I work on a construction site as an admin — not one of the physical laborers but in the office. I’m also about as white as one can get before they start to glow in the dark, so most people assume I only know English. I actually speak four languages, and I’m working on a fifth.

I am sitting at my desk while our safety officer is doing a welcome orientation for some of our new employees. They are currently taking a break for the safety officer to address something else. I have just introduced myself, and they are standing near my desk conversing in Spanish, gesturing at a map on the wall as if that’s what they’re talking about.

Employee #1: “I bet she likes her hair pulled. I’d give it a good yank.”

Employee #2: “No, she’s probably boring — on her back, doing nothing.”

Employee #1: “No, girls like her are too wound up. They gotta let it out.”

I stand up, timesheets in hand.

Me: *In English* “Okay, guys, I need you to fill these out and turn them in on Friday before you leave. Any questions?”

Employee #1: “Uh… No English?”

Me: “Your entire safety orientation was in English.”

Employee #2: “Okay, okay, thank you.” *In Spanish* “Don’t be dumb.”

Me: “Any questions?”

They take the paperwork and begin gesturing at different things on the paper, but they are actually trying to guess how big my nipples are by relating them to coins.

Me: *In Spanish* “There are women on site who speak Spanish, too.”

Both employees stopped dead and turned a deep red. When the safety officer returned, I told him what had happened. He stopped the orientation and sent the two employees out immediately, informing their supervisors that they would not be working on our project.

Our office introduced casual Fridays, but then they became very strict and descriptive of what was okay for it, sucking all the joy out of it. However, there was no maximum dress level.

One Friday, all my business casual appropriate attire was dirty. None of my lower-standard clothes were good enough (based on previous “constructive comments” from management), so I just said, “F*** it,” and wore my best suit and tie.

I had a dentist appointment that morning, so I was two hours late.

I showed up two hours late, in a suit, on a casual Friday. Everyone assumed I was interviewing for a new job. The rumors swirled. I coyly denied that I was interviewing.

But I wore a suit every Friday from there on out.

Eventually, I got tired of their corporate “culture”, and when I showed up in a suit, I really was interviewing, and they suspected nothing.

I work at a vape shop. An elderly woman comes in one day wanting a different tank.

Woman: “There’s nothing wrong with the one I’m using, but I was pressured into buying it at another shop. The employee there wouldn’t budge on showing me anything else! It’s way too big and powerful for me, and I loathe that. Other than that, I do like the quality.”

She has also brought in a very old model tank with missing glass.

Woman: “If you have replacement glass for this one, I’ll just go back to using it instead.”

Me: “I’ll check. We have tons of glass, but not that exact one, so it’ll take me a hot minute to see if we have a cross-compatible one.”

My coworker entertains her while I search, and I hear her say that she’s going to call her daughter to let her know she’s going to be late. I think she is going to complain that I am taking so long. I am searching as fast as I can, but finding replacement glass is a tedious process when you don’t have the exact one.

Instead, I hear her say:

Woman: “I’m so happy I found a shop where the employees will go above and beyond for me! I’ll be coming here from now on!”

After five or ten minutes of searching, I come back empty-handed, and she opts to just buy a new, smaller tank. As she’s looking through her options, I point out:

Me: “If you like everything about the one you have aside from the size, we have basically the half-sized ‘baby’ version.”

Her face lights up when I pull it out.

Woman: “That’s the one that originally came with mine! It’s the one I was looking for, but I don’t know enough about them to ask for it by name. The only reason I was stuck with the giant version was that I pointed it out at the other shop and said, ‘This is the one I want, only smaller,’ but the guy insisted that only the big ones exist.”

They didn’t even show her how to properly use it. She is dumbfounded at all the new information I am giving her about setting it up and using it. She leaves promising that she will only be stopping by our shop from now on, as will the rest of her family.

She returns today.

Customer: “The tank I bought is leaking. I’m not sure if it’s covered under the warranty.”

I look at the tank, and it is very solid.

Me: “Where is it leaking from?”

Customer: “From the inside. When I try to hit it, I suck up very hot liquid.”

Me: “What wattage have you been running it at?”

Customer: “I’ve been running it about ten watts lower than he recommended wattage. That’s what the guy at the other shop told me to do.”

Me: “That’s why you’re experiencing the hot splattering. You need to run your coils at least at the bare minimum recommended wattage. Otherwise, they’ll heat up the juice, but not enough to vaporize it, so you’ll just be sucking red-hot juice.”

I don’t understand why someone would tell a customer that. It’s baffling.

This is a multi-layer story, featuring both wonderful strangers and a customer not “processing” signs. (To be fair, this customer was ten.)

A long time ago, my parents took my two brothers and me to Paris because my father wanted to go to some professional fair. Before that, we tended to use an RV for holidays, but this time, probably both because of our ages and the fact it was in Paris (“the suburbs”), my parents decided to get a hotel.

We took to the road, and after six-ish hours, we got to the hotel a little on the late side of the day. (It was winter, so it was already nighttime.) And then, the ordeal started.

While the hotel itself was “open”, there was no one to greet us. We were able to go inside, searching for someone, without any results. It was a time before mobile phones when even beepers were restricted to emergency professionals. We tried to use a phone booth but without success. I don’t remember how long we waited and how panicked my parents must have been. 

We waited around and tried to find help for what I think was a few hours. I would guess that it was around 10:00 or 11:00 pm. The people from the house across from the hotel came to talk to my parents. After my parents explained the situation, the family proposed giving all of us a bed/couch for the night.

Even today, I still can’t believe it. They decided to let five complete strangers — including three kids — sleep in their house. 

The next morning, we finally get to the hotel for an explanation. The owner could not excuse himself harder. He explained to us that there was a family medical emergency, and he said he would upgrade us the next day for absolutely no charge at all, doing the grand gesture of ripping up our check. 

Yet, he tried to explain that there was a night caretaker we could have contacted. And then, I chimed in.

Me: “So, that’s what that sign meant that said, ‘In case of emergency, please contact Room 13’!”

Thirty years later, my parents still won’t let it go.

I have a fourteen-year-old car that still runs well, but it developed a slow oil leak. Eventually, the leak got worse. I recently moved to a new town, so I needed to find a good mechanic. I found a place nearby, but they wanted me to leave it in the morning. This worked for me, and I had a coworker take me to work and back.

The mechanic said that I needed the valve cover gasket and the oil pan gasket replaced, and since they were difficult to get to, it would cost me $1,600. I was a little shocked, but since I didn’t know much about cars, I figured this would be okay.

I told him I’d bring my car back out in a few days (so I could arrange for the funds).

I mentioned this to a friend of mine. He also didn’t know much about cars, but he felt suspicious. I decided to get a second opinion from another nearby mechanic, who happened to have the same last name as the first mechanic. He inspected my car and quoted me $525.

Me: “Wow, the last guy who checked it told me it would be $1,600.”

Mechanic #2: “Who was it?”

Me: “[Mechanic #1], out there on [Road].”

Mechanic #2: “Oh, that’s my cousin. I don’t have any business with him. Now you know why.”

I was grateful for my friend’s instincts. I might have paid three times as much as I should!