Back before the sickness overtook the land, I ended up with a job doing tech support for phones, tablets, and computers from home. They supplied a computer; I had to provide the Internet connection. The computer constantly failed to connect to the Internet — my personal devices never had any issues — and no troubleshooting or replacement computers could fix the issue for longer than maybe a day. Since tech support took two to four days to get back to me each time I called, and I wasn’t being paid when I wasn’t in the phone queue, AND I had to remain home for tech support, I quit and sent the computer back with their pre-paid label.

A month later, I am told to send the computer back or they will bill me $4,000 for it. I reply to the email with a screenshot of the courier’s tracking page showing it was delivered and signed for by [Person].

A week later, I get another email.

Company: “According to our records, the equipment that was loaned to you by [Company] in support of the contract is still in your possession. As per the loan agreement, the equipment was due in transit within forty-eight hours of end of employment.”

Me: “Your records are incorrect. As I reported in an earlier request for this computer, the computer was returned shortly after I resigned. [Courier] tracking confirms the system was shipped on [date], arrived [five days later] at 11:08 am, and was signed for by [Person]. If you are unable to locate the computer, that is your issue, not mine. I have done everything I need to return all equipment.”

The next day, I get a call from their “asset recovery department.”

Asset Recovery: “If you don’t send the computer back or pay $4,000 within twenty-four hours, we will put it on your credit report and report you for theft.”

I’m already irritated.

Me: “Look, your company is populated with idiots. I sent the computer, I’ve sent the tracking information three different times, and I’ll send it to you again.”

I get the email address for this person and send it again.

Me: “It was shipped, tracked to your warehouse, and signed for by [Person]. What happened after [Person] signed for it is your problem, not mine, and if I hear any more from you other than, ‘Have a nice day,’ I’m sending all my documentation from my experience in this job to my lawyer.”

Asset Recovery: “Can you hold, please?”

Me: “Yes.”

Asset Recovery: “I’ve closed the issue and marked the computer as returned. You won’t hear from us again.”

I actually won my unemployment case against this company based on unconscionable behaviour and constructive dismissal. Because of those issues, in my final three weeks, I maybe worked and got paid for about four hours of work; the rest was spent twiddling my thumbs.

I’m working away, stocking shelves. I’m part of the management team and am usually the one called to handle shoplifters. As I walk past an aisle, I notice a man stuffing cologne boxes into his backpack, about to zip it up. I immediately go into red alert.

Me: “Um, I really hope you plan on paying for those.”

Customer: “Oh, they’re empty.”

Me: “I apologize, but that seems very suspicious, so do you mind if I take a look to confirm?”

He opens the bag and hands it over. As I’m investigating the contents, he proceeds to explain.

Customer: “I just brought these in so I knew what brands to buy. I gifted these and needed to buy more.”

After I confirmed the packages were empty, I noticed his basket filled with matching cologne boxes and apologized for the inconvenience. He then told me there was no need and appreciated that I was just doing my job and he understood how it looked. 

He then thanked me and continued on to finish his purchase. If only all these encounters went this smoothly.

I’m standing in a popular fast food chain waiting for my order. The employee puts food on the counter and calls out my number, but before I can move, another man walks up and snatches the bag. I’m curious how this will go, so I decide to just watch and wait.

The man makes it to his seat and opens the food, immediately realizing this is not at all what he ordered. He storms back up to the counter and angrily flags down an employee.

Customer: “Excuse me, this is not what I ordered!”

Me: “Probably because that’s my order, sir.”

Customer: *Suddenly sheepish* “Oh. My bad, I guess.”

Employee: “Your food will be up in a minute… sir.”

I am interviewing for an electrical apprentice job. I’m sitting in the office next to a woman who is also going to interview for a position. An older man — I presume the owner — walks past and spends a moment looking at the woman. He then pokes his head into the office of the person doing the interviews.

Owner: “Hey, [Interviewer], if you are going to hire chicks, at least hire ones who aren’t [lesbian slur]s and have big t*ts.”

The woman got up and left, and I followed her right out the door.

I was working a job where we had to live on-site in dorms made from sticking trailers together. Being one of the rare female tradies, I shared the sole women’s trailer with a lot of the housekeeping staff, and they seemed a bit hostile, as if they owned the site and we tradies were unwelcome intruders. I like to keep to myself, anyway, so I hoped to avoid any friction with them.

One somewhat unusual thing I do to have a bit of privacy while working on a huge bustling mine site, eating in a huge bustling cafeteria, etc., is putting up the “Do Not Disturb” sign and doing my own cleaning, to have one little six-foot-by-ten-foot area that is mine and mine alone.

After I had been there a couple of weeks, one night, I was up for a midnight visit to the washroom when the cleaner for our trailer broke away from the party they always had going to appear in the washroom doorway as I tried to exit.

First, she rambled aggressively.

Cleaner: “Were you the one running up and down the hall, pounding on the doors and walls?!”

Surely I was visibly half asleep and she should have understood I hadn’t been doing a thing, but to avoid friction, I offered her the respect she felt she deserved and politely answered her questions.

Me: “No, that wasn’t me. I haven’t even heard anyone running or pounding, just the usual party noise.”

Then, she decided to find a new topic to hassle me with.

Cleaner: “Why do you keep that ‘Do Not Disturb’ tag up?”

Me: “I like my privacy. But if there’s any worry about me not doing a good enough cleaning job, I’m willing to let someone have a peek now and then, so you can rest assured I haven’t trashed my room.”

Apparently, she didn’t want supervised access, though; she wanted to be in there alone. 

She gave a big sob story about how diligent and dedicated she was and how she could barely cope with the nagging worry that dust bunnies were accumulating under my bed. It being the middle of the night, I was desperate to go back to bed, and she was blocking the bathroom exit, so finally I agreed to allow her in, just to get her off my case.

True to my word, the next day, I left the “Do Not Disturb” tag off. When I came home, I looked under the bed, since she had made such a stink about her obsession with cleaning there. And what did I see? The same old smudges from my casual weekly wipe-down with a damp paper towel, and the same old dust bunnies around the edges, where I had been careless. The bed was even made worse than I do it so that the sheet dangled down the back side of the bed into the dreaded dust bunnies. Hm.  

So, if she didn’t actually have a dust bunny fixation, what was her motive? Maybe she wanted to steal something. Maybe it was just a power thing. A month later, she spray-painted a slur on the truck of another tradie who asked her and her gang to keep it down. So, perhaps she just hated guests defying her imaginary authority. 

Every time I see a dust bunny, I think of that creepy woman with her inexplicable NEED to get inside my room. 

What did you want in there, Dust Bunny Lady?