We have recently hired a new employee to work exclusively with a particular client. At our company, we have a ninety-day probationary period for all new hires. Unfortunately, the new employee is not a good fit, alienates the client right from the start, and appears to have exaggerated the skills he listed on his resume. We make the tough decision to let him go before the probationary period is up.

Me: “…so, unfortunately, the client is just not happy and we don’t feel you are working out in this position. We have to let you go.”

Associate: “Wow. Okay. So, what happens now? Is this effective immediately?”

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Associate: “But like, can I still get on my computer? I have a few things to do.”

Me: “We don’t need you to do anything; we’ll take care of anything that is still in progress. You can just take your personal belongings and head out.”

Associate: “Can I get on the computer for a few minutes to delete some personal stuff?”

Me: “What kind of stuff? You’re not supposed to have anything personal on your work computer.”

Associate: “Oh… Like… paperwork and things like that. It has my social security number and personal info on it; I want to delete that.”

Me: “We hired you. The company already has that information. Anything on there will be kept secure, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Associate: “I would just feel better if you let me delete things.”

Me: “I’m going to have to go with ‘no’ on that.”

I never did find out what he had on there that he was so worried about. IT did their job and kept anything that was on there private.

For the record, I still don’t know if I’m the good or the bad guy in this story. While I’m proud of myself for finally speaking my mind, I recognize that my actions were incredibly unprofessional.

Some background is required. Several years ago, I was part of a group of friends who met at [Person #1]’s house to play board games once a week. After several months with this group, I was let in on the Big Secret: [Person #1] was cheating on his wife with [Person #2]. I was let in on this secret in order for [Person #1] and [Person #2] to be able to act like a couple in front of the group of friends away from [Person #1]’s wife and discuss their relationship without having to hide the affair around the group.

The expectation was that I would keep the Big Secret. I was incredibly uncomfortable with this arrangement; I hadn’t asked for the information and did not want it. I think affairs are horrible and I felt terrible for [Person #1]’s wife. Things went sour shortly afterward, and I ended up leaving the group feeling extremely bitter. I should point out, however, that I never gave up the Big Secret.

Fast forward to this year. I work for an internationally-known gaming convention at the front desk, and this year I am taking time cards as the convention comes to a close. With this convention, employees go by pseudonyms instead of our real names. Someone I vaguely recognize hands me their time card. He looks at me and as I start to realize who it is, he says, “Do you remember me?” Just as I figure out who he is, he says, “You used to come over to my house to play board games.”

Yes, it is [Person #1]. I reply with, “And you’re cheating on your wife.” It just flies out of my mouth before I realize what I’m saying. He grows cold, says, “Yes, I am,” and walks off.

I’ve already handed the time card to my immediate supervisor, so I ask her to rifle through the cards. She pulls one out and reads his real name, and I start cursing. I start imagining all the different kinds of trouble I’m going to get in for being so rude to a coworker. I explain everything to my supervisor, and she advises me to walk around the expo hall for the next hour to calm down. I do as she recommends, and when I come back, I talk to the manager of all of the convention employees.

I explain to the manager my shared history with [Person #1], and before I can finish telling her what happened an hour earlier, she starts laughing! She says she finds the whole thing hilarious and that she would have done the exact same thing I did. [Person #1]’s behavior is disgusting and I have nothing to worry about. What a relief!

I go back to work with a huge weight off my shoulders. Because I went right to the top, I’m safe if [Person #1] complains to his immediate supervisor. And hey, I finally got to speak my mind!

I’ve spent almost my entire adult life living in rented rooms in shared houses or flats, as was the case when I started dating a great guy. Tensions arose at home due to me dating another man, resulting in me being given minimal warning to try and find another place. Then-boyfriend and I agreed to try to find a place together, and we ended up moving into a ground floor flat with the owner and his wife.

It turned out that the owner was a bit of a control freak. He set off my C-PTSD — coupled with other, unrelated life events — and I became very isolated and afraid of him. It turned out, while he wasn’t aware of everything going on, he absolutely approved of my being intimidated by him. 

However, one day he pushed me too far and my fear evaporated and I started standing up for myself. He reacted so badly to this that we argued over a blown light bulb and he ended up giving us our notice to move out after we’d been there about two years.

This story just about sums up what a pain in the behind he was.

