I work in an office, and I’m training a new guy in his first couple of weeks on his job. It’s gone well so far. He listens to instructions, asks questions when he doesn’t understand something or needs clarifications, and is slowly but surely working his way up to being a decent worker.

One day, I’m in the breakroom for lunch with some nachos and a separate little dish for the salsa. I am eating and looking at my phone when [New Guy] comes in and, apparently — I’m not aware of him looking at me at first — watches as I dip a chip, take a bite, and then dip the same chip again.

New Guy: “Ew, did you just double-dip?”

I look up and blink at him.

Me: “Uh, yes? I’m the only one eating these.”

He crosses his arms like a child.

New Guy: “Well, what if I wanted some?”

Me: *Staring at him* “…First of all, you ask. Like an adult would do.”

New Guy: *Puffing up* “Well, I’m not going to ask now. You double-dipped.”

Me: “The answer would have been no anyway; they’re my lunch, and I wasn’t planning on sharing. You’re not entitled to a chip.”

New Guy: *Suddenly shouting* “Well, why not?! Would it have killed you to be nice?! My mother always shared her lunch with me when I came to her office! Why can’t you?! I just want some stupid chips!”

I just keep staring at this point, confused and a bit insulted by this guy’s entitlement that, from my perspective, has come literally out of nowhere. My lack of response just seems to make him even angrier, as he storms out of the room, kicking the table on the way out and almost sending my nachos to the floor, but I catch them and the salsa before they make a mess. I turn to look at the door, hearing his stomping footsteps as they retreat down the hall, and I catch the eyes of another coworker who poked her head into the room after hearing the commotion.

I can only shrug when she asks what happened, explaining that I just said I wasn’t going to share my lunch with him.

Coworker: “I think he’s heading for [Boss]’s office.”

Me: “Okay, well, let’s see how that goes for him.”

I go back to my nachos.

About ten minutes after the end of my lunch break, I’m called into [Boss]’s office. [New Guy] is nowhere to be seen, and when I enter the room, [Boss] just looks tired. He motions for me to sit.

Boss: “Just so you know, you’re not in trouble. I sent [New Guy] home because he cursed at me, but please, give me your side of the story.”

Me: “Not much to tell. I basically told him I wasn’t going to share my nachos with him and… he freaked out.”

Boss: *Nods* “Yep, that’s what he told me, too. He used more… colorful language… including a slur I won’t be repeating.”

Me: *Blinks* “Like what? Something racist?”

Boss: “No, it was more that he insinuated that you were a trans person, and he used the… insulting term.”

Me: “Because I wouldn’t offer him some of my nachos?”

Boss: *Shrugs helplessly* “I’ve already started the paperwork to terminate his employment here. I don’t care how good a worker he’d have ended up being; that behavior was unacceptable. The fact that it was over some nachos is just the cherry on top.”

Me: “Is it bad that I’m kinda happy that he exposed that side of himself early before it was a future problem?”

Boss: “No, I was going to say the same thing; The termination paperwork is easier if it’s still the probationary period. You can head back to work now. Go ahead and take a bit of extra time for a break if you need it.”

Me: “Nah, he didn’t really upset me that much. I was just confused.”

[Boss] and I shared a chuckle before I headed back to work.

The next day, I heard from [Boss] that [New Guy] sent an email as soon as he got home saying, among other things, that he quit. [Boss] gave me the cliff notes that, basically, [New Guy] apparently didn’t think he’d done anything wrong and didn’t understand how I was so selfish when I had “so many” chips and “wouldn’t miss one”. The cherry on top of the letter, [Boss] said while laughing, was that he ended the whole rant with, “And I hope [My Name] never gets to share her lunch with anyone, because apparently she’s entitled to every bite.”

[Boss] offered to print it out and laminate it for me, but I declined; I’m content with having my own nachos and eating them, too.

This story is from twenty years ago, at a time when mobile phones could be used only for telephone, texting, and playing “Snake” — no Internet, GPS, or other fancy things.

I had this friend who lived on “Pablo Neruda Street” — in a city that also had a “Pablo Picasso Street”. Every single time he tried to order food for delivery, he explicitly had to say: 

Friend: “Deliver to Pablo Neruda Street — Neruda, not Pablo Picasso.”

And despite this, the delivery guy would always call him back, saying: 

Delivery Guy: “I’m on Picasso Street…”

Well, except once. The one time the delivery guy got the correct street name… he got the city wrong.

Twenty-plus years ago, I worked in IT. [Guy #1] out in the shipping area was a great dude but not great with computers, so he’d always call and be like, “Hey, man, my computer is on fire. I need help,” as a joke. I’d go down, and he would have some issue with email or whatever. This went on for quite a while, and it was a running joke.

One of the guys on the other side of the wall from [Guy #1] called one day.

Guy #2: “Hey, my computer is on fire and smoking! You need to come down!”

Me: “Yeah, okay. I’ll be down in a few. Just let it burn.”

A few minutes went by, and he called back.

Guy #2: “Hey, man, this thing is smoking and shooting sparks.”

