I work for a theme park, and I have decided that I absolutely loathe it when we get school groups coming in. School groups tend to carry meal vouchers, and I’ve decided that I also hate meal vouchers with a passion because dealing with meal vouchers brings out the jerk in everyone. It lists on the back of the voucher what types of meals you can get and where you can get them.

Otherwise, there is a HUGE sign at every other place that is not listed on the back. It states clearly: “BRING YOUR MEAL VOUCHER HERE FOR [MEAL] AND REGULAR DRINK. UPGRADE TO A SOUVENIR BOTTLE FOR $9.99!”

We have three brand-name restaurants in different parts of the park. There is only one that can serve the chicken-strip meal for a voucher. The other two have to serve the cheeseburger meal. That’s how it rings up when we scan the voucher, and that’s what we have to follow due to inventory. Naturally, I am NOT at the chicken strip meal location today.

A huge crowd of shouting kids comes up to the counter all wearing the same school shirt and all waving meal vouchers. They start to toss me a gigantic wad of meal vouchers. I have to scream to be heard.

Me: “Everyone, pick your meal voucher back up! One at a time only. Once I give the person before you their drink, you can hand me your voucher!”

This begins twenty minutes of total madness. When I ask one kid what their drink is, I get fourteen different answers, none from the kid I was talking to.

I also have to move my receipt printer because some kids keep trying to snatch up the receipts as they print. This horribly jams the printer, as it likes to be left alone when it feeds paper.

I finally come to a dad and his daughter.

Dad: “I want the chicken strip meal with this voucher.”

Me: “We only do the cheeseburger meal at this location.”

Dad: “Uh… no. You do chicken strips. It says you accept any meal here.”

Me: “Wow, really? Where does it say that?”

Dad: “On the back of this voucher.”

Me: “That actually says the location in [Cowboy-Themed Location].”

Dad: “This is [Cowboy-Themed Location].”

Me: “This is the [Boardwalk Location].”

Dad: “Wow. You of all people should know this is [Cowboy-Themed Location].”

Me: *Patience is gone* “In order to get here, you walked directly under a flamboyantly colored archway that said, ‘Boardwalk’ in giant letters.”

Dad: “I don’t care! I want chicken strips!”

Me: “There is no option for me at this location to give you chicken strips on a voucher. The voucher will scan as a burger meal only.”

Dad: “GET ME YOUR MANAGER!”

I get my supervisor.

Supervisor: “What’s wrong?”

Dad: “Okay, I’m not even going to begin to talk to you. You’re not a manager.”

Supervisor: “I am the only manager of this restaurant.”

Dad: “Your name tag says supervisor. So, no. Get me a manager.”

Supervisor: “I’ll have to call someone to come over, and even then, it will take a while.”

Dad: “Just do it!”

Supervisor: “Hold your horses; the phone’s in my hand!”

Did I mention that I’m the only cashier and our second cashier isn’t coming in until three? The whole park is completely swamped, but for some reason, they won’t start turning people away even when every square inch of standing room is taken up. I help all the other customers while the dad is standing there trash-talking the park to his daughter.

Finally, the manager shows up.

Dad: “My daughter and I want chicken strips on this voucher.”

Manager: “Follow me. I can help you with that.”

Dad: “Finally!”

Manager: “You’re gonna go left all the way down and then right all the way down to [Cowboy-Themed Location]. If you don’t like that option, we can serve you cheeseburgers here.”

Dad: “I. Don’t. Want. Cheeseburgers!”

Manager: “That’s fine. Let me escort you to [Cowboy-Themed Location].”

Dad: “I don’t want to walk over there.”

Manager: “Then I don’t know what to tell ya, buddy. Those are your only options. If you wanna know where to get anything else on the back of your voucher, don’t hesitate to ask.”

The dad, realizing that nobody was going to budge, muttered something under his breath, but he ended up getting the cheeseburgers after all.

I’m shopping at a local grocery store. The shortest line leads to a register with a prominent sign at the start of the line: “This register does not accept cash at this time.” I’m planning to pay by card, so I get in this line.

Lo and behold, the customer in front of me tries to pay with cash.

Cashier: “I can’t accept cash at this register.”

Customer: “What the f*** is wrong with you? Why wouldn’t you—”

Cashier: “Can you read English?”

Customer: “Huh?”

Cashier: *Slower* “Can you read English?”

Customer: “Of course I can! The f*** does that—”

Cashier: *Suddenly loud and aggressive* “THEN WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”

I watch in shock as [Cashier] steps away from the till and toward the back of the line, grabbing the sign.

Cashier: “Read this!”

Customer: “Why the—”

Cashier: “READ THIS SIGN! Out loud, right now!”

Customer: “…’This register does not accept cash at this time.'”

Cashier: “Do you know what that means?!”

Customer: “I—”

Cashier: “DO YOU KNOW what that means?!”

Customer: “It… means you can’t pay with cash here.”

Cashier: “Did you read this sign before you got in line?!”

Customer: “…No.

Cashier: “WHY DID YOU NOT READ THE SIGN? If you can read English, you have no reason not to read this sign! Why would you get in line at a till and not read the sign at the start of the line?!”

The customer says nothing more, only picking up their purchases and moving to another line. The cashier puts the sign back and storms back to the till.

Cashier: “This is why I’m leaving this job today!”

Client: “My website is broken! Users can’t connect, and a lot of pages are missing! HELP!”

Me: “Have you changed something?”

Client: “No, of course not. I noticed the problem when I was deleting some lines in the database to improve the SEO.”

Our town has a cat man. He lives in a trailer and smokes a lot of weed. The cats who can’t take care of their kittens or want some help bring them to him. He feeds them, cares for them, socializes them, and then adopts them out. He is always surrounded by cats and kittens. If you want a kitten, you go to his trailer and ask to adopt one. He doesn’t charge anything; he just talks to you for a bit to make sure you’ll love the animal and take care of it.

He’s surrounded by books and video cassettes and always wears a big housecoat. He’s full of stories and will talk to you about cats, politics, music, movies, games, weed, or whatever it is. The trailer is cold and unlocked with a hole in the front door for the cats to come in and out. He always has them, though. They know to go to him.

I came to him today for a kitten because my foster kid is having a rough time. We are “borrowing” a kitten until he feels better, but I suspect the kitten will stay. We’ve named them Pizza Crust. Gender is unknown. Knowing the gender isn’t the cat man’s job. He is happy to “lend” Pizza Crust to us for as long as we need them. I mean, of course, he was happy to lend a kitten to help a child.

So, yeah, that’s our cat man. He’s the goat.

I had a contracting gig with a large financial services company. My little group was part of a much bigger department that generated the annual tax forms. They were incredibly busy from January 2 through April. The guy who ran the department issued an edict that everyone had to put in ten hours each day and work Saturdays if necessary.

Office Manager: “Why do you and your team leave every day at 5:00 pm?”

Me: “Our group has nothing to do with the tax statements. We’re all done by 5:00.”

Office Manager: “The rest of the office is complaining when you’re all seen leaving at 5:00 pm. It would be better if you stayed late, as well.”

Me: “Are you asking or telling?”

Office Manager: “Telling.”

Me: “Does that apply to me and the other contractors?”

Office Manager: “Everyone. No exceptions.”

We were happy to do so since we were being paid by the hour. When we submitted our invoice for January, [Officer Manager] almost wet his pants and decided that the overtime rule didn’t apply to us.