Making An Eleventh-Hour Decision

(My manager has gradually been cutting the hours of any employee under the age of 20. Most of them have finally just up and quit, but I really need the money so I’ve been dealing with it. When this happens, he’s already cut my weekly hours to zero once before, making me call and request hours, at which point he reluctantly pulled me back. This week I’d actually had a full weekend scheduled, which is way better hours than he’s been giving me. On Friday, he tells me this.)

Boss: “[My Name], go ahead and head home a bit early. Oh, and you don’t need to come in tomorrow or Sunday. I didn’t give myself enough hours so I need to take yours.”

(I immediately know that’s bullshit, because he’s the GM of the store and gets paid salary.)

Me: “Sir, I really need these hours, and—”

Boss: “No, no, it’s fine. Just call me up Monday or something to get your hours for next week.”

(I grimace and take it, because at least he said I’d be getting hours next week. He never gets the schedule up until the Friday or Saturday before, so I just agree to call. However, when I call him Monday…)

Me: “Hey, boss, it’s [My Name]. I was looking to see what my hours were?”

Boss: “Oh, yeah. Listen, I’ve decided this position isn’t right for you. Sorry.”

(He promptly hangs up. He didn’t have the courage to let me go to my face, so he took my last hours and did it over the phone.)