I work in a coffee place inside a big box store. I’ve just served a drink to a father and his young son, maybe five years old or so. The boy gets his chocolate and runs off with it. His father calls after him:

Father: “Don’t run, [Boy]!”

Of course, as five-year-old boys tend to do, he trips up and falls to the ground. He seems fine, but his drink has spilled everywhere. He catches us staring and starts to cry, mostly out of embarrassment. The boy’s father is kind but stern, checking his son for any injury.

Father: “This is why I said not to run, [Boy]. Now look what you did to the drink that the nice lady made for you.”

Me: *Coming by to clean up the spill* “Oh, well, accidents happen! If it’s okay with you, I can get him a replacement.”

Before the father can respond, another customer whom I just finished serving decides to join in the conversation.

Customer: “Kids are never gonna learn if y’all keep running in to kiss it all better and fix their mistakes for them.”

The customer makes one more smug look of self-congratulation, turns around, and walks smack-bang into a pillar next to the checkouts. Their coffee goes all over themselves and the pillar, drenches their sandwich, and ends up on the floor.

The customer stares at me, at the parent and child, and then back at me again as we all stare at them.

Customer: “Any chance I could…”

Staring intensifies.

Customer: *Walking away* “…yeah, yeah, I get it. Good one, universe…”

I am the manager on duty at the bar/restaurant one super busy night. We have two separate bars: one at the very entrance to the building and one at the back. I am floating between both bars to make sure all my other bartenders are doing okay.

I go to check on the back bar, and I notice that the tap handle for one of the draught beers is missing. At first, I think one of my coworkers is screwing with me since we all do silly s*** to each other frequently.

Me: “Yo, [Coworker], where is the [Beer Brand] handle?”

Coworker: “Oh, it’s gone? It wasn’t me!”

Me: “[Barback], you f****** with us again?”

Barback: “I swear, it’s not me!”

I even check with the kitchen staff, and no one has the handle. When I come back to the bar, I see some random dude reaching across my bar, attempting to unscrew a different tap handle!

Me: “You! What the f*** do you think you’re doing?!”

They all start laughing and his friends start chanting, “Busted!”

Me: “You’re all going to leave unless I get my tap handle back.”

Handle Stealer: “Anyone can reach them; it could have been anyone in this bar!”

Me: “That’s funny. I’ve been here for years, and no one else has been stupid enough to try that and think it’s okay.”

They all got kicked out because of him, and our beer rep got us a new handle within a couple of days. I sent the camera footage of the guy and all of his friends to every bar in the area (we bartenders like to keep local town networks) and made sure they couldn’t go out for a drink anywhere in town for a long while.

I worked at a hotel that wasn’t doing too well, so it wasn’t very picky about who it would rent its bar/club area to for private parties. Some DJs had… unpleasant followings, which is another story — but it was also a college town, and this one is about fraternities.

As I was running around doing my duties, I caught a frat guy pouring himself a beer when the bar was busy. Because it was a private party, and because I didn’t want to turn the room against me, I didn’t throw him out the first time. I gave him that gift, and still, a few minutes later, I saw him doing it again.

I told whichever person had booked the party that I had to throw his guy out, and he didn’t object — so no frat riot.

I didn’t work at that place too much longer, and I eventually got a job on the same street bartending at a fine dining place with a cool new cocktail program. (This was the early 1990s, so that was a big deal.) It was a small place, and we were all one big family — owners, Front Of House, and Back Of House. I’m still friends with many of them years later.

But back to the ’90s. One of the kitchen guys and I rented an apartment together for a couple of years. We had some people over and were drinking some beers, talking about old times, when I relayed the frat-a**hole-who-poured-his-own-beer story. As I got to the end of the story, at the same time that I saw my roommate’s eyes widen, I flashed back to the face of the frat guy.

IT WAS MY ROOMMATE!

We’d managed to be friends for like four years without realizing it.

I work at a fairly basic campsite. We just provide a big field with a few basic toilet/shower facilities and a small store near the entrance.

An unscheduled car has pulled up, and the driver is asking me about how much it is to rent a spot for the weekend. I tell him our price.

Tourist: “So affordable! There are four of us: me and the wife and our two kids. When can you have the tent up?”

Me: “What tent?”

Tourist: “We need you to build us our tent. For camping! Not much camping without a tent!”

Me: “We don’t provide a tent building service, sir. You do that yourself.”

Tourist: “Wait, you mean I have to build my own tent?!”

Me: “Uh… yes? We only provide the campsite and some basic toiletry facilities.”

Tourist: “Ugh… fine. Where do I get them?”

Me: “Get the what?”

Tourist: “The tents? Do you, like, bring them to me when I pick a spot, or…?”

Me: “Sir, you… bring the tents with you. You bring everything with you. All we supply are toilets and showers. We have a basic supply shop near the entrance that sells things like bug spray and some snacks, but we don’t provide tents.”

Tourist: “Wait… bug spray? You mean there are bugs out here?”

Me: “I think maybe camping isn’t for you, sir…”

I was leading a meeting in which we were making some technical decisions about our product design. One guy on the team, the technical expert, was very much the prima donna. He really did have unique skills and information that were incredibly valuable to the program, but he was a complete arrogant jerk. Someone in the meeting said something [Expert] disagreed with, and he started yelling, cursing, pounding his fists, and stomping his feet. Everyone was staring at him like he was insane.

I waited silently until he wound down.

Me: *Calmly* “You know, [Expert], when my two-year-old yells, stomps his feet, and pounds his fists, I give him a snack and send him to his room until he calms down. I’m going to suggest now that we end this meeting, get some coffee and cookies from the break room, and go back to our offices, and I’ll reschedule this when we’re all ready to resume. Okay?”

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone realized that I’d just called our technical expert a temperamental toddler. Then, [Expert] turned so red I thought he was going to explode at me, but three other people stood up and said, “Yes, that’s a great idea,” and physically interposed themselves between [Expert] and me while others basically escorted him out.

He never spoke to me again after that, but not long thereafter, we hired another expert in the same field and he was soon made redundant.