On the day of our leaving, we had a friend — who also rents rooms — come over, ostensibly to help, but really to be there in case things went south, between his experience and his physical presence, since he was broader and beefier than the other three people combined. Our landlord protested him being present; I was ready to stick to my guns but my friend excused himself and stood by the open window to listen.

Our landlord started pulling the furniture out from where it had stood for the entire time we’d lived there and complaining about the dust behind them. He demanded to know why we hadn’t cleaned there. I pointed out that he had expressly forbidden us from moving the furniture.

“That isn’t true,” he claimed.

It absolutely was. I reminded him of the time my boyfriend went to him to ask if we could move the room around and he flatly refused.

“That never happened.”

I pointed out that there were even labels stuck to the furniture saying not to move them.

“That’s not true.”

Of course, it was true! I went over to a piece of furniture and pointed to the label, exclaiming that it was right there!

He rolled his eyes, muttered, “Typical,” and instead started pulling out the drawers to make sure they were all empty.

When he left the room, my friend poked his head through the window. He had been just about crying trying not to laugh loud enough to be heard, and he said that he thought I’d been exaggerating how much of a pain the landlord was. 

NOPE! Not at all. This story is one single perfect example of just how he was.

My boyfriend and I had decided how much of our deposit we’d be willing to say goodbye to, just to be rid of him; we said he should take the last couple of week’s rent out of it. We got a little more than our minimum back and off we went.

In the years since, we’ve gotten married, we’ve stayed close friends with the friend who was there, and my mental health has enormously improved.

I just pity his wife, who was as lovely as our landlord was petty and controlling.

I am driving to work one morning and get stuck in traffic near the interstate exit lane. The lady behind me tries to switch lanes but hits my rear bumper. I get out and inspect the damage. There’s enough to justify exchanging insurance information. The lady who hit me gets out.

Lady: “Don’t call the cops!”

Me: “I need a police report for my insurance.”

In retrospect, I smelled alcohol, but the accident plus the rush-hour traffic have me more focused on exchanging information without getting killed than putting two and two together.

Lady: “Don’t call the cops! I’ll pay for the damage!”

Me: “Lady, I don’t know you from Adam. I can’t take your word for it.”

Lady: “I swear on my kid’s lives, I’ll pay for the damage! Please don’t call the cops!”

The police roll up without me having to call them because, you know, it’s rush hour and a huge line of traffic is conspicuous.

Policeman #1: “Please return to your cars.”

I get in my car and watch the following unfold via my rearview mirror: [Policeman #1] talks to [Lady]. He makes a call on his walkie-talkie. Another police car rolls up. So far, I don’t think anything strange is going on. 

Then, an unmarked police car rolls up. Then, a second unmarked car rolls up and a policewoman gets out. All the while, a lot of talking is going on with [Lady]. The policewoman handcuffs [Lady]. [Policeman #1] walks up to my car. After checking my license and registration:

Policeman #1: “You’re good to go. You can pick up the police report tomorrow after 9:00 at the downtown office.”

Me: “Oh, uh… Will that have her insurance information in it?”

Policeman #1: “She doesn’t have insurance.”

Me: “You’re kidding.”

Policeman #1: “No. She doesn’t have insurance. She just got off her shift at [Bar]. She’s driving on an expired license. In her mother’s car. Which has an expired plate and registration. That, plus she’s DUI, means she’s going to jail.”

Me: “So… I guess my insurance will have to cover this one.”

Policeman #1: “Yep.”

I end up going to her court date. I am still mad that someone could be that irresponsible. I am told to meet with the prosecutor and let him know I am there and why. I walk into an eight-by-ten office packed floor to ceiling with paperwork. There are at least four other guys in that office all working furiously.

A very haggard-looking attorney looks up at me and says, with a sigh:

Attorney: “Can I help you?”

I explain why I’m there, and he gets a puzzled look on his face, which I like to interpret as “Huh, an actual concerned citizen,” but could also be “What a dufus; I’m busy.”

Attorney: “You can go. We don’t need your testimony. She’s got some other stuff going on. She’s going to jail for a while.”

I’m a teacher and I have a dog, an eleven-year-old border collie. At my old school, I am allowed to bring him once a week for an after-school club for the younger students, who loved learning about how to raise and take care of a dog, teach him tricks, etc.

