When my boyfriend and I were medical students, we had to do rotations in surgery. We were assigned to teams of two students, and once a week, we would be on call all night long, followed by a full workload the next day. It was brutal, but having a partner helped some.

[Boyfriend] unfortunately got stuck with a partner who was irresponsible. She wasn’t very helpful when on call and was a slacker even when she wasn’t on call.

One on-call night, [Partner] never showed up. No call, no text, nothing. [Boyfriend] texted me, asking what he should do, as he had her phone number and could text her to ask where she was.

But the night was young, and he decided to just wait for her to show up, assuming she was running late or had unforeseen circumstances. He was expecting her to eventually show up or contact him with a flimsy excuse, but it never happened. Instead, he ended up doing double duties all night because he had no partner.

In the morning, [Boyfriend] asked me what he should do.

Boyfriend: “Should I text [Partner] to ask why she didn’t show up?”

Me: “Instead, you should go directly to the secretary who coordinates students in the surgical office. If a student is sick or has an emergency, they’re supposed to contact the secretary.”

So, he went to the secretary and expressed his concern that his on-call partner had not shown up and had not contacted him to say why. He asked the secretary if the student had contacted her instead, but she had not.

The surgeon who was in charge of the students heard from the secretary that the girl had been AWOL the prior night, and he was livid. He chewed her out in front of everyone until she cried.

Her friends, also medical students, complained to my boyfriend that he should have reached out directly to the student instead. But if she didn’t have the decency to send him even a text message, she didn’t deserve anything better.

[Colleague #1] finishes work at 4:00 pm.

Colleague #2: *Pissed* “Is she sleeping with the boss or something? She’s always leaving early!”

Assistant Manager: “Yeah, I keep bringing it up with [Manager], but he tells me to drop it.”

Me: “No, she always gets here before 8:00 am. We just don’t see her working until we get here.”

In fact, most of them casually stroll in sometime after 9:00 am.

The manager (for whom [Colleague #1] works directly) goes away for a trip, leaving [Assistant Manager] in charge.

Assistant Manager: *To [Colleague #1] with a sneer* “You can’t leave before 5:00 pm. You’re not getting away with that with me.”

Colleague #1: “Okay, let me go and talk to our CFO and see about overtime rates. I work from 8:00 am until 4:00 pm. I manage my time well and get all my work done.”

Assistant Manager: “You’re salaried! No overtime rates apply!”

With perfect timing, the manager calls from overseas, and I gleefully transfer the call to her. The best thing about a fairly open-plan office is that you can hear everything from the reception desk.

Colleague #1: “I’m so glad you called. [Assistant Manager] is insisting that I stay until 5:00 pm, with no overtime pay or reason mentioned. Have you got a particular task requiring me to stay?”

She pauses and then hands the phone to [Assistant Manager].

Colleague #1: “He wants to talk to you.”

She kept to her eight-to-four!

I’m a male with a full head of super curly hair thanks to a strong Greek ancestry. It’s a family joke that our family genes are the reason why people think Medusa had snakes for hair. I also happen to work at a library.

A few years ago, while I was at work, a lady complimented me on my outfit, which I accepted graciously. (I was dressed in business attire and admitted that I looked dapper in it.) She then proceeded to stick her whole hand into my mass of hair. I froze for a moment, absolutely gobsmacked.

Lady: *Snootily* “Oh. You use [Product].”

Me: *Coldly* “You try getting a brush through this monster without detangler. Now get your d*** hands out of my hair.”

The lady went from zero to a hundred in the blink of an eye and screamed for a manager. As this was a library, her voice seemed extra loud in the quiet environment. Everyone nearby looked up to see what was going on. She tried to remove her hand, but the curls snagged, so of course, she came away with a few strands of my hair while I yelped in pain.

My manager came at a run just in time to see this woman rip her hands out of my hair and my head being yanked with it before she was free. He ignored the woman, who was still yelling.

Manager: “Oh, my God, [My Name], are you all right?”

Lady: *Yelling over him* “No, I am not all right! Your employee just swore at me!”

Manager: “I wasn’t asking you. And of course, he did. He’s perfectly allowed to, after what I just saw you do.”

The lady sputtered in shock at the sheer gall of a lowly employee being allowed to swear at the all-important patron.

Then, [Manager] did the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard: he gave her a glorious dressing-down. By the time he was done, the lady was absolutely red in the face and speechless as this quiet-voiced man told her in no uncertain words what a lowly person she was.

He finished up by informing her that she was now banned from the library.

She finally just spun on her heel and left without another word.

We wrote up an incident report. [Manager] was very familiar with his patron (for all the negative reasons), so her leaving wasn’t a problem since he could look her up via her library card information.

[Manager] explained that everything was on the security video, and he planned to call the police since what the lady had done qualified as assault and battery. He was explaining that I would be fully in the right to file a report with them over this and gently advising me that I should, considering how boldly she had done it, when two police officers came in.

The woman had called the police on US! I think my emotions were more tangled up than my hair because I just burst out laughing hysterically and couldn’t stop.

[Manager] showed them the security footage, and I went through with pressing charges once I could stop laughing long enough to do so.

When all was said and done, my manager told me that I could go home for the day if I wanted to which, after a moment of hesitation, I accepted. I promptly went home and washed my hair three times.

Not only is it violating to have someone’s hand shoved up to the wrist in your hair, but you don’t know where the hair or the hands have been. What if my hair had lice? What if she didn’t wash after doing heaven-knows-what in the bathroom?! I was just so grossed out.

A reminder to everyone: DO NOT TOUCH PEOPLE WITHOUT PERMISSION.

I work in a coffee place inside a big box store. I’ve just served a drink to a father and his young son, maybe five years old or so. The boy gets his chocolate and runs off with it. His father calls after him:

Father: “Don’t run, [Boy]!”

Of course, as five-year-old boys tend to do, he trips up and falls to the ground. He seems fine, but his drink has spilled everywhere. He catches us staring and starts to cry, mostly out of embarrassment. The boy’s father is kind but stern, checking his son for any injury.

Father: “This is why I said not to run, [Boy]. Now look what you did to the drink that the nice lady made for you.”

Me: *Coming by to clean up the spill* “Oh, well, accidents happen! If it’s okay with you, I can get him a replacement.”

Before the father can respond, another customer whom I just finished serving decides to join in the conversation.

Customer: “Kids are never gonna learn if y’all keep running in to kiss it all better and fix their mistakes for them.”

The customer makes one more smug look of self-congratulation, turns around, and walks smack-bang into a pillar next to the checkouts. Their coffee goes all over themselves and the pillar, drenches their sandwich, and ends up on the floor.

The customer stares at me, at the parent and child, and then back at me again as we all stare at them.

Customer: “Any chance I could…”

Staring intensifies.

Customer: *Walking away* “…yeah, yeah, I get it. Good one, universe…”

My African-American coworker is working in the produce section. An older customer — and I mean old, like ninety years or so, but still quite spritely for his age — goes over to him.

Customer: “Boy, where are the rutabagas?”

Coworker: “Please don’t call me ‘boy’, sir. And the rutabagas are at the back, over there.”

Customer: “Those are potatoes, boy! What, they ain’t got no potatoes in Africa? It’s all coconuts over there, ain’t it?”

Thankfully, my manager is nearby and has overheard.

Manager: “Sir, first, the potatoes are next to the root vegetables, so he is correct. Second, if you make one more racist remark, I will ban you from this store.

Customer: “It was a joke! You people are all way too sensitive these days!”

Manager: “Sir, your generation had a collective fit when Rosa Parks sat down on a specific part of a bus. I think we’re doing just fine.”