My coworker likes to have his opinion heard, which is fine. I will often nod along even if I don’t agree or have no idea what he is on about. Sometimes his opinion is so based on ignorance or stupidity or just fundamentally flawed that I don’t bite my tongue and instead try to show him reason.

A new branch of a global warehouse membership company has opened near our work. [Coworker], of course, has his opinion on it and why the membership is a scam and how it should all be free. After several minutes of the one-sided conversation, he changes tack.

Coworker: “Anyone who pays for membership is a mug.”

Me: “You think so?”

Coworker: “Paying to save money? Mugs, all of them.”

Me: “I paid and have saved more than the membership fee. And that’s on filling up my car alone.”

Coworker: “Well, you don’t save it, really, do you?! It’s just a ploy. A mug’s game.”

Me: “A full tank is around £4 cheaper and I fill up once per week. I have had my membership since it opened, which is about ten weeks. That is more than I spent on the membership fee.”

Coworker: “Yeah, but—”

Me: *Interrupting* “I acknowledge that saving on food isn’t that much, but I probably save another £5 a month on cleaning supplies which would pay for the annual membership in seven months.”

Coworker: “You’ve just been taken in by their advertising.”

Me: *Sighing* “Whatever you say, [Coworker].”

There really is no point in trying to make him see reason; he is just so much smarter than everyone and has to be right. I renewed my membership last month and continue to use the store regularly. [Coworker] never even went inside to check.

I am clearly the bad guy in this story. My coworker struggles with the phonetic alphabet — A for “alpha,” etc. — and with her accent, it makes telephone communication difficult. So, she made and laminated a little helper sheet with all of the alphabet on it.

One boring afternoon, I photocopied the sheet and changed some of the words around — nothing too bad or offensive. Some are really subtle and others are just obvious — T for “tea” and G for “gnome.”

I kind of forget about it and eventually leave the company. Months later, I happen to speak to a guy I used to work with.

Guy: “Yeah, it’s not great. A load of people left and it’s not the same.”

Me: “Oh, really? I hadn’t heard. Like who?”

He rattles off a long list, including my coworker.

Me: “She left? Oh, I will have to reach out to her.”

Guy: “Yeah, do that. She is doing really well, but her replacement is really odd.”

Me: “Oh?”

Guy: “Just a real oddball all round — like when she spells things out, she uses weird words, P for ‘put-put.’ Who does that?”

It is then I remember that was an exact word I used on the copy.

Me: “Maybe she needs a guide to phonetics; you could print one off for her.”

Guy: “Good idea. I’ll do that.”

I never admitted the prank that lived on two generations, but I hope it got sorted in the end.

My sister and I, along with our parents, have all worked at a particular fast food restaurant for a few years at some point in our lives. During a recent get-together, we traded stories of our time as employees.

Many people know the jingle of their signature burger: two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun. The bun is divided into three, with a piece in the middle of the burger. The way we were taught to make them was to build the same toppings on the bottom and middle buns — sauce, onions, lettuce, pickles, cheese, hamburger patty — move the middle bun on top of the bottom bun, move the top bun on top of the middle bun, and close the container. So, the burger was bottom bun, toppings, hamburger patty, middle bun, toppings, hamburger patty, and top bun.

My sister learned how to make the burger and started on her own after about a week. One of the managers was helping her on the grill when he stopped her after watching her make the burger. He asked who had taught her to make the burger in that particular way, and she asked why, confused. She had been putting the toppings and hamburger patty on the middle and top buns, placing the middle bun on the bottom bun, and flipping the top bun over while closing the container. So for about a week, all her customers were receiving burgers that were bun, bun, toppings, two patties, toppings, bun. Not one customer had complained, so without the manager observing her, she’s not sure how long she would have continued making sandwiches that way.

I am flying out to visit my parents several states away. My husband can’t come with me but sends a gift: a loaf of his homemade holiday bread. Since I don’t want to pack the bread in my luggage in case of loss — or crumbs — I tuck it into my carry-on bag. The security line is super-busy, and I get waved aside.

TSA Agent: “Ma’am, we’ll need to look through your bag.”

Me: “I understand.”

The agent opens the bag and lifts out the loaf, which is wrapped in foil and still faintly warm. He looks profoundly confused.

Me: “Oh, that’s holiday bread. My husband baked it.”

TSA Agent: *Taking a slow sniff* “It’s… bread.”

Me: “Yep. It’s got raisins and dried cherries in it.”

TSA Agent: *Smiling* “I’m terribly afraid I have to confiscate this.”

Me: “Confiscate some warm melted butter to put on top of it, too!”

He waved me through with a smile, and the bread got safely to my parents, who enjoyed it.

I have decided that one of the assistant managers in our store might actually have memory issues. Whenever she goes on the PA system to give customers the fifteen-minute warning before we close, she’s always blanking on the name of our store. It’s the only place she works.

I feel like memory loss concerns were confirmed, though, when I got yelled at the other day. I work recovery, putting things back where they’re supposed to go when customers set them in the wrong spots around the store. This day I was working in the Chemicals/Cleaners department in the back of the store near the employee door to our backroom and break area. The assistant manager told me to go on break, so I put my cart in the backroom and then headed to the front of the store and punched out for my break. 

When I got back after my break, the assistant manager yelled at me for not grabbing the cart from the back of the store and taking it to the front of the store because, “You’re wasting time going up front and then walking all the way back here to get the cart.” I was stunned, as the backroom was literally right next to where I would be putting the cart of product away — too stunned to point that out to her. 

Later, when I did point it out to her, she didn’t even remember chewing me out in the first place. It’s not the first time she’s chewed me out for how I did something and then not remember she’d yelled. 

Thankfully, she’s only the assistant manager.