I am working at the box office for a Broadway theater. We get a lot of tourists coming in with no bookings hoping to grab any spare seats, but it’s extremely hit-and-miss. If we do have some available, it’s one or two and usually not the best seats.

Our current production is proving popular as it stars an A-list Hollywood actor in their Broadway debut. It’s about a romance between a beekeeper and a quantum physicist, and the dialogue can get a bit heavy on the science.

A couple of tourists come in and ask me the usual question:

Customer: “Can we get two tickets for the show tonight?”

They said, “Can we get…” and not, “Are there any available?” They are just assuming there are last-minute spare tickets to a famous Broadway production on a Saturday night.

Me: “I’m afraid we’re totally sold out for this evening. If you’re looking for two tickets, we have some available at tomorrow’s matinee, but they aren’t together, and they are the final two available. If you’d like two together, we don’t have anything available until next week Tuesday.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous. You’re saying you’re sold out?!”

Me: “I’m afraid so. We are sold out for tonight.”

Customer: “Well, can we get some of the spare tickets?”

Me: “I’m sorry… Spare tickets?”

Customer: “You theaters always hold back some spares to be sold on the day or something!”

Me: “That is not the case here. Literally every seat is sold out for tonight’s performance.”

Customer: “I refuse to believe you don’t have any seats at all!”

Me: “We have zero seats available. None at all.”

Customer: “Look, just move some groups around or something, or designate one of the disabled seats as one for ‘normal people’ or whatever. Just get us two seats!”

I was being polite until now, but they just said that disabled people weren’t “normal” so the gloves have come off.

Me: “Sir, you should leave. I don’t think this play is suitable for you.”

Customer: “Why?”

Me: “Because this play delves deep into quantum physics and mathematics, and you can’t even figure out that zero does not equal two.”

Customer: “Get me your manager!”

Me: “Happy to.”

I pushed back from the box office desk and wheeled myself back to the phone using my wheelchair.

The tourists stared at me for a moment, tutted loudly, and just stormed off.

Related:
Math Is Your Friend, Part 16
Math Is Your Friend, Part 15
Math Is Your Friend, Part 14
Math Is Your Friend, Part 13
Math Is Your Friend, Part 12

Seeing a few recent stories on here reminded me of my experience. I’m a new hire, and my coworker is showing me how to stock the small pharmacy section of the convenience store.

Coworker: “Make sure the pads are kept on this side, as far from the condoms as possible. Some of the guys get a bit weird seeing them next to each other.”

Of course, as if on cue, a male customer has overheard us and feels the need to bless us with his opinion.

Customer: “It’s because men should be able to get their things without seeing that! They don’t need to be reminded about all the holes you’ve all got going on down there!”

Coworker: “Sorry, but how many holes do you think we have down there?!”

Customer: *With a comical amount of confidence* “Women have five holes: one for p*ss, one for periods, one for sex, one for birth, one for s***! Five holes, all in a line!”

Coworker: “Sir, we’re human beings, not flutes.”

I live with my mother, and I cook for both of us most of the time. However, on this particular evening and after a long day at work, neither of us has the will to cook, so we decide to order sushi. I open the take-out app on my phone and select the options we want. It’s 7:00 pm, and the order will arrive around 7:45 pm, so we wait.

Around 8:00 pm, nothing has arrived. I call the restaurant, and they tell us the driver just left with our order; he should arrive in around twenty minutes. We wait some more.

At 9:00 pm, still no food. I call the restaurant again, and they say the driver is two streets away. Fifteen minutes later — yes, for two streets — the delivery guy is at the door. He gives me our order without an apology for arriving so late, and he leaves.

I check the bag, and our desserts are missing. Again, I call the restaurant.

Restaurant: “[Restaurant], good evening!”

Me: “Good evening. I called you twice tonight to enquire about our order for [our address]. We finally received it, but we are missing the desserts.”

Restaurant: “Our apology for the inconvenience. We’ll remove the price of [desserts] from your next order.”

Me: “When will the delivery person arrive with them?”

Restaurant: “Look, we’re not gonna send him out again just for some desserts.”

I start to lose my cool.

Me: “No, I disagree. I paid for those desserts, and I want them delivered.”

