(My husband and I are on a road trip with our 8-month-old daughter. We had planned to drive for a short time, find a restaurant for a late dinner, and then keep driving to the next city to get a hotel. We get caught up in a horrible traffic jam that takes over an hour to get through. By the time we are out of it, it is almost 10 pm. Luckily, our daughter is fine – she had slept for most of the time, and when she got hungry, I was able to give her a bottle and some snacks while my husband drove the car.)

Me: “Thank goodness we’re out of that traffic jam, but boy, I’m starving.”

Husband: “Me, too, but I’m not sure if anything is going to be open anymore.”

Me: “There’s a restaurant; the sign says “Open”, and I see people inside.”

Husband: “Hooray! We’re saved!”

(We got out of the car and started walking towards the restaurant. We were almost at the door when one of the employees, seeing us, flipped the sign to “Closed”.)

Employee: *through the door* “I’m really sorry, but it’s past closing time and our grill is shut down for the night.”

Husband: “Oh, dear! We were afraid of that.”

(We turn to leave. At that moment, my daughter wakes up in my arms and coos adorably at the employee.)

Employee: “Oh! You have a baby! We can’t turn you away with nothing to eat. Come on in!”

Me: “Really?”

Employee: “Sure! One thing, though; we can only serve you sandwiches, since our grill is closed.”

Husband: “That’s absolutely fine. Thank you so much!”

(We quickly ate a very decent meal of sandwiches and salad. We made sure we left a generous tip. Thank you, restaurant employee, for bending the rules and not sending us into the night hungry!)

(I’ve gone to the textbook store across from my college, since the campus bookstore’s card readers are down and I really need this book. Surprisingly, I’m their only customer.)

Cashier #1: “Oh, I guess I could, you know…” *waves me over*

Me: “I need [Book] by [Name]. Here, it’s the middle one.”

(I hand her my handwritten list of my books and what they all cost to rent or buy different places. She looks at the paper a while, types a little on her computer, and disappears into the shelves. She pops back up with the correct book.)

Cashier #1: “This is the one, yeah?”

Me: “Yes, that’s it.”

(She scans it into her computer, starts typing, and then just sort of… sits there.)

Me: “How much is it?”

Cashier #1: “Huh?”

Me: “How much does it cost?”

Cashier #1: “Just this one? It’s seventy four [mumble], but with tax it’s eighty [mumble] four.”

Me: “Wait, it’s eighty eight with tax?!”

Cashier #1: “Eighty AND oh-four.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

(I get out my debit card, and she then asks for my ID. She runs my driver’s license through a special reader and hands it back, and then swipes my debit card.)

Cashier #1: “Credit or debit?”

Me: “Debit.”

(Once again, after a few keystrokes she just seems to mentally wander off for a minute, before noticing I’m still standing there staring at her.)

Cashier #1: “Oh, uh, credit or debit?”

Me: “DEBIT.”

Cashier #1: “If you could enter your PIN.” *points to keypad hiding under some fliers*

Cashier #2: “Hey, so, did you see what they did this weekend?”

Cashier #1: “Yeah, it was so funny. I mean, they—”

Cashier #2: “Yeah, and then—”

Cashier #1: “It was just the best. Am I right?”

(My receipt finishes printing; my cashier has to hunt down a stapler for the two parts of my receipt. She sets my receipt and my debit card on my book and hands it to me, but suddenly snatches back the receipt.)

Cashier #1: “Wait a second with that!” *reads over receipt* “Uh, did I see your ID already?”

Me: “Yes…”

Cashier #1: “Because I was totally wondering how it got your name and stuff.”

(I have no idea what she was on, but I hope it wore off before her shift ended!)

(I and some of my coworkers are having a chat, when someone mentions a famous gay celebrity.)

Coworker #1: “Don’t mention that [homophobic slur] in my presence! It’s better to talk about [Black Celebrity].”

Coworker #2: “Don’t mention that [racial slur] in my presence!”

(A new coworker looks shocked, so I explain.)

