house. The buyers got a great deal and seem really enthusiastic. It quickly turns into a pain when they take forever to action anything, and keep asking stupid question. Their solicitor is no better. I am copied in on these emails.)

Buyer Solicitor: “Hi, could we have a copy of the water bill?”

My Solicitor: “These were sent over a month ago.”

Buyer Solicitor: “No, the actual paper copy.”

My Solicitor: “As explained in the email, no paper bills are received, only online. That was what we provided, last month.”

Buyer Solicitor: “Hmm, well, ok. We need the warranty pack.”

My Solicitor: “Again, last month, we explained that there is no paper copy. Please ring [number] and they will provide one for you.”

Buyer Solicitor: “Okay, thanks.”

(Two weeks later, we are running out of time.)

Buyer Solicitor: “Hi, I’m going to need the warranty pack.”

My Solicitor: “As explained two weeks ago and six weeks ago, the paper version is no longer available. Please ring [number] and request one.”

Buyer Solicitor: “No, that will cost my clients [small amount of money]. You will have to pay.”

My Solicitor: “Fine, there will be money set aside for you on exchange.”

(Another week later, and now the sale is hanging by a thread.)

Buyer Solicitor: “We need the warranty pack.”

My Solicitor: “This has all been covered. We are running out of time! What exactly is wrong with the information provided?”

(Three days later.)

Buyer Solicitor: “Oh, we want it before we sign.”

(Everything is going wrong. The people we are working for have been patient, but are threatening to pull out. This constant change of request means we have only a few days left. I rush around and get the pack. It took all of a few minutes to do, something they could have done easily. Quickly, I send it over.)

My Solicitor: “We have provided everything you asked for. Will you now sign?”

(A whole day later and several emails.)

Buyer Solicitor: “No, my clients have said that the whole process has taken too long, and they are pulling out.”

(Months of waiting…. Because of them, four families with Christmas ruined, living in boxes. And they complained that it took too long! )

(I am getting my wisdom teeth removed right before Christmas, as I’m on break for college. The practice has three dentists, all with Jewish names.)

Nurse: “Okay, we’ll give the shots a little while to work and then once you’re numb we can begin.”

(A few minutes pass, and we wait quietly while the radio plays carols in the office.)

Me: *drooling* “Okay, I’m definitely numb now.”

Dentist: “Great!”

(He reclines my chair, adjusts his glasses, and picks up a drill. I open my mouth.)

Dentist: “You know, I swear, if I hear any more of this d*** Christmas music, I’m going to kill someone!”

(He turns on the drill.)

(I have just walked into the office on a Monday morning, and my manager calls me into his office.)

Manager: “I need you to do something for me.”

Me: “What do you need?”

Manager: “I’m going to give you a temporary promotion to office manager while I am gone for a few days. While I am gone, I need you to fire three staff. I expect them to be gone when I get back as I don’t want to have to speak to them.”

(I look at him, thinking this must be a joke. No punchline is forthcoming.)

Me: “You want me to fire three staff? So you don’t have to?”

Manager: “I have to go on a business trip! And corporate have told us to make cost reductions. This is the only way.”

Me: “No.”

Manager: “I beg your pardon?!”

Me: “I won’t do it. I’m not the manager. It’s not my responsibility. As far as I can see it, this is why you’re paid the big bucks: to complete these difficult, and managerial tasks.”

Manager: “I am your manager and this is your assignment. This discussion is over. I am leaving now and I will be back by Thursday.”

(He reveals an already packed travel-case, and he quickly scurries out of the office. Dumbfounded, I gather my thoughts for a moment, and then decide to call someone I know in Corporate. I explain what just happened.)

Corporate: “What the h***?! He should not have done that. Plus, he doesn’t even have a business trip on the books.”

Me: “You’re kidding. So what should I do?”

Corporate: “Sadly, he wasn’t lying about the need to make cost reductions. Your department needs to save [amount] by the end of the year. Hmm.”

(There is a pause.)

Me: “What.”

Corporate: “While we specified he needed to save [amount], we didn’t say how to go about doing it. Letting go three staff of [lower grade] would do that, but I can also see here that letting go just one incompetent manager would achieve the same amount.”

Me: “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Corporate: “How would you like to make your temporary promotion permanent?”

(You should have seen the look on my manager’s face when he got back from his “business trip” to discover that only one exit interview was required – his own!)

(I am doing some Christmas shopping for my family. I decide to go into the high end store and pick up some very nice items. I work at a local juvenile detention “Boot Camp” as a drill sergeant. Since I’ve just gotten off duty, I am still dressed in my work uniform, which consists of a pair of camo pants, combat boots, and a comfortable shirt under my old jacket. I probably don’t look like I really belong in the store. Wandering around a bit, I find myself having the distinct impression I am being followed. This one employee seems to be always fixing a rack or something every time I stop. Eventually coming to the purses, I pause to pick up a couple to compare and try to figure out what my mother would like. Picking the right purse for my mom, I wander a bit further looking for a place to check out. About halfway through this wandering, I hear someone say “Excuse me, sir?” Looking back I see it’s the lady.)

Me: “You can check me out? I’d like to get this.”

Woman: “You can’t afford that.”

Me: “Huh? What makes you think that? I’d like to buy it for my mom for Christmas and—”

Woman: *snatching the purse from my hand* “That’s a likely story. You probably want to steal this and sell it for some crack.”

Me: “Lady, you don’t know me; I’ll give you that. However, don’t judge a person by how they dress.”

(She ignores me and wanders back to the purses area while I follow. At this point a gentleman in a suit steps up.)

Manager: “Is there a problem?”

Me: “Putting it mildly. Are you a manager?”

Manager: “I am.”

Woman: “This bum was trying to steal this [expensive] purse!”

Me: “No, I wanted to pay for it. You know, with money?”

Manager: “Sir, looking at you, I can see that you couldn’t afford this. It’s probably best you leave.”

Me: “Looking at me? What, because I’ve got military clothing on?”

Manager: “Sir, are you in the military?”

Me: “No.”

Manager: “Then you shouldn’t be wearing that. Would you like me to call the police?”

Me: “Call them if you want. I couldn’t care less.”

(The manager then asks me rather politely to come with him, as security escorts me to the back room. I camp out and wait while the guy gives me this rant about how homeless people like me think we can get away with anything, and how he WILL be pressing charges. After five or six minutes, a couple officers come into the room. They look at me, and then back to the manager, and back to me.)

Officer: “Hey, Sarge, what’s up?”

(At this point the manager speaks up.)

Manager: “This homeless person was casing the store and trying to shoplift a five hundred dollar purse. I want him arrested!”

Officer: “Homeless? Uh, Sarge, are you homeless?”

Me: “Not last time I checked.”

Manager: “I want him charged; he’s impersonating a member of the military, too! That’s Stolen Valor!”

Officer: “Sir, you need to really calm down. What makes you think the Sarge here was trying to shoplift?”

Manager: “Because he’s homeless! Why do you keep insisting on calling this bum ‘Sarge’?”

Officer: “Because he’s my boss.”