I work in the city and usually take the bus home. As anyone who commutes knows, these buses can get packed, especially during rush hour. On this particular day, I managed to snag a seat, which felt like winning the lottery after a long day at work. I had my earbuds in and was half-asleep, lost in my music.

A few stops into my ride, a woman and her son, who looked to be about ten years old, got on the bus. It was clear from the get-go that there were no seats available, but that didn’t stop [Woman] from scanning the bus like she was on a mission. She locked eyes with me and bee-lined in my direction.

She spoke to me in a tone that was more demanding than polite.

Woman: “Excuse me, could you let my son sit down? He’s really tired from his day and needs to sit.”

I was surprised that she singled me out since there were other people, some elderly, standing, as well. I was about to respond, maybe even stand up, despite feeling exhausted myself, when another woman standing nearby spoke up.

Helpful Woman: *In a kind but firm tone* “Ma’am, it’s not right to single out someone for their seat. We’re all tired after a long day. Perhaps your son can manage standing for a bit.”

[Woman]’s face turned a shade of red.

Woman: “But he’s just a child, and children need to sit. It’s common courtesy!”

The bus was unusually silent, with everyone seemingly tuned into our conversation. [Helpful Woman], undeterred, replied:

Helpful Woman: “I understand, but so do the elderly, the disabled, and those who’ve had long days at work. We can’t always expect others to give up their comfort for us. It’s a valuable lesson in consideration and patience.”

[Woman] looked ready to argue more but seemed to realize that the bus audience wasn’t on her side. She muttered something under her breath about “rude people” and moved slightly away, still standing.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, but the atmosphere felt a bit charged.

When my stop arrived, I got up, and as I passed [Helpful Woman], she gave me a small smile and a nod as if to say, “You did the right thing.” I nodded back in gratitude, feeling relieved but also a bit surprised at how the situation unfolded.

One of my friends was working in a bakery, and she commented on a lady’s moose necklace. They got to chatting. It turned out that the lady was from Canada, and my friend had always wanted to go there.

My friend was pretty shocked when the lady took the necklace off and gave it to her!

She tried to give it back, but the lady insisted.

Lady: “I have loads of moose necklaces. Clearly, this one was meant for you!”

My friend and I lost contact when I moved jobs, but I remember her wearing it all the time.

At the check-in desk of our hotel:

Manager: “Sir, you said in your booking that you had a service animal.”

Guest: “Yes, he’s here in the bag.”

Manager: “Sir, that’s a chihuahua.”

Guest: “So?”

Manager: “Chihuahuas are not typical service animals. Can I see your ADA—”

Guest: “No! You’re not allowed to ask! That’s illegal! I have a hidden disability and—”

Manager: “Sir, I am not asking you about any of your disabilities. I do, however, need to follow ADA guidelines, and I am allowed to confirm if your service animal is registered—”

Guest: “No! Not allowed! Just check me in, and you’ll see! She won’t be an issue!”

We are a pet-friendly hotel, and we do have a long check-in line (there’s a big event in town), so my manager reminds the guest of the hotel rules for all pets and completes the check-in.

Later, the customer comes by the pool, and the dog starts barking and jumping up at other guests. The pool manager tells him off, and he leaves. He comes back sans dog. My manager is informed of this, and he approaches the guest:

Manager: “Sir. You claimed this was a service animal, and according to the ADA, service animals are to stay with their handlers at all times. You have now left your dog locked in your room, where it is currently barking and disturbing other guests.”

Guest: “You’re just discriminating because you don’t like my breed of dog!”

Manager: “Service animal or not, your dog is not meeting the standards for public access. Please return to your room and ensure that your dog is not being a disturbance.”

Guest: “I’m going to complain to your corporate office about how I’ve been treated!”

Manager: “I’ve already informed them of the situation, sir. Their recommendation was to add the $250 pet fee to your room.”

Guest: “You can’t do that! That’s so much money it’s immoral!”

Manager: “Almost as immoral as claiming a dog is a service animal when it is so clearly not, wouldn’t you say?”

The guest checked out early. The fees stuck.

Related:
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 10
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 9
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 8
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 7
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 6

My dad was not exactly the most technologically up-to-date person in the world. Jokes went around his workplace to check for white-out on computer monitors after Dad had to type up reports.

Dad learned the wonders of the Internet and Googling sometime after 2016 when he retired and had time to sit at his own computer and play around.

In 2018, two years after retiring, my dad came into my room.

Dad: *Excited* “Guess what I found!”

Me: *Full of dread* “Um, no idea.”

Dad: “There’s an entire website dedicated to homemade videos that tell you how to do all sorts of things! Anything from gold panning to how to change a tire!”

Me: *Trying hard not to laugh* “Ah, yes, YouTube. Yeah, Dad, that’s been a thing since about 2005.”

For months afterward, I heard Dad (formerly a cabinet maker and landscaper) yelling at videos about how some random person on YouTube was doing a woodworking project wrong or making it harder on themselves when demonstrating how to landscape their yard.

The funny thing was that I had talked about YouTube for years and had even shown Dad funny videos. But discovering it on his own was like he had hunted down a treasure chest.

Client: “It says my password is incorrect, but I’m sure I entered it correctly.”

Me: “Okay, let’s try to log on with my computer. Can I have your password?”

The client hands me a (poorly) handwritten note with eight different passwords, all thirty-two digits long.

Client: “It should be one of these.”

Me: “You know, there’s really no need to make your passwords that long. Eight digits should be enough.”

Client: “That wouldn’t be very safe, now, would it?!”

Me: “How many locks do you have on your front door?”

Client: “One. Why?”

Me: “Why not ten? It’s much safer.”

Client: “That’s stupid. It would take ages to get into my house.”