Me: “[Coworker #1] is black, [Coworker #2] is openly gay, and both have the same bad sense of humor.”

(This night I am working with a coworker who is also a friend, and the new assistant manager. The other shift managers enjoy working with us because my friend and I have worked at the location for two years, so we know all the procedures and systems and we don’t need anyone watching us. We both pride ourselves on perfect meat record (meaning we have never dropped the meat). We slice our sandwich meat in the evenings to prep for the next day. The meats are all packaged in juice, so when you open them you have to open them over the trash can to avoid leaks and splashes.)

Me: *opening third turkey of the night* “Dude, we’re so awesome at this!”

Coworker: “It’s because we’re just so perfect at everything we do.”

(My coworker then drops some turkey. We stare for a second in silence.)

Both: “NOOOOOO!”

(The assistant manager runs to us.)

Assistant Manager: “What happened?!”

Both: “We dropped the turkey…”

Assistant Manager: “That’s it?”

Coworker: “WE’VE RUINED OUR RECORD!”

Assistant Manager: *jokingly* “Haha. Well, that’s a shame. You guys know what you have to do now, right?”

Both: “Yes… record it and file it.”

(When this happens, you’re supposed to fish it out, weigh it, write a report on it stating what happened, just to ensure that all supplies are accounted for.)

Assistant Manager: “No. You have to wash it.”

Both: *laugh, but then see he’s serious*

Me: “Wait. What?”

Assistant Manager: “Ya. You just clean it and it’s fine.”

Coworker: “Uh… no, I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Assistant Manager: “It’s what I used to do.”

Me: “We were told to just report it and toss it. [General Manager] trained us to do that.”

Assistant Manager: “Well, I guess I can call her, but I say just wash it off.” *leaves to call GM*

(We do the report and toss it and continue cutting and are a little confused by his actions.)

Assistant Manager: “Looks like you guys were right. I could’ve sworn you just wash it. That’s what I did at the last place I worked at.”

Me: “Where did you work? I just want to be sure that I never eat there.”

(We finished up the night and closed up. My friend and I worked lunch the next day and we both made sure to tell the GM about his actions the previous night. She assured us that she would speak to him about it. He was then gone two weeks after that. Turned out that instead of counting the inventory, he was just guessing. There were also other instances and events that happened. He was replaced by a more competent employee.)

(The apartment that I have rented for six-years has a laundry room where the machines use pre-paid debit-style cards to operate the machines. In the week leading up to me moving out of the apartment I am doing lots of laundry so have loaded $50 onto the card. The cards are fairly new to the building, and I have never signed anything when I got one, nor had I been told that they were part of the moving out procedures. I have the following exchange with the rental agent as we are doing my closing inspection.)

Agent: “So, we need your laundry card.”

Me: “There’s still a balance on it.”

Agent: “We can’t complete the paperwork until we have the laundry card.”

Me: “I have about $20 on the card. Are you going to give me $20 for the card?”

Agent: “No. You need to contact the laundry company to get the balance. Now, we need the card.”

Me: “So, if you need the card, how can I contact the laundry company to get the balance back?”

Agent: *silent for a moment* “We can’t complete your release of the apartment without the laundry card.”

Me: “And I wouldn’t be able to get the money back without the card. So, give me $20, and then you can call the laundry company for the $20 left on the card.”

Agent: “We can’t do that. You put the money on the card.”

Me: “These cards don’t have names on them. They’re generic cards. You can call and get the $20. If you want the card now, give me $20, and I’ll give you the card.”

Agent: “We need the card to clear the paperwork. We can’t call the company on your behalf for the balance on the card.”

Me: “Well, I’m not giving you the card with my money on it, unless you give me $20 for the balance on the card.”

(This went on for a good five minutes. Eventually the agent relented, and let me sign the paperwork and recorded the card as lost. I didn’t need the card in my new place, so I gave it to my mother whose office uses them. She paid me $20 from petty cash for the balance on the card. I’m convinced that the agent just wanted to use the card for his own laundry.)