I got hired on to a trucking company after CDL (Commercial Driver’s License) school. They had five days of orientation, and it took place at their headquarters, which was several states away. You could either have them fly you there, or you could drive yourself, and they would cover your expenses. Also, the company would put you up at a hotel, pay your food costs, and provide transportation to the headquarters. 

This one guy drove himself there who lived about eight-hundred miles away. On the first day of orientation, he tells anyone who’ll listen that he forgot to keep his receipts and he “better get reimbursed”. I think I’d rather eat the costs than announce to everyone how stupid I am.

On the second day, he slept in and missed the shuttle and ended up driving himself.

On the third day, he missed the shuttle, yet again, and was over an hour late. Worse than that, he fell asleep during orientation. I knew he was done for when the instructor angrily woke him up and asked for his full name. 

On day four, he showed up on time, but his fate was sealed. When I was at the hotel later that night, having a cigarette, I saw him loading his stuff into his car.

Me: “What happened?”

Guy: “They f****** canned me!”

I didn’t even think it was possible to get fired at orientation. All you have to do is show up and pretend to pay attention.

On the last day of orientation, a few of us are discussing that guy, when one of the company managers chimes in:

Manager: “We don’t have a huge list of red flags when it comes to our truckers, but failing at being on time, paying attention, and getting adequate rest are pretty much all of them. Trust me, we made the right call with him.”

I felt bad for the guy, though. He essentially drove eight-hundred miles to get fired and then drove eight-hundred miles back.

Many years ago, a friend of mine used to work as a civilian research scientist at a local Naval base. One day, they had a new machine delivered and needed to fit an electrical plug to it. So, he went down to the store to get one. The following conversation took place between my friend and the store assistant:

Friend: “I need a mains plug, please.”

Store Assistant: “Sorry, but we haven’t any left.”

Friend: *Looking past the assistant at the shelves behind.* “But there’s one there on the shelf.”

Store Assistant: “Yes, but you can’t have it.”

Friend: “Why not?

Store Assistant: “Because it’s the last one, and somebody might want it.”

Friend: “…?”

He gave up, went off base, and bought one at a local hardware store.

I’m at a 24-hour diner. I’m working strange shifts, so I am there having ‘breakfast’ at 3 AM. A waitress has come to take my order.

Me: “Hello there! May I please have the blueberry pancakes and iced tea? Thank you!”

Waitress: “I… uh…”

The waitress looked tired, but now it looks like her brain has stopped.

Me: “Are… are you okay?”

Waitress: “Yes. Sorry. Blueberry pancakes and iced tea.”

She walks away, still in a bit of a daze. The manager is the one who ends up bringing my food over, and I ask after the waitress.

Manager: “Yes, I understand. My waitstaff was shocked by your manners.”

Me: “What are you talking about? I said please! I have manners!”

Manager: “Yes, that’s what’s so shocking.”

Servers are trained to serve a drink a certain way, but more often than not will listen to you if you want it differently. 

I just got reminded of this particular server. He was a mixologist who had come from a cocktail bar and was now working in a typical pub. Our interaction led me to believe this made him think highly of his own opinions.

I ordered a neat rum, one that’s quite popular, so I’ve had many times and with different things, but to me it tastes better by itself. 

He serves it with lime, and so it starts:

Me: “Sorry, I asked for this neat.”

Server: “It should be served with lime; it tastes better.”

Me: “I’ve tried it that way, and I prefer it neat. Can you do me another one?”

Server: “Just take the lime out if you don’t want it.”

Me: “You’ve rimmed the glass with it; it will still taste like lime.”

Server: “I can’t do you another one, they measure wastage, and they’ll dock me.”

Me: “Well, this isn’t the drink I ordered, so either way I’m not paying for it and the count is down.”

Server: “…”

Me: “Next time, if you think you know better, offer. Don’t just make it your way and force it on people.”

Yes, I did get another drink.

Back in the late nineties, my then-boyfriend and I were spending a tourist weekend in the Bay Area, and ended up in Carmel around dinner time. We found a cute Italian restaurant that obviously had a wait. Having spent two years in Italy, I went up to the desk and asked:

Me: “Quanto sarebbe l’aspeta per due, per favore?” *How long would the wait be for two, please?*

We were seated at a window table immediately.