(I work at my local ice arena as a facilities attendant. My duties are pretty much janitorial. I am responsible for cleaning the change rooms as soon as possible and as many times as needed, keep the place looking presentable, and once everyone’s gone, doing a mad dash to clean the remaining change rooms, bathrooms, lobby, and sweep and mop the bleachers. We’ve been short-staffed lately, and because of this, I’ve had to pull in extra shifts, including what we call, “short nights,” meaning working an evening shift [4:00 pm to 12:30 am], then a day shift [7:30 am to 4:00 pm]. Last weekend I actually had to work from 3:30 pm to 1:00 am, then get back to work by 6:30 am as there was a hockey tournament starting. This is a conversation between a parent and I.)

Parent: “Hey, miss?”

Me: “Yes? Can I help you with anything?

Parent: “Oh, no. I was just wondering, weren’t you here last night?”

Me: “I was, actually. We’re short staffed at the moment, so I don’t mind.”

Parent: “Wow! Even if you’re short-staffed, you shouldn’t have to come in this early!”

Me: “I really don’t mind. It’s been a steady grind, so as long as I don’t sit down, I won’t pass out from exhaustion.” *cue my awkward, dry, laugh*

Parent: “That’s stupid! Why haven’t you complained? Aren’t you protected under the Union?”

Me: “Actually, every single worker here HAS complained. We have begged and pleaded with the town to not book any games with a start time before 8:30 am, as hockey players tend to arrive 45 minutes before games start. Yet the parents yell at the coaches that they want earlier start times, and the coaches book it accordingly. It’s completely out of our hands. All we can do is show up, unlock the doors, and wait for all of you to leave so we can clean up the mess. Which, by the way, meant that we were here until 1 am last night.”

(At this point I recognize her as a b****y council member and get even more p***ed off.)

Me: “If you were actually interested in my well-being, you would bring it up in council meetings that town workers are being pushed too far because of ice bookings. You’d help us petition to have the latest ice time be the 9:00 pm to 10:00 pm slot, not all the way up to 11:45. You’d convince the other parents to ask for a slightly later morning slot, instead of one that means I have to wake up at 5:30, after less than two hours of sleep, to get here at 6:30 to unlock doors. I know you don’t really care; you know you don’t really care. Now, please, it’s time for flood, and I have to help out with that.”

Parent: “…”

(I didn’t hear a peep from her the rest of the day. I think she told the other parents, as after that, everyone made sure that there was nothing for me to clean up afterwards. One of the other hockey team’s coaches also brought us coffee and muffins, as well, so that was a good boost. This weekend I have to pull another short night, with similar hours. Wish me luck.)

Did you find this story on our Overtime roundup?

Click here to read the next story!

Click here to get back to the roundup!

(Every few days, a printing press needs to be shut down and cleaned because the ink spatters all over where it isn’t meant to be. The workers climb inside and wipe everything with solvent-soaked rags. Since it is a messy task, we put on disposable impermeable hooded jumpsuits [Tyveks AKA whitesuits], and since these factories are very hot, it’s common to take off your uniform to keep it free of sweat and solvent, and just go into the whitesuit in your underwear. The change rooms are a pain to get to; you have to cross the entire huge building, go upstairs, and come halfway back. Since it is 99% men working there, sometimes the guys just quickly go down to their boxers in some quiet corner and hope no woman walks by. As one of the rare women, I have to be a bit more private. I slip into this tiny closet that has a urinal in it; no running water, no sink. It is just a urinal that someone has connected to a drain [the bathrooms are too far away, too, so I guess people got desperate]. I have to move very carefully so I don’t get my clothes dirty, but I do it and swiftly get at my cleaning task. Later that day my supervisor calls me into the office and, WITHOUT EVEN CLARIFYING THAT THE GOSSIP HE’s HEARD IS TRUE, starts in on me about my inappropriate behavior.)

Supervisor: “Maybe you like the attention, but it’s not professional to give the guys a ‘show!’”

Me: “Huh?”

Supervisor: “[Guy I thought was my friend] told me! You changed clothes right in the middle of the factory floor instead of in the bathroom or change-room!”

Me: “Yes, I suppose technically I did… INSIDE the urinal closet. Why would I want pervs staring at me?!”

(I never even got an apology from either my boss for assuming the worst about me, or my “friend” for spreading rumors that made me seem indecent. That’s the reward I get for enduring the stench in that little closet, to save the company the ten minutes’ wasted time for me to walk to the proper change-room.)

(My supervisor is going to a new hotel opening to help with training. The hotel is an hour-and-a-half drive away. It is going to be a long night, so she wants suggestions as to what will help keep her awake at work and on the drive home.)

Supervisor: “I have to drive to Red Deer tonight and stay up and train the night auditors. Can I take anything to help me stay awake?”

Coworker: “Just stick to coffee.”

Supervisor: “How about if I smoke ‘the pot?’”

Me: “The what?”

Coworker: “’The pot?’”

Me: “Oh, NO! Nope. Bad idea.”

Coworker: “It’ll make you sleepy and paranoid, and your driving will be worse.”

Me: “As if that’s possible.”

Coworker: “Shh.”

Supervisor: “Oh, it won’t keep me awake?”

Me: “Nope, maybe hungry, though.”

(At this point my coworker and I stop trying to hide the laughter.)

Supervisor: “You two are awful.”

Coworker: “If you’re gonna smoke ‘the pot,’ please bring us!”

Me: “So we can watch.”

Supervisor: “I’m leaving; go do your jobs!”

(I received a call from my doctor after having some blood work done, telling me to get to the ER immediately for a blood transfusion, as my hemoglobin levels were critically low. A friend of mine takes me and stays with me for support. She likes to try and lighten the mood with a sarcastic sense of humor. This occurs when the nurse brings in the first bag of blood and hooks it up to my IV…)

Me: “Oh, wow… that’s a strange sensation!”

Nurse: “What? It’s not burning is it? Does it hurt?”

Me: “Not at all… It’s just really cold! I’ve never felt cold inside my body before.”

Friend: “Cold? Geez, Nurse! Can’t ya warm it up a little for her?”

Nurse: “…umm.”

Friend: “Just throw it in the microwave for a few minutes! My friend says it’s too cold here!”

Nurse: *mouth agape with a look of horror*

Me: “[Friend]… I don’t think she knows you’re joking.”

Friend: “Oh… Oh, my god! I’m totally joking! Just trying to lighten the mood!”

Nurse: “Oh, thank goodness! I mean, whatever you want to do on your own time, sure… but I’m not wasting precious O negative in this hospital for your little experiment here!”

(We had a good laugh after that. And after two bags of the red stuff my hemoglobin levels were back up to normal!)

(I am eleven years old. My mother works in the kitchen of the local hospital and sometimes her duties involve delivering food trays to the patients. I remember her talking about the times on one floor where she would hear people moaning and crying, begging for morphine, as they lay painfully dying from whatever cancer was taking them from this world. One day, when I am out front of the hospital, I begin talking with a nurse who is waiting for the bus. We touch on a few topics until I remember my mother’s worlds about the terminally ill patients.)

Me: “My mother works in the kitchen and delivers food trays. She has told me about the dying people begging for morphine. Why don’t you give them what they need?”

Nurse: “Because they could become addicted, of course!”

Me: *I pondered her words for a few moments then replied* “Well, why don’t you give them the morphine they need, and then when they die, cut them off?”

Nurse: *giving me the stink-eye* “Little smart-a**!” *walks away in a huff*