My boyfriend and I are out for dinner. It’s a special occasion for us because it’s not some place we can normally afford. We give each other “Happy First Anniversary” cards and make the most of the evening as we know it’ll be a while before we can afford a place like this again!

Boyfriend: “Can we get the check, please?” 

Waitstaff: “Actually, your bill has been paid for this evening. You’re all set!” 

Boyfriend: “Wait, what? Seriously? By whom?”

Waitstaff: “That woman over there.”

They point to an elderly woman sitting close by.

Boyfriend: *Waving her over* “Thank you so much! Would you like to join us for coffee?”

She politely declines. On our way out, we stop to talk to her for a minute and ask her why. 

Old Woman: “Oh, I was married for forty-six years. My husband passed, but today would have been our anniversary, and here you are celebrating your first on the same day we would have celebrated our fiftieth! And in the same restaurant! It was a sign. Go, be happy, and never… ever… take a moment with each other for granted!”

We’ve taken her words to heart ever since.

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.

This happened in mid-October when the weather was still nice where I live. I went to our local grocery chain to grab a few things I needed for dinner. I wasn’t using a cart, just a basket. I was wearing a light blue polo, but the store dress code was a dark blue polo with the store logo and khakis. I was wearing jean shorts that in no way were too short but definitely wouldn’t be allowed for any employee of a grocery store

My oldest son, who is three and a half, loves to go to the store and do anything that involves getting out of the house, so I decided to let him tag along and leave his other brother at home with Dad. Grocery trips for us are kind of like our little Mom-and-Son dates, and I usually let him pick out a toy or a treat of some kind. Since outings aren’t happening as often since the [global health crisis], I try to keep things normal and exciting for him.

About twenty minutes into our trip, I had grabbed the few vegetables I needed, and I was just shopping around the canned goods aisle to grab some things I might need in the future. I was putting a can of something back in exchange for a larger version that I didn’t see at first when I heard:

Woman: “MA’AM, I NEED YOUR ASSISTANCE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!”

I figured someone was just being an a** to a nearby worker and carried on. Thirty seconds later, the yelling woman grabbed my arm and pulled me around.

Me: “Excuse me! Can I help you?!”

Woman: “I know you heard me! Help me find the molasses now!”

Me: “I don’t work here, clearly, so how about no? And don’t touch me again. As a matter of fact, we’re in a pandemic and you’re not even wearing a mask, so get away from me.”

Woman: “I have COPD! I can’t wear one! Where is your manager?! That’s a violation for you to even ask about my medical condition! Now—” *gesturing to [Son]* “—go find this child’s parents instead of dilly-dallying around, like you’re supposed to, or else I’ll tell the manager you weren’t gonna give this child back!”

I was completely stunned and pissed.

Me: “For one, I didn’t ask about your medical condition; I said to get away from me since you are above health codes. How dare you accuse me of stealing a child?! Again, I don’t work here, lady, and this stolen child happens to be my son. Are you okay?!”

Woman: “Yes, you did! You did ask me, you little b****! I know you’re a little rotten liar who doesn’t want to get in trouble! Now take me to the manager! You’re no older than sixteen. Who are you keeping this child from?!”

Me: “I am twenty-five years old! He came from my vagina and is my son! I. Do. Not. Work. Here. Get the h*** away from me before I get a manager myself. You are scaring my son!”

[Son] was visibly scared and on the verge of tears at that point.

Woman: “HE LOOKS SCARED BECAUSE YOU STOLE HIM!”

Me: “So now, I’m no longer finding his parents but stole him on the clock?!”

Woman: “SEE?! YOU JUST ADMITTED IT! YOU DO WORK HERE!”

By then, [Son] was crying, so I just grabbed his hand and walked to find a manager as fast as I could. The woman was screaming behind me that she was getting a manager and that I was kidnapping a child, so people were starting to look.

I finally found the manager, and it didn’t take much to explain the situation as the woman was trailing behind me screaming as I spoke to him. He very quickly confirmed that I did not work there. Then, he told the woman to leave for making such accusations and not adhering to local health department guidelines.

The woman, of course, refused, and she started causing an even bigger scene about how we were trafficking humans in the store. She eventually called 911 to report a kidnapping.

