I work cash in an office supplies store. Back-to-school is in full swing and, unfortunately, not only do we have a bunch of sick calls, but we also have a problem with the main cash by the door, so we’ve piled a flyer stand, baskets, and other things on the counter so people know not to go there.

I’m about six feet away cashing people through the second till with my back to the first till. 

It’s super busy, with a never-ending line, and I’m the only cashier on staff. Suddenly, I hear a woman speak behind me. 

Woman: “Excuse me. Can I get some service, please?”

Me: *Turns around* “Oh, sorry, ma’am. The line is actually over here at this till!”

The woman has moved all the piles of things at the broken till and has started unloading her cart full of items onto the counter at this point.

Woman: “Well, how am I supposed to know?! Where’s the sign!?”

Me: “We aren’t allowed to put up unofficial signs, but that’s why the pile of stuff was there blocking it and why I’m at this till.”

Woman: “Sure, it was piled here.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, it was blocked. Someone must have moved it.”

Woman: “Are you implying it was me?!”

Me: “Of course not. I’m just saying I don’t know who moved it.”

Woman: “Okay, well, I don’t want to come over there so you will just have to take my stuff over there and go back and forth.”

She looks smug as if she has just defeated me.

Me: “Certainly, but my first priority is the nice folks in line. Once it’s cleared, I will definitely do that for you.”

I know full well that the line is endless as, at this point, it’s halfway through the store, but having to go back and forth would take longer with all the items she has, and it isn’t fair to the ones who have been waiting long enough already.

After about five minutes, she sighs and finally gets in line. She is next in line just as a coworker comes over to cover my lunch.

Woman: “Um, excuse me! You can’t refuse to serve me!”

Me: “Sorry?”

Woman: “What, is it because I’m black? You refused to serve me at that till and now you don’t want to. Are you racist or lazy? Either way, you clearly shouldn’t work here!”

The lady was getting so worked up and I just froze, not knowing what to say. After screaming and holding up the line again, she left.

A manager came up and asked what happened and I explained. He said we would have to go back together to review my conduct on the surveillance tapes, which I was fine with. It turns out she did move the items blocking the till, and I was obviously cleared of any misconduct.

I had a fairly late call from security letting me know of a guest they busted smoking in the stairwell. This is a 300-room hotel with ten stories. The guest had been found actively smoking a cigarette on the third-floor landing of the fire escape. There were pictures documenting the incident, and the entire stairway smelled of smoke. The guest owned up to it but wanted to speak with a manager first thing in the morning.

After some review, I found that the guest was with a conference connected to a disorder that caused massive allergies. It was mostly young families trying to cope with and drive research for a cure. Mostly kids are affected, and they literally have to eat special food through a tube because they are so allergic to literally everything.

The guest decided that it was too cold — fifty degrees Fahrenheit — to bother following the state law of smoking outside and smoked in the stairway. So much for the sick kids they put at risk. 

I confronted the guest in the morning and asked why they would put so many families at risk as well as break state law, and the response I got was that the guest smoking in the stairwell causing a fire risk and allergy issue was a retired firefighter and police officer.

When confronted with the danger he put the entire hotel and the very sick families in, his excuse was that he wasn’t affecting his wife who had the illness. The guest proceeded to spit-scream in my face that I wasn’t a firefighter and he was, and therefore, he should be able to smoke where he pleased.

Funnily enough, he changed his tone after I explained the issues and danger to the organizer of the conference.

Related:
Where There’s Smoke…

I have an incredibly hard to find bra size — 34JJ — and grew up in a city that, for many years, had no options available for larger cup sizes.

When I have just finished university, I desperately need some new togs — swimwear — and I need them to be supportive. I go into a local combination bra and swimwear shop and start browsing. An enthusiastic saleswoman approaches.

Saleswoman: “Hi! Can I help at all?”

Me: “I think I’m okay. You don’t appear to have my cup size so I’m just looking for a swim shirt.”

Saleswoman: “Oh, but we go up to a G cup in a few styles!”

Me: “I’m a 34JJ cup, but I promise I’m happy browsing.”

Saleswoman: “Oh, no, I’m sure we have something that will fit you. Here—”

The saleswoman shuffles me off to the dressing room. At the time I was less confident than now and was very shy about clothes shopping, so I didn’t manage to say no before she’d pulled the curtain behind me.

Saleswoman: “Now, I’ll be back in one moment for some things for you to try!”

Within twenty seconds she is back.

Saleswoman: “I just went up a few sizes at the back; I’m sure it will fit!”

She thrusts a size 42F bikini top into my hands and pulls the curtains shut.

Saleswoman: “Just try it on!”

Me: “But I know this won’t fit.”

Saleswoman: “Of course, it will! Try it on and let me see.”

I pull aside the curtain and attempt to leave only to find that she is actually blocking my exit from the changing area.

Me: “I really want to go now.”

