Dying To Get The Weekend Off

(I am 16 and work as a cashier. My nana happened to pass away unexpectedly, so in the middle of the week I need to ask for the weekend off for the wake and funeral.)

Me: “[Assistant Manager], I know it’s short notice but there’s been a family emergency and I won’t be able to come in this weekend. I’m sorry.”

Assistant Manager: *brusquely* “This schedule isn’t built around YOUR convenience, [My Name]. There are plenty of other employees who would love to have the weekend off, too. What could POSSIBLY be SO important that you can’t come in when you’re supposed to, and you couldn’t give me proper notice?”

(At this point I haven’t slept much, I’ve been crying a lot, my usual social interaction filter is pretty much turned off, and I’m not in the mood to be jerked around.)

Me: *coldly* “I’m sorry. My ninety-three-year-old grandmother didn’t tell us she was going to DIE yesterday and we would need to attend her wake and funeral this weekend. My apologies; she’s usually more considerate about these things.”

Assistant Manager: *eyes wide, face turning grey* “[My Name], I am SO—”

Me: “Just give me my register assignment and shut up.”

(He gives me my register assignment and assures me I’ll have the weekend off. I take my till and set up at my register, focusing all my energy on pretending to be pleasant for customers. The store manager comes over, having heard part of my conversation with [Assistant Manager].)

Store Manager: *concerned* “[My Name], what’s going on? What were you talking about with [Assistant Manager]?”

Me: “I told him there’s been a family emergency and I won’t be able to come in this weekend. He got all nasty about the schedule not being for my convenience and demanded to know why I needed the weekend off, so I told him my nana just died yesterday and this weekend is the wake and funeral.”

Store Manager: *shocked* “[My Name], you take all the time you need. Take Monday off too if you want. I’ll speak with [Assistant Manager].”

Me: “Thanks, [Store Manager].”

(She walked back to the managers’ station and from a good 30 feet or so away I could hear her yelling, “What the bleeding hell is wrong with you?!” at Assistant Manager. He couldn’t look me in the eye for a week after that.)