I approach the office manager. We are both male.

Me: “The men’s facilities are almost out of toilet paper. Where do you store it?”

Office Manager: “It’s in [storage room], but thanks for the reminder. I’ll order some more.”

A nearby coworker, also male, scoffs at our interaction.

Coworker: “Why are two men so concerned about toilet paper. Seriously.”

Me: “Uh… well I don’t know about you but it’s kinda hard to wipe without it.”

Coworker: “You wipe? What are you, gay?”

My brain stutters.

Me: “Uh… what?!” 

Office Manager: “Can’t believe I’m asking this, but what do you wipe with?”

Coworker: “Nah, wiping a butt is gay. I’m not a f** like that.”

I am beyond words, and totally grossed out by the idea of this guy just… not wiping.

Office Manager: “Do you hold your junk when you pee?” 

Coworker: “Uh, duh! Gotta aim somehow!” 

Office Manager: “So touching your own d*ck isn’t gay, but wiping your butt is?”

Coworker: “Shut up! You know it’s different!”

Office Manager: “I really don’t. Explain it to me.” 

Coworker: “It’s… butts are gay, alright!”

Me: “So… wait… you never wipe?”

Coworker: “No! That’s gay!”

I walk away quickly to hide my disgust. The office manager tells me to leave it with him. That coworker is given a talking to about “office hygiene etiquette” by his manager (I wasn’t told that officially, but I was told that there’s a standard HR script for that) but that didn’t do down too well and he was let go a month later for… health reasons.

Client: “I’ve been looking at all these photos being taken by A.I.”

Me: “They’re generated by A.I., not taken by a camera, but yes, I’ve seen them, too.”

Client: “Well, if A.I. can make me anything I want, why do I need you for my projects?”

Me: “Well, A.I. can be very random, and it’s full of strange artefacts that you might not want in your photos.”

Client: “It sounds to me that you just don’t want to admit that your job has become obsolete.”

Me: “And it sounds to me like you just don’t want to pay your creatives.”

My once-regular photography work from that client suddenly dries up, but I am fine with my wedding and magazine work. (Try getting an A.I. to take nice pictures at a wedding!)

A few weeks later, the client is back on a call.

Client: “You do photo touch-ups, right? I need you to do some fixes to our photos, but at a discount since you’re only touching them up, not taking them.”

What they send me is the most laughable attempt at A.I.-generated photography I have ever seen. Some of these artificial people are outright monstrosities.

Me: “What do you need me to do with these… uh… images?”

I refuse to call them “photos”.

Client: “Just fix some of the things that look a bit weird.”

Me: “Like how this person has sixteen fingers?” 

Client: “…”

Me: “On one hand?”

Client: “Look, just tell me when you can get them done by!”

Me: “Ask your A.I. to fix them for you.” 

I did not take that job, nor did I take any other job from them again.

I wake up with some really bad flu-like symptoms. I don’t have to work until tonight but I know I’m going to have a rough day, so I call in.

Manager: “No. Unless you’re dying, you’re coming in.”

Me: “You can hear me coughing, right? You want me to work a checkout like this?”

Manager: “You come in tonight or you don’t come in at all.”

As much as I wanted to tell him to shove it, I was young at the time, and I didn’t know any better. I tried my best to sleep through the rest of the day and drink lots of water, but somehow by the time I get into work I am feeling even worse.

I feverishly start scanning a customer’s groceries and have a violent coughing fit over her produce.

Customer: “What are you doing! You ruined my greens! You shouldn’t come into work so sick!”

I am coughing too much to talk, so I press the ‘call manager’ button. The manager who demanded my presence is still here!

Manager: “What’s the issue here.”

Me: *Between coughs.* “This customer… would like an explanation… as to why I came into work so sick.”

I make sure I stare pointedly at him as I get the words out. He glares at me, but he knows however he spins it he is going to look an idiot.

Manager: *To the customer, laughing nervously.* “I guess our staff love working here so much, they can’t stay away!” *To me.* “[My Name], go home and don’t come back until you feel better.”

Me: “Gladly!” 

I let that pr*ck tackle the explanation while I grabbed my coat, clocked out, and took a week off to recovery. I went to the doctor to get a note and he gave me another week for good measure.

When I was back at work my manager wasn’t around. He was off with the flu…

I witness the hostess take some diners to their table. One of them, a rude lady gets mad:

Customer: “Why can’t you sit us over there by the window?”

Hostess: “There are no servers stationed over there.”

The customer gets angrier and starts treating the hostess badly. I jumped in.

Me: “Hey! Don’t talk to her like that!”

Customer: *Looking at me.* “I don’t want to sit near them either!”

She sat at the table by the window anyway, but she ended up leaving because there were obviously no servers where she sat. The manager gave me a free cheesecake!

CONTENT WARNING: Pregnancy Loss

In college back in the 1970s, I worked in the nation’s largest beef packing plant. At the time of this story, I ran a rib and plate saw.

The company began treating us like third graders, making us raise our hands to use the restroom. Only one male worker and one female worker from a production line could go at a time, waiting until one returned before the next person on the list could go. Pathetic! Before that rule, we covered for each other, with me spelling the gal that ran the chine saw (spine) as I could make my cut and pull back her piece and make her cut.

But the circumstance that made me count the days until graduation, when I could leave the company, happened to my wife. We worked the second shift. She was a trimmer on the rib line and was pregnant. The OBGYN saw no problem with her continuing to work.

One evening, she started cramping and went to the nurses’ station. I called my foreman over and asked for a relief so I could take her to the emergency room.

Foreman: “Stay put; I’ll check on her.”

Within a minute, the nurse came out.

Nurse: *Yelling* “[My Name]! Get [Wife] to the ER!”

Me: *To my foreman* “I have to go.”

Foreman: “I’ll take her!”

WHAT?!

I put a cut partway into my saw and twisted it sideways, breaking the blade, which stopped the chain in the plant. Then, I headed out to take my wife to the ER.

The saddest part of this is that we lost the baby that night.

I wish I could’ve told my foreman, “I am leaving in a month and you are stuck here!”