Restaurant: “We understand that you paid for them, which is why we’ll remove the price of the desserts from your next order.”

Me: “No. The delivery we expected for 7:45 pm arrived an hour and a half late, we were missing items, and now you’re telling me you’re not going to send what was missing? There won’t be any more orders from our end.”

Restaurant: “Well, you did order from [Delivery App]…”

Me: “Are you saying it’s my fault?”

Restaurant: “No, that’s not what I meant.”

Me: “Do you really think it’s acceptable? The order arrived more than an hour late, half of the order is missing, you are refusing to send the rest of the food I paid for, and I am somehow responsible for this whole fiasco because I ordered through [Delivery App]. Is that what you are saying? And you expect me to order from you again?”

Restaurant: “Sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing I can do.”

Me: “Wrong. You can send what’s missing.”

We went back and forth, and they ultimately refused to send the rest of my order. I placed a scathing review on the page of the restaurant.

Another hour later, the delivery person called me. He had forgotten the desserts in the back of his car, and he offered to deliver them.

The desserts were ice cream mochis — left in a car on a hot summer evening for an hour. I declined.

For decades, my wife and I kept extended warranties on our appliances such as our refrigerators and washers. Whenever we booked a repair from the company that we purchased the appliance from, they always asked which time slot I wanted: either 8:00 to 12:00 or 1:00 to 5:00. No matter which time slot I chose, it seemed that I was the last stop in the time slot I chose, so I’d wait over three hours for them arrive.

We had a new refrigerator that needed a third repair within the first year we purchased it, so it qualified for the lemon law, and we were entitled to a new appliance at no cost. Per procedures, they sent a technician for this repair, and after looking at my fridge, he ordered parts for this repair to be sent to our address.

In the meantime, we received our brand-new replacement fridge, so the service representative called and asked if they could pick up the parts for the repair that had already been delivered to our home.

Me: “Sure. On Friday, I will be home for thirty minutes between 8:00 and 12:00, and for thirty minutes between 1:00 and 5:00. So, what time period would you like?”

The line went silent, and then she hung up. They never picked up the parts, ever.

A few years ago, I received a phone call from a Human Resources person from a staffing agency I almost worked for at one point. I got through the greetings and small talk and got down to business.

HR: “I have a person you know applying for a job with one of our customers.”

Me: “I’m confused; no one gave me a heads up. Who are we talking about?”

HR: “Your friend, [Person’s First Name].”

Me: “Who?”

HR: “[Person’s Full Name] — he said he worked with you at [Email Company].”

Me: “Ohhh, okay. I remember him. But I’m not sure why he’d put my name down. We didn’t work all that closely. I interacted with his team only peripherally because we had equipment in his office. I don’t really feel comfortable providing a reference.”

HR: “That’s sort of our fault; we sort of pressured him to cough up references on the fly.”

Me: “I don’t feel comfortable providing a reference.”

HR: “Come on, [My Name]. We know each other. Help me out.”

Me: “Well, not being his manager, I can’t discuss his performance.”

HR: “Okay. Can I ask you about his technical skills? Can you comment on those?”

Me: “Fine, ask away.”

HR: “How is [Person] with [Software Package]?”

Me: “Okay, I guess. Maybe 2.5 out of five.”

A five out of five is extremely rare for this software. I might be at 4.7, and I’ve used the software for over twenty years, and I’ve even flown to the vendor’s headquarters to work on technology issues and help design future versions of products with them.

HR: “Great! How is he with [Hardware Platform]?”

Me: “Well, in the time he was at [Email Company], he never touched the platform. If he gained knowledge from elsewhere, I can’t comment.”

HR: “Wait, that can’t be right. He said he led the [Hardware Platform] refresh project.”

Me: “That’s not true.”

HR: “[Email Company] is huge. Is it possible you weren’t aware of the project?”

Me: “No. I’m very aware of the project, and he wasn’t leading it.”

HR: “How can you be so sure?”

Me: “Because I led that project.”

HR: *Very uncomfortably* “Oh.”

Me: “I think it’s best for everyone that we end the call here. I think you have a phone call to make.”

HR: “Yeah, that’s probably best.”

I didn’t necessarily bash him but just set the record straight.