We have a gym member who worked out all the way through her pregnancy. This in and of itself is fine; there are plenty of ways to exercise and stay in shape even until late pregnancy, but it was obvious she was pushing herself and kept insisting that “she wasn’t going to be one of those fat moms”, but whatever. 

She gives birth, and less than two weeks later, she’s back on the gym floor, going insane on the elliptical with her newborn in a carrier right next to her.

Me: “Ma’am, you can’t leave a baby in the carrier on the gym floor.”

Customer: *Not slowing down once.* “It’s okay. He’s right next to me.”

Me: “That’s not the issue. We’re not insured to have anyone under eighteen in the gym, especially children and babies.”

Customer: “Well, he’s too young for your daycare, so what do you expect me to do?!”

Me: “Arrange childcare for when you’re in the gym.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! You’re discriminating against mothers!”

Me: “No, ma’am. I’m just following the rules.”

Customer: “Is there anywhere in the gym I can bring him?!”

Me: “We allow babies in the pool as long as you’re with him.”

Customer: “How am I supposed to swim if I’m holding him?!”

Me: “You’re… not? You’re supposed to be helping him out in the water.”

Customer: *Finally stopping her workout and picking up her baby.* “This is ridiculous! I thought this place would be supportive of my journey, but now I know why there are so many fat mothers in America.”

She storms off, and I’m like… “okay?”

Later that day, I heard from my coworker that she tried to leave the baby alone in the stroller as she swam. When told she had to be with her own baby, she then sat in the hot tub with him. When told that was unsafe, her argument was that she sat in the hot tub while pregnant all the time, and wasn’t happy when told she shouldn’t be doing that either, or maybe she should stop talking now if she doesn’t want CPS called…

A very p***ed off customer comes to me and angrily shouts from the get-go:

Customer: “The drill I bought for my husband doesn’t work! It doesn’t rotate!”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. Did you bring it with you?”

She casually tosses it on the counter.

Me: “I can see why your husband was having issues, ma’am, but this isn’t defective.”

Customer: “How do you know?! You haven’t even touched it!”

Me: “Because, ma’am, this is a $2 screwdriver.”

I returned to work in a junior administrative role after taking several years out to have kids. My first boss was awful, a raging bull of a man who flipped at the drop of a hat. He was finally fired for punching a cleaning lady, but that’s a whole different story. My manager had just started. He’s a huge, older man with a face like thunder, and I was scared of him.

It’s my second week working with the new boss, and my kid threw up all over the car on the way to school. I turned up super late, after being late twice in the previous week.

My new boss called me into the office.

New Boss: “Why were you late today?”

Me: *Crying.* “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry. I’m not a basket case, I promise, please don’t fire me.”

New Boss: “Look at me. Stop crying. Why. Are. You. Late?”

Me: *Melting down completely.* “Oh, my god, please don’t fire me… I’m so sorry, please don’t fire me.”

New Boss: *Literally squeezing the top of his nose.* “You’re not listening to me; I’m asking you to please tell me why you are late. What’s the issue? Your predecessor said a lot of very unpleasant things about you, but I am here for a reason; we have a clean slate, and right now I’m getting a sense that you are overwhelmed and need help. Talk. To. Me.”

Me: “My kid got sick. I’m a single mom, I have to take him to daycare every day, and it only opens at eight, and if he’s sick they won’t take him so I need to find a backup and I have to be at work by 8:15 so if there’s traffic—”

New Boss: “—Stop. So, what you’re telling me is that 8:15 is an unreasonable start time for you, and you need to start at 08:30?”

Me: *Staring at him as if he had grown two heads.* “Yes, but… the rules… uh…”

New Boss: “Screw the rules; I make the rules. I expect you at work at 8:30, and if you’re going to be late, you need to call me before then to tell me so. What time do you pick up your kid every day?”

Me: “They close at five, so—”

New Boss: “—So, you need to leave at 4:30 PM. By my calculation, that means you’re an hour short a day, so I expect you to answer emails and take calls until 7:30 PM. Otherwise, I will judge you on projects completed and work done. Oh… and if you have an issue in the future, and you need my support, you need to talk to me.”

I kind of gasped for a while, but he was good to his word. 

Over the next five years, he supported me in every way; he insisted I get trained, and he rewarded me for getting the job done. As a result, I lived and died for him as a manager. I went out of my way to make him look good. I made the company a lot of money. I mean, a lot, a lot. It’s one thing to talk about terrible managers, but the worst thing is that really good ones, great ones, create so much value.

It’s almost ten at night, and the night crew is beginning to unload pallets from the deliveries that are going to come in throughout the night. Despite seeing this happen, a customer chooses to yell at me:

Customer: “Why are so many shelves empty?! There are no tacos!”

I’m about to explain that it’s late at night and we’re about to start restocking.

Me: “Because it’s late, and—”

Customer: “—Because [Store] is racist! That’s why!”

I pause, confused.

Customer: “[Store] is racist against Mexicans and you purposely let the shelves go empty because this is the only time of day we can shop!”

Me: “First of all, I’m Hispanic.”

The customer squints their eyes at me.

Customer: “Bah! Doesn’t count! You’re White-passing!”

Me: “Second of all, it’s 10 PM, and we close in an hour. We’ve been getting slammed for fifteen hours, so of course some of the shelves are empty.”

Customer: “Then why—”

Me: “—Thirdly! A store’s main objective is to SELL STUFF. It’s our number one priority to keep the shelf stocked as much as possible so we can sell stuff and make more money. Why would we purposely NOT sell stuff?! Now, if you’re looking for something specific and I know it’s in the back, I can go and get it for you. If not, come back another time. That’s the only way this conversation continues.”

Customer: “Tacos… and cilantro.” 

I wordlessly went to the back, grabbed a couple of each from some pallets that were due to come out in the next hour, and hand it to the customer. They grabbed it without saying thank you and stormed away. I just shouted “Adios!”, which got me a glare, but made me smile.

A coworker and I are chatting, and the topic of cakes comes up. We both are talking about what cakes we each like for our birthdays when…

Me: “I like ice cream cake. It’s especially refreshing since my birthday is in the summer.”

Coworker: “Eww, I don’t like ice cream cake.”

Me: “Oh, that’s fair. But how come you don’t, though?”

Coworker: “Well, a friend brought me an ice cream cake for my birthday, and there was still some left over. So I threw it in the fridge, and it all melted!”

The only thing I can do is look at her with actual confusion. However, right when she said this, a colleague of ours was walking by when she said why she hates ice cream cakes.

Colleague: “Wait, so you hate ice cream cakes because yours melted in the fridge?”

Coworker: “Yeah! I cannot believe it melted like that!”

Colleague: “So you threw ice cream in the fridge, and you’re surprised it melted?”

Coworker: “Well, it’s a cake! Where else was I supposed to put it?”

A customer came, so I left Coworker and Colleague to settle it among themselves. By the time I finished with the customer, Colleague left Coworker more confused as to why ice cream cakes need to go in the freezer.