We have a coworker who is neurodivergent. He’s worked for the store longer than almost anyone else save a few managers, and he is known for keeping the fresh fruit and vegetable sections looking like works of art.

[Coworker] doesn’t interact with the customers too often due to some social anxieties and other factors, so he comes in very early at the same time as the produce shipments and makes sure the displays are perfect (and I do mean perfect) with minimal customer overlap. His shift is usually over only an hour or so after we start letting in customers.

Something happens with [Coworker]’s family, and he has to take two weeks off for it. He’s not too happy with this, as he is comforted greatly by his routine, but we’ve all been encouraging him how great he’s been doing in “trying new things” lately, and he can tell us all about his trip when he gets back.

Coworker: “Oh, no, that’s not what I am worried about. I’m worried about the displays. I have a specific way I make the apple pyramids, and it looks better when the cucumbers are stacked diagonal, not to mention—” 

Manager: “[Coworker], while I know for a fact that no one can do that better than you, we’ll find a way to manage without you, I promise.”

[Coworker] goes on his trip, and while we make our best effort, we can’t make the fruit and vegetable displays look as amazing as he does. It gets to the point where it’s noticed by the customers, and I have a variation of this conversation multiple times.

Customer #1: “Oh, your fruit displays aren’t as neat as they usually are. I know it’s a little thing, but it always makes my day when I can tell someone has made a conscious decision to stack the loose carrots by size. These things go noticed, you know!”

Me: “I’m glad you noticed, and yes, our regular stocker is off for the next two weeks.”

Customer #1: “Oh! Nothing bad, I hope?”

Me: “Not that I am aware, but I do know he’s looking forward to coming back to work to make the displays all pretty again!” 

After the two weeks are up, [Coworker] returns to work, and within a day, the displays are back to the perfect standards he is known for. This time, the regulars have noticed, and in that small window when [Coworker] and the customers are in the store at the same time, variations of the following conversation occur.

Customer #2: “Excuse me. Are you the man who puts out the fruits and vegetables?” 

Coworker: “Uh… yes. I am.”

Customer #2: “You do such a wonderful job! You were missed when you were away! You can tell they did their best in your absence, and I know it’s only a silly little thing, but it really is joyous to see how much care you put into your work! Now that I know it’s you, I simply had to thank you.”

Coworker: “Oh… uh… you’re welcome.”

Rinse and repeat to the point where, the next time I see [Coworker] in the break room:

Coworker: “I had to go away for two weeks because my grandad died. My mum was there, and she told me that I wasn’t going to ever make anyone happy in my life. But since I got back, I’ve been told that I’ve made six complete strangers very happy.”

Me: “Oh, my. I’m sorry about your mum, but I am glad you made some people happy.”

Coworker: “I think I am going to try some new designs with the cabbages tomorrow. That will show them!” 

Our manager has since promoted [Coworker] to the head of the produce department, and he’s developed several regulars who are “fans”. He even hangs around a little longer at the end of his shift instead of leaving immediately to talk to them.

The displays have only gotten better and better.

My long-term boyfriend proposed to me and, of course, I was over the moon. It was all super romantic and sticky.

Work: “Well, we don’t think you can get a day off.”

Me: “Why? I’m asking six months in advance, and I need a day off. It’s for a wedding, and it’s mine.”

Work: “If you wanted days not previously specified, you must ask a year in advance. Why didn’t you?”

Me: “I didn’t know I was getting married!”

Work: “Why not?”

Me: “My fiance asked me in December, and I told you the day we were back from holidays. I don’t suppose he expected you to be this unreasonable?”

The wedding date was in August.

Work: “Well, next time you ‘want to get married’, tell the guy to tell us a year before.”

Me: “I quit.”

Three hours later, my manager came in and yelled so that everyone could hear: 

Manager: “Oh, no, girl, you don’t! Have what time you need! YOU STUPID FOOLS, IT’S HER WEDDING!”

I loved that manager. I took two weeks to meet the extended family, and it was no trouble.

Over fifteen years later, we’re married, sharing a mortgage, and raising a kid, who’s turning out very nice. This marriage is literally the best idea ever — literally, not figuratively.

At our project kickoff meeting, I ask a client what method of communication he prefers.

Client: “Email is the best way to reach me and ensure that I get your message.”

I send him a project update via email two days later. After getting no response after two days, I query him again via email. He replies, also via email.

Client: “I get too many emails, so just call me here at the office.”

I call him the following week to get his approval on a design, and the receptionist screens my call. I try three more times over the next week, making sure to email with each call. 

On Friday:

Client: “Where are my proofs? We’re on a deadline.”

Me: “I called numerous times, but your receptionist wouldn’t let me speak to you.”

Client: “Yeah, I told her to screen my calls. Just call me on my mobile.”

I call his mobile three times the next week, leaving a message on his (generic) voicemail.

Once again, this brings us to Friday:

Client: “I just ignore my phone’s voicemail. Call my office or email me.”

I begin to do all three, in rotation, over the next week. After failing to reach him, I send him a certified letter to have him sign off on the final product.

He calls me three days later.

Client: “Why are you sending me a letter? It’s 2013, for God’s sake! There are better ways to get a hold of me.”

A lady is using the self-checkout, and after she has bagged everything and paid, she makes sure to tell the self-checkout employee, the service desk employees, and some cashiers:

Customer: *Nice and loud* “Look how I did your jobs for you!”

The employees just ignore this; they have plenty to keep them occupied. For some reason, this makes the customer mad.

Customer: *Even louder* “I did your jobs for you! Just letting you know!”

We just look at her and then continue doing our jobs. After not getting a reaction from the employees, she stands near the exit and starts shouting as loud as she can while pointing at her cart:

Customer: “I did your jobs for you!”

She is now loud enough to bother other customers, so my manager gets involved.

Manager: “Excuse me, ma’am. Are you all right?”

Customer: “Why isn’t it bothering you that you’re making your customers do your jobs for you?”

Manager: “Because you’re not, ma’am. We all have lots to do, even with the assistance of self-checkout.”

Customer: “I want you to acknowledge that I effectively did work for you for free! It’s shameful!”

Manager: “Okay, well, by my estimation, based on the time stamp on your receipt, you were at the self-checkout for eight minutes.”

My manager gets a calculator out on his phone.

Manager: “So… eight minutes at minimum wage comes to a total of… 98 cents. Here, I’m giving you a raise; take a dollar.”

He takes a dollar from his wallet and hands it out to her.

Manager: “A dollar for your hard work. That’s what other cashier operators are getting without kicking up a fuss.”

She just stared at my manager before gasping in annoyance and storming out.

A new store manager is going through staff scheduling with the floor managers. It’s his first time managing a store in a small town with just one high school where a lot of people know each other.

Store Manager: “Who is Milton? Why is he only ever scheduled to work the back?”

Checkout Manager: “Milton? Oh, you mean Milk. Yeah, he’s no good on checkout. We tried, but that didn’t work out.”

Store Manager: “Milk?”

Me: “Nickname.”

Store Manager: “Why is his nickname Milk?”

Me: “He got 2% on his final math test in high school, and since then, everyone’s called him Milk.”

Store Manager: “Okay, so no checkout. Got it.”