The customer isn't always right, believe it or not.
Customer service workers––from retail to food service to call centers and everything in between––are typically overworked and underpaid. Customers who take their frustration out on these workers shouldn't be surprised, then, to find that the workers know their way around the rule books and company policy manuals better than they do.
Architecture, both the process and the product of planning, designing, and constructing buildings or any other structures, can be complex. Whether you're an architect or an engineer or craftsman of some kind, there are a lot of different factors to take into account.
So it should go without saying that literally defying the laws of physics goes against common sense, but customers aren't exactly known for that trait.
There are those of us who appreciate a nicely broiled steak, a fresh fillet of salmon, a perfectly seasoned chicken, and yes, even pineapple on pizza.
Then there are those of us who char a steak until it's little more than boot leather, scorch a salmon fillet until the poor fish's ghost comes back to haunt them, stick chicken in the oven without seasoning it at all, and... well, hate pineapple on pizza. (There's nothing inherently wrong with this combination––fight me.)
We all have our own tastes, right? The people here have shared what they believe are the biggest "food sins" a person can commit.
Famous and highly regarded people have delivered famous last words on their deathbeds for ages, and we can only hope to be as eloquent as them when our time arrives. I like to think I'll be too busy concentrating on my laborious breaths to focus on whether I'm being eloquent or prophetic, but you never know.
These people have certainly made their marks on the history books.
The final girl runs through the woods to escape the killer who somehow manages to keep up with her despite limiting himself to a casual stroll, machete in hand. When she makes her way back to the clearing and sees her car, its chrome glinting brilliantly in the moonlight, she dives behind the steering wheel, fetches her spare keys from up top, and pops the right one into the ignition only for the engine to refuse to turn over. The car won't start, and the killer is somewhere out there.
Sounds familiar? Of course it does. Let's end this, shall we?