For my new job, I had to move to a different city. Luckily, we found an apartment just at the outskirts of the city, in a more suburban area that is surrounded by nature. On weekends and holidays, my dog and I often see families with younger children on our walks. Sometimes the children, especially the smaller ones, want to stop and pet my dog. I allow it if their parents are fine with it and the kids are not too wild, as my dog is very gentle, mild-mannered, and used to children and doesn’t mind the extra attention.

It’s a nice, sunny Saturday afternoon and I am taking my dog for a walk. We are outside of the city’s boundaries where dog owners are not required to leash their dogs and, as my dog is well-trained, he is off-leash. 

We are on a narrow road between two fields and he is a few meters ahead of me checking out an interesting spot. I see a woman with a small child, maybe two or two and a half, approaching. The mother is completely absorbed with her smartphone and doesn’t pay attention to the child, who is happily wobbling along the narrow road.

I immediately call my dog and he turns around and comes to walk by my side as we get closer to the mother and her child. Suddenly, the child notices my dog and, with excitement all over his face, starts stomping towards us as fast as his little feet allow him to. I tell my dog to sit because I don’t want him to accidentally bump into the child while moving, causing the little one to fall down. I try to get the mother’s attention as she still hasn’t noticed that her child is rushing to greet a stranger’s dog.  

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am… Hello? Your child is approaching me and my dog. Ma’am?”

The mother still doesn’t look up from her phone. Her child has now reached us and, unable to evade, I try to get his attention.

Me: “Hey there, buddy! Do you like dogs? If you’d like to pet him, we have to ask your mother for permission first.”

The child just utters some excited gibberish and attempts to pet my dog. Unfortunately, he is kind of uncoordinated and rough and ends up basically slapping my dog in the face. I politely explain to him that he has to be more gentle while at the same time looking at his mother and trying to get her attention.

Finally, the mother manages to get her eyes off her phone and looks up to find her child now trying to hug my dog. 

Woman: *Yelling* “[Child], do not touch that dog! Get away from that dog now! Do not touch him!”

She turns to me, still yelling.

Woman: “What are you doing?! Get your dog away from my child! Now! Get him off my child! He is attacking my child!”

At a loss for words, I turn around to see the child clinging onto my dog with both arms around his neck, looking at his mother in shock. My dog, also starting to get upset, has started panting, but otherwise hasn’t moved even the slightest bit. 

Me: “Ma’am, I assure you, my dog has not and will not harm your child. If you could just tell your child to let go of him—”

Woman: “GET HIM AWAY FROM MY CHILD OR I WILL CALL THE POLICE! HELP! THIS DOG IS ATTACKING MY BABY!” 

I try to speak to her a few more times, but to no avail. She just keeps screaming at the top of her lungs while standing in front of us. Since I can’t seem to get her to calm down and I am worried that my dog might try to get away from the screaming woman, causing the child to fall and get hurt, I turn to the child, who is now crying, to gently pry his little arms from my dog’s neck.

I’m trying to stay calm to not further upset my dog and the child.

Me: “Hey, buddy, [Dog] and I have to leave now, so you have to let go of him.”

Woman: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? DO NOT TOUCH MY BABY! SOMEBODY HELP! SHE IS HURTING MY BABY! SOMEONE CALL THE POLICE! WE ARE BEING ATTACKED BY THIS WOMAN AND HER DOG!”

I just want to get away from the crazy as soon as possible, so without saying anything else, my dog and I quickly walk away as fast as we can. A bit further down the road, we meet a family of four with two young children — kindergarten- to primary-school-age — who appear to have witnessed the whole thing. I’m still a bit shaken and my dog is still visibly nervous. 

Father: “What the h*** was that all about?”

Me: *With a shaky voice* “I have no idea. My dog didn’t do anything. The child approached him and then the mother just went ballistic.”

Mother: “Yes, we saw everything. Don’t worry; you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s amazing how calm your dog was during the whole thing.”

My dog, who actually was very upset, was now whining and we could see him shake a bit. He clearly just wanted to get away as far as possible from the woman down the road who was still yelling at the top of her lungs. Her child was now sitting in the middle of the road bawling his eyes out.

The nice couple told me to go home as they would take care of the situation and call the police if she didn’t calm down soon. We quickly exchanged our contact information in case the authorities had to get involved. Their youngest child told my dog not to worry about the “mean lady.”

My dog and I hurried home where he got an extra-large chewy snack and plenty of belly rubs to calm down.