I have a job, but I am casually looking for better compensation (and not retail). I mention this to a friend, and he says his job is hiring. It’s warehouse order fulfillment, so it’s not my cup of tea, but I would only have to travel ten minutes to work instead of half an hour. I tell him I will look into it, but the next day, I get a phone call. 

Me: “Hello?”

Recruiter #1: “Hi, this is [Recruiter #1] at [Company]. Can I speak to [My Name]?”

Me: “Speaking?”

Recruiter #1: “Hi, thank you for taking my call today…”

He goes into a speech, talking about the great opportunities his company provides, the benefits, the hours, and so on. 

Me: “That’s great. So, it’s full-time?”

Recruiter #1: “Yes! We work up to sixty hours per week.”

Me: “That’s a lot. I do have a job right now, so—”

Recruiter #1: “Oh, we were under the impression that you were unemployed.”

Me: “No, I have a job. I’m just seeing what else is out there to decide if I want to switch career paths.”

Recruiter #1: “Well, great!”

The next part of the conversation is what feels like an interview. He asks about my previous job experience, how I handle pressure in the workplace, and whether I can lift up to fifty pounds.

Recruiter #1: “Well, this has been great! Do you have any questions for me?”

Me: “Could you tell me the pay range for this position?”

Recruiter #1: “The… pay range?”

Me: “Right. Like, [Local Gas Station] has window clings saying they pay $13 an hour to start. What is your starting rate?”

Recruiter #1: “Oh. Um, I’m not sure. We can discuss that during your interview, though.”

Me: “I thought we just did the interview?”

Recruiter #1: “No, this is just the initial contact. We can set up an interview for [time and date] if that works for you.”

Me: “Okay…”

The interview time comes, and the conversation is much the same: employment history, conflict resolution, and so on and so on.

Recruiter #2: “Well, I think you would be a great fit for [Company]. If you can come by today, we can get your drug test done, and as long as everything comes back clean, you can start next week.”

Me: “I’m sorry, what is the starting wage?”

Recruiter #2: “Oh, [Recruiter #1] should have told you.”

Me: “He said that would be discussed in this interview.”

Recruiter #2: “I see. Well… I will have to get back to you on that. Are you able to come get your drug test paperwork today?”

Me: “I would like to know the pay before continuing any further with this process.”

Recruiter #2: *Getting annoyed* “That’s not something we discuss outside the company.”

Me: “But you just said [Recruiter #1] should have told me. How can—”

Recruiter #2: “I will have to have someone call you with that information. I don’t have it on hand.”

Me: “Okay. Once I have that, I will decide if I want to join [Company].”

He hangs up without another word. I have basically decided that I’m not taking this job, but I still want to know the pay; their avoidance of the subject just makes me want to press harder.

A week goes by before my next call. [Recruiter #3] goes through the same interview questions, talks about the same benefits… and avoids the same question.

Recruiter #3: “We offer a lot of great benefits, and—”

Me: “Look, I am not going to go forward with this until someone tells me the pay range.”

Recruiter #3: “I don’t have that information on hand.”

Me: “Your team has called numerous times, and I’ve answered the same questions time and again, but nobody there can tell me what the hourly rate will be. If the next person to reach out doesn’t have the answer, I will not be taking the job.”

Recruiter #3: “Okay. Well, thank you for your time.”

They did not call again. I asked my friend what he started at, and he told me it was a dollar above minimum wage.

I’m doing a client’s taxes. She’s a woman in her late sixties, and she’s still working. She’s claiming her two grandkids.

As I do her taxes, I ask her questions to better understand her financial situation, and I also ask her the due diligence questions required for claiming dependents — questions like, “Do you have any investment income this year?” and, “Do the children live with you?” It’s pretty tame and normal stuff.

She gets SUPER offended. She’s all huffy, saying she has “never been asked such questions”. Any question I ask — be it about her charitable donations or about whether the parents of the children also live with her — offends her more than the last. By the end, she’s very upset.

Client: “I’ve never been asked such questions in my life! It must be amateurs’ night! Can I get another tax preparer?!” 

I’ve been professionally doing this job for fifteen years. I am NOT an amateur.

I pull a manager away from his desk and give a quick explanation of what happened, summarizing it as, “She’s offended by the due diligence questions.” These are questions we are legally required to ask.

I put it out of my mind and let her be someone else’s problem.

A few days later, I’ve got an official write-up on my desk about it. My manager says I shouldn’t ask so many questions of clients.

Me: “Well… can you put that in writing? And can you provide specific examples of the questions I’m supposed to not be asking?”

So, my manager does. I send a copy of the write-up to the local authorities — eventually, it’s going to lead to some sort of fine on the company I work for — but I also stop asking my clients any questions that are similar to the ones on the list. 

No more reminding clients about tax documents they brought last year and have forgotten this year.

No more asking due diligence questions, which also means no more child tax credit, no more earned income credit, and no more head of household filing status, nor American opportunity credit. I have to ask due diligence questions to file those credits. Since I can’t ask, the client has to answer the questions without knowing what they are to get the credit.

To each client affected by the latter issue, I explain exactly what’s going on and tell them to complain to my manager. 

A few weeks and several client complaints later, my manager rescinds the previous orders with another official write-up. I’m now on strike two, and I’ve never gotten a write-up before in my career.

The thing is, it’s peak season right now, and tax places are desperately hiring to deal with the influx of clients during peak, so I’ve already got another job lined up. A couple of days after my second write-up, I’ve left without notice.

I’m getting paid roughly the same as I was before, and the place I’m working in now is a little bit further from home than before, but I’m imagining my old manager’s face getting my resignation letter — and eventually getting the substantial fine for demanding that a tax pro not do the due diligence questions — and giggling to myself.