Saleswoman: “Just humour me; I think you’ll be surprised!”

I try it on. The fit is horrific.

Me: “It doesn’t fit.”

Without warning, the saleswoman pulls open the curtain and steps in to start pulling at it.

Saleswoman: “It’s not too bad, if you just tighten this here and here.”

Me: “It doesn’t fit. The cups are way too small and there’s no support at the back.”

Saleswoman: “Just let me grab some other options.”

She then leaves, and before I can finish getting changed, she has come back, another three or four sets of bikini tops in hand.

Saleswoman: “Don’t worry! We’ll find something, I promise!”

Me: “No, it’s fine; nothing here is going to fit.”

Saleswoman: “Now, now, I know what I’m talking about.”

And she refuses. To let. Me leave. She keeps blocking the doorway and touching me without asking, and she makes me try on several more swimwear sets until finally I snap and start to cry.

Me: *Crying* “Please, enough. Nothing fits and I just want to go.”

Saleswoman: *Suddenly cold* “Well, you’re never going to find something that fits with that attitude. I just have a few more here; they’re a slightly different style that I think will work—”

Me: “No! I just want to go!”

Saleswoman: “There’s no need to be so rude about it. I’m just trying to help.”

Seriously, lady. I don’t know if she got paid commission, but it took me more than a year to finally work up the courage to shop for swimwear again, and I never went back to that store.

On Fridays, I do doubles. So, I open the restaurant at 10:45 am and find out I’m also the closer. We close at midnight. I do three doubles a week, so I’m used to it.

I get a six-top of women at nine pm, several of them wearing attire representing a particular political figure. I get them all cocktails, appetizers, entrees, and more drinks all without a hitch. One of the ladies stops me at my point-of-sale station and asks if we do anything special for birthdays. We don’t, but I offer dessert and she orders fried Oreos and ice cream.

I rummage around the kitchen and find birthday candles and light them and deliver the desserts to the table with happy birthday wishes along with plates and spoons. I go by a few minutes later to see if they need more drinks when one of the women aggressively shows me a dessert plate that has a teeny-tiny speck of food on it. Granted, it does look less than clean, and I profusely apologize and let them know I’ll bring a clean plate. She really tears into me.

Woman: “This is appalling. This is the worst dining experience we’ve ever had! I need to see your manager.”

I get my manager and she goes over for more abuse. She comps an entree and the dessert. I drop the bill off, explain the discount, and offer my sincerest apologies. They stick around for another hour or so and then they all head out the front door.

Me: “Thanks for coming in. Goodnight!”

Woman: *Shouting* “You c***!”

And she left. I went to pick up the bill and, of course, they’d stiffed me — no tip on a $200 tab. Wow. Here’s the thing industry people don’t know. If you stiff me, I still have to tip out the bar, the hostess, the expo, and the busser, and I make less than minimum wage.

To all my industry peeps: stay safe and keep your head up. I love you and appreciate all you do!

I work in a fast-paced healthcare environment where every minute counts and I have both male and female coworkers on my shift.

We have lockers with opaque doors where we’re allowed to store our things. When I’m in the office area, I leave mine unlocked for easy access and I’ve started keeping a box of tampons in my locker. I’ve told my female coworkers that if they’re in a hurry and need a tampon, they’re welcome to just open my locker (when it’s unlocked and I’m in the office) and take one, no problem.

I get called into my boss’s office one day because a male coworker of mine complained that me keeping tampons in my locker was “disgusting” and he hated that he could see the box whenever my locker was opened. My boss is also a man.

Boss: “Some men are really sensitive to this type of thing. You should try hiding them in a different type of box, so you won’t offend your coworkers.”

Me: “What’s the point in that? My coworkers would see someone reaching into a cracker box or a Pop Tart box and taking out a tampon instead of food, anyway.”

Boss: *Huffy* “It’s for the best. You just need to do it.”

Well, fine.

I made a cover for my tampon box that said, “Mother Earth’s Bloody Nutrients Bars: with extra gooey, nutritious filling!” with a photo of a bloody bathtub, and I placed it on the box.

That was two days ago, and I saw the male coworker open my locker, trying to be sneaky. He paled when he read the box and got all angry, and I received an email from my boss soon after that my cover “wasn’t funny” and that I needed to take it down.

So, I emailed our HR person a copy of the email, as well as a summary of what had happened and photos of the lockers, the box, and the cover. I also suggested that the male coworker sit somewhere where he didn’t have a direct line of sight to my locker if it really offended him so much. She thought it was freaking hilarious and said I had “followed my supervisor’s instructions” and so I was fine.

I’m mostly angry that my time was spent on something as stupid as this and not on patient work. I’ve continued to document everything and am encouraging my coworkers, male and female, to do the same. HR is now in the loop, and they have had multiple people come forward with complaints about our male coworker and our boss, so they’re doing some investigating. Hopefully, things will change.