Me: “Yeah sure. I’ll be right there.”

Well, I walked down, and when I was almost there, I was like, “Oh, s***, I smell smoke!”

When I arrived, [Guy #2]’s CRT monitor was shooting sparks and smoke out the back. I immediately yanked the cord out.

Me: “What the f***, dude?!”

Guy #2: “Well, you said to let it burn!”

I am discussing something with my manager when one of our new starters, an eighteen-year-old man who started working here last month, interrupts us.

New Starter: “There’s a mistake in my paycheck. I didn’t agree to pay taxes.”

My manager and I stare at each other for a moment. Once we’ve confirmed that we did, in fact, both just hear what we thought we heard, my manager turns to him.

Manager: “What do you mean by not agreeing to pay taxes?”

New Starter: “I’d rather not do the whole tax thing, thanks. Do I need to opt out, or is there something I need to do?”

Manager: “You can’t just ‘opt out’ of taxes. If you’re a citizen of this country and you work, you pay taxes.”

New Starter: “But… I don’t want to.”

Manager: “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

New Starter: “But… it’s my money!”

Manager: “Well, it’s the government’s money now.”

New Starter: “No! I want it back! I didn’t agree to give the government my money!”

Manager: “If you work here, the taxes come out of your paycheck automatically. You agreed to that when you signed your contract to work here.”

New Starter: “No one reads all of that!”

Manager: “Be that as it may, you agreed to have a percentage of your paycheck be taxed. If you wanted to do your own taxes, you’d need to work for someone else who allows it or be self-employed. Outside of that, there’s nothing I can do.”

New Starter: “This is bulls***! I can’t be the only person who has complained about this!”

Manager: “Welcome to the real world, [New Starter]. The only constants are death and taxes.”

New Starter: “Wait… So, everyone pays tax? Like… every paycheck?”

Manager: “If they’re not, they’re breaking the law.”

New Starter: “This is bulls***!”

Manager: “How do you think the roads you drive on are maintained? Or the police get paid?”

New Starter: “Ugh! Well, I was against it before, but now I want to defund the police, too!”

He storms out.

Me: “Sadly, I’ve seen that happen when every person opens their paycheck in their first ‘grown-up job’.”

Manager: “They snoozed in history lessons at school about tossing that tea into the harbor, but as soon as they start working, they finally get it.”

I’m a security guard. A coworker broke the mini-fridge in our guard shack. I don’t even know how; I just know it wasn’t working anymore after he said he tried to “de-ice” it. Then, he started leaving cardboard gallons of milk in random places that seemed like they might be colder than the rest of the room. Almost two weeks ago, he brought in a gallon of milk and a small bottle of chocolate milk and stashed them in the first aid kit because it was made of metal, and obviously, metal means cold like a fridge, right?

Then, [Coworker] moved to work at a different site.

Fast forward to today. I come in, and the first aid kit is leaking and the room is smelly. No one knew what was in there since we rarely go into it. I work the grave shift, so I’m alone the whole time retching, gagging, and crying. I check the first aid kit only to find the milk inside, and I immediately know who left it there, so I text that person.

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], did you leave a gallon of milk and a bottle of chocolate milk in the first aid kit?”

Coworker: “Yeah, that needs to be tossed.”

Me: “Yes, it does.”

Coworker: “Okay, well, go ahead and toss it. I’ll come by to get my stuff another time.”

Me: “Hmm, no. Can you come clean up your rotting milk, please?”

I’d like to add that it’s 10:00 pm, and this person is up late normally, so I didn’t wake him.

Coworker: “No, I don’t work there anymore, so you’re going to need to clean it.”

After that text conversation, I call my manager, and she is confused, rightfully so.

Manager: “Call [Supervisor] and have him come help you.”

So, I call [Supervisor].

Me: “Hey, [Supervisor], [Coworker] left a gallon of milk to rot in the first aid kit, and now the shack smells putrid, and it’s leaking. [Manager] told me to call you about it.”

[Supervisor] was also confused by what I said, but he said he’d be there within the hour to take care of the situation.

After that phone call, I went to the client building where I work and got some protective masks and medical gloves so we could clean this up. The client supervisor asked me why I needed them, and when I told him, he had me repeat what I’d said because he couldn’t believe it.

About an hour passed. I was wearing my mask when [Supervisor] arrived and started cleaning up the mess. He wouldn’t even let me help him because it was a health hazard.

I didn’t know what was going to happen to [Coworker] because, technically, he still worked for the company, just at a different site, but at the very least, he needed to be taught about health and safety.

But as the way dumb crap happens with the company I work for, it was shrugged off. The client site is going to shampoo the carpet. The guy is still employed by the company; as a matter of fact, because he’s a flex employee, he’s still covering our site when someone calls out.

Luckily for me, I had a wax warmer and some wax cubes I could bring in to kill the smell. I made sure all the other guards were okay with the smell and plugged the thing in. Now, the shack smells like “Darkest Sandalwood” and not at all like rot or feet.