I joined my sister on an early Christmas-time mini-vacation. I slept over at their house the night before so we could all pile into her mini-van at an ungodly hour for a long drive to our destination. The intent was for the kids to sleep through the first few hours of the drive before we got breakfast, but her son woke up enough during the transition to the car that he would no longer settle back to sleep until he was fed, so we made plans to stop at a fast food restaurant.

Nephew: “Can I have a soda?”

Sister: “Absolutely not.”

Nephew: “But I’m thirsty.”

Sister: “Then drink your water.”

They went back and forth. My nephew kept acting as if drinking water would kill him, and his mother insisted that he must not be thirsty enough to need soda in that case. Finally, he begrudgingly grabbed an insulated container next to him and tried to drink some. After a moment of confusion, his demeanor suddenly changed to excitement.

Nephew: “It’s frozen! Mom, it’s finally frozen!”

His half-asleep little sister perked up at this and acted excited, too, in a sort of punch-drunk way through her exhaustion.

Niece: *Chanting* “Frozen, frozen!”

Nephew: “I need a soda since my water’s frozen.”

Sister: “Not happening, kiddo, but we’ll top off your waters at [Restaurant].”

Niece: “With good water?”

Sister: “Yes, with the good water.”

Niece: *To her brother* “We get good water now!”

Me: “Okay, what exactly are you going to do to this water to make them that excited? Mixing it with cocaine?”

Sister: “Well, that would keep it from freezing…”

Nephew: “We get sugar now!”

Eventually, through my nephew’s excited explanation, I finally pieced together what was happening. It seems both kids had water bottles that stayed in the car at all times in case they got thirsty during a drive, but in winter, the water tended to freeze overnight, making it impossible to drink. My sister had brushed off her high school chemistry and come up with a simple solution that almost anything mixed into the water would lower its freezing point enough to keep it from freezing overnight, and the children, of course, decided the best choice for water mixer was a somewhat excessive amount of sugar.

Apparently, they started begging to switch over to sugar water, also called “good water” by her youngest, as soon as it started getting cold, and since their mother refused to do this, they instead eagerly awaited the first early morning frozen water bottle as proof she had to finally switch over to using sugar.

Sister: “I can barely keep [Nephew] properly hydrated during summer, and yet, as soon as winter comes around, his mid-drive water consumption mysteriously triples. Can’t imagine why that would be.”

Nephew: “I’ll drink more in summer if you use sugar then, too! [Niece] thinks we should always use it. Right, [Niece]?”

Niece: “Always good water!”

Sister: “I think I’ve gotten them both addicted to sugar now.”

Me: “Well, it could be worse. You could have used the cocaine.”

I wear my insulin pump on the back of my arm. A customer comes up behind me, grabs my arm with one hand, and tries to pull the pump off with the other.

Me: “Excuse you. Do not touch me.”

Customer: “Is that a nicotine patch?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “What is it?”

Me: “None of your business.”

Customer: “Excuse me? Get your manager.”

Me: “Sure.” *Into my headset* “Manager to clearance aisle to speak with a customer.”

Manager: “Why?”

Me: “He tried to take the device off my arm, I told him not to touch me and wouldn’t tell him what it was, and now he wants to talk to you.”

Manager: “Okay.”

Me: “He’ll be here soon.”

Customer: “You didn’t need to tell him all that!”

Me: “Was any of that a lie?”

Customer: “All I wanted to know was what it is!”

Me: “I would have told you if you had asked before you grabbed me and tried to take it off.”

Customer: “You’re just being a b****.”

Me: “Okay. You can talk to my manager when he gets here.”

I start to turn away but think better of it. As I turn back to the customer, he is reaching out again. He recoils.

Me: “Touch me again and I will drop you like a dead bug.”

Manager: “I can handle this, [My Name].”

Customer: “She threatened me! Did you hear her?”

Manager: “Yes, sir, I did hear my associate warn you not to touch her. And I saw the security video where you tried to remove the device from her arm without so much as greeting her, let alone asking to touch her.”

Customer: “You’re all full of s*** and shady a**holes!”

The man leaves. [Manager] gestures at my arm, and I turn so he can inspect it. We have known each other for years, even before we were coworkers, so he knows my medical history and we are comfortable talking about it.

Manager: “It looks good. Why didn’t you just tell him it was an insulin pump?”

Me: “I don’t owe strangers an explanation of my body. I’m tired of justifying how I look to people who have no impact or input.”

Manager: “Well… yes. But it would have been less stressful.”

Me: “And even less so if he had just asked first.”

Manager: *Sigh* “True. You are correct.”

[Customer] tried to go to corporate, claiming I had harassed him and taunted him with my “IV drug use”, but [Manager] had my back. He sent the CCTV and a written statement that I was under no obligation to explain my medical needs to anyone. 

Related:
What A Diabeetus, Part 12
What A Diabeetus, Part 11
What A Diabeetus, Part 10
What A Diabeetus, Part 9
What A Diabeetus, Part 8

This took place in an antiquarian bookstore back in the mid-1980s. I was the clerk. The owner took a daring step into the new age of technology and bought a word processor. (Everyone else was buying personal computers.) I, of course, was tasked with figuring out how to use the d***ed thing.

I was trying to make it save a correspondence template and cussing when it dumped my text yet again, under the regard of an infrequent customer, a professor at the local state college.

He told me the multiple virtues of a computer over the word processor — as if I had any say in the decision.

Me: “I can’t afford one on what I am making.”

Customer: “Just whine until [Boss] does it. That’s how I make my wife do what I want.”

Which made me grateful that I wasn’t married to him!