(I have just returned part-time to the store where I used to be an assistant manager. The assistant manager who replaced me transferred from a different store. I left after a car accident had left me a paraplegic. I can do everything apart from cashier and stocking. Because of my injury being incomplete, I suffer from muscle spasms and nerve pain. On a bad day, I can’t even get out of bed, let alone sit in my wheelchair. I’ve been told to call in sick as soon as I can and there won’t be a problem. The new assistant manager knows this. This happens the first time I have to call in:)

Me: *slightly slurred speech due to medication* “Hi, its [My Name]. I’m sorry but I can’t come in today.”

Assistant Manager: “What? Just because you’re hungover, that’s no excuse to not come in. You better be here, otherwise you’re fired.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m not hungover. I’m in extreme pain and I’m having such severe muscle spasms that my legs are locked up stiff as boards. If you have a problem, talk to [Store Manager].”

(I hang up on her and call my store manager and explain. I’m told not to worry, just rest and get better. The assistant manager is given a verbal warning. The next shift I work is with the same assistant manager.)

Assistant Manager: “[My Name], I need you on register three.”

Me: “Oh, sorry, but I can’t work a register. It’s too high up.”

Assistant Manager: “God. Fine. I need you to stock [department].”

Me: “I can’t. It’s not safe.”

Assistant Manager: “What? Why the f*** not?”

Me: “Because most of the shelves are too high up for me to reach, and it would require too much bending.”

(There are plenty of other duties I can do; I’m specially trained in the photo lab and electronics department, as a door greeter, at the customer service desk, etc.)

Assistant Manager: “Well, what f****** use are you, then? I don’t understand why they’d even hire a [disabled slur] in the first place! First, you call in still drunk and give some bulls*** excuse, and then you say you can’t do anything. You’re f****** useless!”

(She says this in front of other coworkers who I have worked with before. By now I’m in tears.)

Coworker: “You can’t talk to her like that. [My Name], go to the staff room and calm down. You can work in the lab and I’ll do the register.”

Assistant Manager: “What? No. I’ve told her where she’s working. If she ‘can’t’ do it, she can go home and not bother coming back. And as for you—” *points to coworker* “—you can count this as your first warning, for talking back.”

Me: “You know what? You’re a b****. If I have to work with you, I quit. But I will be talking to [Store Manager], and you can expect to hear from my lawyer for discrimination.”

(I ignore the assistant manager and head back to the staff room, grab my bag, and head home. The store manager rings me ten minutes after I get home.)

Store Manager: “Hey, I’m sorry to do this but [Assistant Manager] said she fired you after she caught you stealing from the staff room.”

Me: “What? That’s bulls***. Don’t take my word for it, but you need to talk to [Coworkers #1, #2, or #3].”

Store Manager: “I don’t believe her. Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out and call you tomorrow.”

(The assistant manager was fired for not only discrimination, but it turns out she was stealing merchandise and money from tills, as well. I also found out from a mutual friend the reason she didn’t like me was because her son had applied for a job at the same time I came back and she blamed me for him not getting it.)

(I’m sitting on the couch while my two-year-old son wanders around like always, playing with his toys and talking to himself in his limited vocabulary. My mother-in-law is sitting on the couch next to me, and she is known for dozing off at the drop of a hat, and she has done so in the ten seconds that it took my son to wander into the next room and back.)

Son: “Nan Nan?”

Me: “She’s sleeping.”

Son: “Nan Nan sleeping?”

Me: “That’s right.”

Son: *walks up to my mother-in-law, slaps her leg, and shouts* “Wake up, Nan Nan!”

Mother-In-Law: “Wah! What is it?”

Son: *holds finger up to mouth* “Shh! Nan Nan sleeping!”

(And he then wandered off back into the other room. He’s my favourite.)

(I am chatting with friends when I notice the “best before” date on my friend’s bottle of water.)

Me: “Oh, look at that; you’re lucky to get millions-of-years-old water right before it goes out of date.”

(The man next to us bursts out laughing.)

Friend: “Huh? I only bought it today, so of course it’s in date.”

(The man laughs louder.)

Friend: *turns to man* “What’s so funny?”

Man: “Did you not hear what she said? She was talking about the age of the water… Oh, just forget it. It’s no longer funny if I have to explain it.” *shoots me a grin*

Related:
H2-Slow, Part 18
H2-Slow, Part 17
H2-Slow, Part 16

(Our AC has been broken for two years. My husband has been promising to get it repaired by an AC technician at his work, but keeps forgetting to arrange it. With the weather being hotter than usual, I resort to making an air cooler from Internet instructions. He comes home from work to find me sitting in front of the cooler with the cool air blowing on my face.)

Husband: “What are you doing? That’s never going to cool the place!” *laughs*

(I look up and glare at him before putting my face back to the tiny stream of cool air.)

Husband: *stops laughing* “Oh.” *grabs his phone and makes a call* “Hi, [Technician], I’m calling about fixing our AC. Is there any chance of getting it done soon? You should see what my wife has resorted to doing.”

(He describes what I did and how funny I look. I glare at him again.)

Husband: “Could we get it done really soon, please? I’m getting a bit scared by the way she is looking at me.”

(They had it fixed the next day.)

(I work at the main information and patient enquiries desk for a major hospital. I get asked the full range of questions, some often way out of my scope of knowledge, but I try my best to at least point people in the right direction! People often give me very few details of what they want and just assume I will read their mind. I cannot check patients in for appointments; I must direct them to the clinic they are seeing.)

Me: “Good morning! How can I help you?”

Visitor: “[Last Name].”

Me: “Is that an inpatient you’re looking for?”

Visitor: “I have an appointment. [Last Name].”

Me: “Okay, what type of specialist are you seeing?”

Visitor: “[Last Name].”

Me: “Okay, I don’t need your name, just what type of doctor you’re seeing. What’s it for? Your heart? Bones? Lungs?”

Visitor: “[Last Name].”

Visitor’s Friend: “1:30.”

Me: *to friend* “What type of specialist?”

Visitor’s Friend: “[Last Name].”

Me: *trying so very hard to remain calm* “What. Kind. Of. Doctor?”

Visitor’s Friend: “Oh! I’m not sure. Hang on; let me check the paperwork…”