I’m a night auditor at a hotel. I can’t sell beer/wine to guests at the desk after midnight. I’ve started locking the cooler in our market at midnight. In the middle of the night, I watch the guests yank on the door a few times and then come to the desk to whine:

Guest: “The beer fridge won’t open!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. I cannot sell beer and wine at the front desk after 12 AM.”

Guest: “Well… what if you unlock it and just like, go to the bathroom for a few minutes?”

Me: “That’s against the law, and that cooler is inventoried every morning.”

Guest: “This is bull-s***!”

Me: “Maybe so, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Have a good evening!”

Guest: “You know, if your mother had died today, you would want to drink.”

Me: “That’s neither here nor there, and I don’t care for the way you’re speaking to me. Would you like to continue to your room, or do I need to call the police and have you removed from the building?”

I always love the blank, shocked stare people give you once you throw out that sentence.

Too many guests think we hotel people can just be run over. The customer might always be right, but the night auditor decides who is still a customer.

This was over ten years ago, when I lived in an apartment complex. It was one of those big complexes that had 300+ units, and everyone pretty much kept to themselves. I never knew any of my neighbors beyond waving while getting the mail or running into the same people at the pool.

We didn’t have that many dogs in the complex because the apartment management company made it too expensive to have them. It was max two pets (cats/dogs), and you had to pay a deposit for each, which was a few dollars short of the monthly rent. On top of that, they charged a monthly rent fee and an application fee that you never saw again. It was highway robbery, but beyond that, it was a nice place to live compared to others in the area.

There was a lady, a bit older than me, who had a beautiful greyhound that seemed to have split personality issues. Some weeks, the dog acted like the grass was going to kill him, would jump at the sound of a bird, as if there was a T. rex in the tree that was about to eat him, and other weeks, he was super friendly and would run over to whomever he saw on the walk to get pets.

One day, I’m trying to get a package out of the mailbox that’s too big to fit, so I’m standing there, struggling for a few minutes, when the lady and an overly friendly version of the dog are also getting their mail. Being the shy person that I am, I have never said anything to the lady and would always direct myself to the dog. I made a comment, something like, “Ooh, feeling friendly today? Not scared of everything today? Why are you not like this all the time?”

The lady laughs and asks if I can keep a secret. Of course, I said yes, and she said, “This is Doug the 8th.” She fosters greyhounds when they are done racing, but the apartment complex wanted a new application fee for each “new” animal, so she purposefully fosters greyhounds that look just like the first one, so that no one was the wiser. It would typically take a few weeks for the dog to get used to being on grass, seeing cars zip by, and being on carpet, TV, etc., before it settled down and was ready for adoption.

I loved hearing how she found a loophole in the pointless application fee, and how I thought her dog had a split personality and never noticed it was a different dog. She thought this was funny, and so happy that her plan was working out. She and I would chat when I saw her out walking “Doug”. When I moved out a year or so later, she was up to Doug the 13th.

When Florida banned dog racing in 2020, I smiled when I thought of her and wondered what number she was up to.

I used to work at General Motors Financial as an account representative. Basically, I would talk to customers about their car payment, try to assist them if they were behind, or just accept payments from them.

A lady called in, and after I said my usual opening statement, thanking them for calling us:

Me: “So, how may I assist you today?”

Caller: “Are you giving away free cars?”

Really giving her the benefit of the doubt here:

Me: “Do you mean zero upfront payment?”

Caller: “No, like zero any payment. No payments ever.”

Me: “Oh, so like, free free.”

Caller: “Yeah!”

Me: “Uh… no. Sadly, General Motors is currently unable to support that business model.”

Caller: “Ah, d***. You too, huh? Do you know anyone who does?”

It was a miracle that I didn’t explode with laughter until after the call ended.

Caller: *Straight to screaming.* “Your app isn’t working! I need it to be working right now!”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Let’s troubleshoot the—”

Caller: “—I don’t have time for troubleshooting! I need to complete a transaction right now! You’re such a useless bank! I can’t believe I’m paying for your s***ty service!”

I tried calming him down and checking what seemed to be the problem. I checked his account details, and there was no lock or anything on his mobile banking. So, I tried the usual stuff:

Me: “Did you close the app and reopen it?

Me: “Did you clear the apps in the background?

Me: “Did you restart the phone?”

I exhausted all the options I had without figuring out the problem. As a last shot, I ask:

Me: “Are your other apps working fine?”

Caller: “No, I don’t have any internet on my phone right now.”

Me: “…”

As luck would have it, this call was randomly selected as part of my mid-year performance evaluation with my boss.

Supervisor: “I think you just got the 21st-century version of the caller who couldn’t get his computer to work during a power outage…”

Caller: “Hi, I would like to order two large pizzas.”

Me: “Uhhhm, what?”

Caller: “I want two large pizzas. When will they be ready?”

Me: “Uhhhm, we don’t serve pizza?”

Caller: “What do you mean you don’t serve pizza?! Why?!”

Me: “Because this is my house and I am ten.”

Caller: *Click.*