She ended up getting arrested in front of a good 150 people. I basically just had to tell the cops my situation and how the woman was following me throughout the store accusing me of stealing my own son, and that was that. I went home and got on with the rest of my day.

[Woman], I sincerely hope a jar of molasses was worth a trip to jail and you received the mental health care you clearly need.

My great-aunt broke her shoulder at one point. She lived alone (she was a fairly recent widow) but was doing well enough. She had pain meds for the arm.

One morning, the neighbors called her daughter.

Neighbors: “You need to come get your mother. She’s wearing a nighty and fur coat, and she’s hiding money in the bushes.”

One very concerning hospital visit later, it turned out that [Great-Aunt]’s pain meds were prescribed wrong. She was on a WAY higher dose than she should’ve been. Not sure if there were interactions with her other meds, but after the drug problem got sorted, [Great-Aunt] was back to her normal, sane self.

The family giggles about the mental image of [Great-Aunt] in her lacy nighty and best fur, hiding money in random shrubbery. (We can do this because she was okay at the end of the day. We wouldn’t laugh if it’d been something more serious or permanent.)

I really hate it when clients or potential clients just give me whatever answer they think will have their issue seen to the fastest instead of listening to me and responding to what I’m asking.

Today, I have three clients come in around the same time: a scheduled client, an expected walk-in, and an unexpected walk-in.

First, I go up front and call for [Scheduled Client]. The unexpected walk-in stands up and walks back with me to my desk. I almost start doing [Scheduled Clients] tax return in front of her before she tells me I’m opening a file with the wrong name, and I figure out she’s not scheduled. I send her back to the front.

I pull back [Scheduled Client] and do her taxes. I go back to the front. I THINK that this unexpected walk-in might be my expected walk-in, so I ask:

Me: “Are you the person I spoke with yesterday about the amendment?”

Walk-In Client: “Yep!”

Me: “You were with [Other Tax Pro] and she misunderstood you. You called me in the [Other Office Location] and I fixed it. I’ve not yet had time to print it up in this location, but I can do it now.”

Walk-In Client: “Yep!”

I have a bad feeling.

Me: “…Can you tell me a little about the situation?”

Walk-In Client: “You’ve just got to print it up for me!”

Me: “And… it’s an amendment?”

Walk-In Client: “Yup!”

Me: “…okay.”

I go back with her and look through [Expected Walk-In]’s stuff. We determine pretty quickly that the names don’t match, but this time I expect it a bit more.

Me: “…Look. How about you tell me what this is about in your own words?”

Walk-In Client: “My M1PR needs to be amended or something.”

Me: “Did you have an income change?”

Walk-In Client: “No.”

Me: “Did we miss a rent file?”

Walk-In Client: “No, but something went wrong, and it needs to be amended.”

Me: “What went wrong?”

Walk-In Client: “It didn’t get filed.”

Me: “…That doesn’t require an amendment. Can you give me your information, please?”

I check in the system, and for various reasons, her M1PR can’t be e-filed.

I remember her at this point. She was previously upset that her M1PR couldn’t be e-filed, so I offered her half off on her filing and made sure it was all set up for her to paper file.

I explain this to her.

Walk-In Client: “You never told me it had to be paper filed.”

Me: “If I didn’t give you that information, why did you get this manual discount that says in the notes, ‘For having to paper file’?”

Walk-In Client: “Well, you didn’t tell me clearly enough.”

I roll my eyes, print and prep her M1PR for paper filing, and hand it to her.

Walk-In Client: “Now wait a moment.”

Me: “What?”

Walk-In Client: “I want a full refund for the inconvenience, the attitude you’re giving me, and the fact that I had to paper file.”

Me: “No.”

Walk-In Client: “I’ll never come here again!”

I thought, “Please don’t come here again!”

Instead, I directed her to my manager to handle. I didn’t bother to pay attention to the result because [Expected Walk-in] finally arrived and I had my hands full.

Related:
Taxing Taxing, Part 21
Taxing Taxing, Part 20
Taxing Taxing, Part 19
Taxing Taxing, Part 18
Taxing Taxing, Part 17