I work at a hospital that doubles as a research institution. Since I’m on the research side, I have to involve lots of other departments, and most people with whom I work are very chill and understand that I have to beseech them for things to do my job. I’m one of those “she can go a hundred hectares on a single tank of kerosene” type of people, and I’m very on top of things, for which my coworkers value me. However, the one place where that camaraderie breaks down is with (some of) the nurses who work in my specific clinic (focusing on one particular disease).

Honestly, I’ve done a good job of making most of the nurses like me. I bring them homemade treats sometimes, and I’m always extra friendly and approbative with them. Some of them have their days regardless, and I put up with them.

Right after I first started working in that specific clinic, unfortunately, one nurse in particular decided that I was on her blacklist. [Nurse #1] hates doing work. She’s like a kid playing Xbox when their parent asks them for help with groceries. She’ll moan and groan, and if she helps at all, it’s with an angsty indignation.

I needed a series of blood tubes drawn in the clinic for a patient one morning (instead of down in phlebotomy — protocol rules — more complicated and stupid than it’s worth getting into here), and [Nurse #1] was the only nurse available. She was extremely put off by my asking her to draw this protocol kit, despite my giving advance notice to the clinic that this needed to be done. She clearly did not want to leave her computer (which was not open to anything work-related), but she begrudgingly went and drew the tubes. I unnecessarily profusely thanked her… just for doing her d*** job.

I came back down later to get a prescription signed for another patient, and I talked to [Nurse #2].

Nurse #2: “What did you do to upset [Nurse #1]? She’s been going off about you to anyone who will listen.”

I explained what had happened.

Nurse #2: “Well, [Nurse #1] is pissed at you. She also feels that your outfit is too provocative.”

I was wearing a white medical coat, a modest blouse, work pants, and high heel boots. What? I just decided to let it go and try to avoid [Nurse #1] as much as possible.

This did not work. I kept running into situations where the other nurses were busy seeing patients. I was forced to walk back into the nurse triage room — which is off-limits to patients — and ask [Nurse #1] to draw two more of these blood kits in the next month. She was never happy to see me, and she was always wasting time on her work computer when I entered the room.

Maybe two or three days after that last kit draw, my supervisor called me into her office to discuss my “presentation”. Very nicely, and with pity in her voice, she told me she’d received a report about my dress habits in patient-facing spaces. She said she personally hadn’t noticed anything — no s*** — but was obligated to discuss this with me anyhow. I assured her that I had no idea what she was talking about.

I thought about confronting [Nurse #1] but decided not to because, you know, loose cannon and whatnot. After a brief reminder of the dress code, I figured that at least it was over.

It was not over.

Two weeks later — and I hadn’t even asked anyone to draw any kits in the interim — a formal report was filed against me for my conduct in the clinic. This went to the hospital and then to my supervisor who, even after reading the report, seemed totally clueless about what it could mean. I explained what had been happening with [Nurse #1].

Supervisor: “Actually, a second person has reported this, as well, on the same day as the first report from a coworker. This time, it was a patient, who reported that you were dressed improperly for a patient-facing environment.”

Woah, woah, woah, woah! I asserted that I wasn’t, but I was nonetheless put on probation, which meant that my supervisor, against her will, now had to come with me when I saw patients in the clinic for the foreseeable future, and a nurse manager would have to accompany both of us when she was free since I was “dressing provocatively” in patient-facing spaces and that was her domain.

But as you can likely guess from her browsing habits, [Nurse #1] was not the sort of person who needed MORE supervisors in her area.

Cue malicious compliance. Fine, you want to punish me and force me to work in the eyesight of the supervisors? All right, let’s get some supervisors down here as quickly as possible.

My next in-clinic patient came in two days, and it was one of those stupid timed-in-clinic protocol kit visits, which meant I was forced to ask one of the nurses to draw the patient’s blood. I informed my supervisor, and we set off for the clinic. The nurse manager was in that day, so she accompanied the two of us.

We all went back into the triage room so that I could ask for help with the blood draw. [Nurse #1] and one other nurse were there. What we saw upon entering was the other nurse entering vital signs for a patient into our health database, and [Nurse #1]… sitting at her desk with an online clothing retailer open on one monitor and Facebook on the other.

I asked for [Nurse #1]’s help drawing the kit, and she sighed heavily and spun around… to see two higher-ups looking on with disdain at her work computer. In embarrassment, she swiveled back and closed those two tabs, which revealed — you can’t make this stuff up — a website for MARITAL AIDS that had been open in another tab, about which [Nurse #1] had clearly forgotten until now. I just smiled and handed her the bag like nothing had happened.

In the hall, my supervisor and the nurse manager were talking about [Nurse #1]’s display just now. Apparently, she had been previously been warned about goofing off at work. The nurse manager told the supervisor that she was going to check all of [Nurse #1]’s work computer activity, which I actually didn’t know any supervisor could readily access.

What followed was so incredibly beautiful that I hope it made the ending of this long, long story worth waiting for.

According to [Nurse #2], [Nurse #1]’s activity was searched. She was revealed to have been spending hours upon hours every day browsing the web, shopping, and using social media. Since she had been previously warned about this behavior, she was given a formal write-up.

But this was just the beginning. The day after the three of us went down to the clinic, my supervisor called me into her office again. She told me that [Nurse #1] had FABRICATED the patient’s complaint about me and posted it from her work computer. (How did they learn this? Oh, that’d be because she saved a draft of the message that reported me to the hospital, and she’d accessed the patient complaint/comment webpage the same day.) My supervisor sincerely apologized for the hassle and told me I was no longer on probation.

As for [Nurse #1]: apparently fearing the worst, she put her two weeks’ notice on the same day after getting wind that she was in some far more serious trouble. For reasons I will never understand as long as I live, the hospital chose to let her quit after two weeks instead of firing her on the spot. Maybe they knew what a nightmare she was and were comfortable letting her quit on her own accord. It’s not as though she was due to glean any glowing references from this experience. Maybe they just wanted some extra work; our clinic was VERY short-staffed for nurses at the time. In any case, they chose not to fire her and let her quit on her own.

A local craft store is having a sale that I’ve been looking forward to. Since I’m an early bird anyway, I arrive a few minutes before the doors open and hang out outside until an employee unlocks the doors for the day. There’s a small scattering of fellow early birds out here with me, so I am not the awkward loner stalking the store. Nine o’clock hits and the doors open.

As I’m going in, the manager is clearly finishing up a morning huddle. I’m only barely aware that people are being sent to do some tasks by name as I snag a cart to raid the sale section.

Manager: “[Employee], you’re late. Come to my office once you clock in.”

Not me, not my business, so I keep on. I put my purse in a shopping cart and clear the way for the other early shoppers while I get situated. In minutes, I’m browsing and have a few coveted items in my cart.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see an employee with a weirdly spiteful grin on her face.

Spiteful Employee: “The boss said he wanted to see you in his office.”

Me: “I think you have me confused with somebody else, ma’am. I don’t work here.”

Spiteful Employee: “If I was you, I wouldn’t play stupid little games, [Employee]. Get in the office.”

Me: “One, I don’t take orders from you. Two, I’m not playing games. You have me confused with somebody else; that’s not even my name. Three, you are about to royally piss off a customer. Go away.”

I spin on my heel and walk a few feet down the aisle to something else that caught my eye.

The next thing I know, my arm is grabbed, hard, and I am aggressively pulled down the aisle by the manager, who is hissing through his teeth that he’s sick of my antics and that I need to learn to do what I’m told.

Welp, that was his last mistake. I have said for years that my dad’s greatest act of love was making sure his little girl could protect herself.

I stumble off balance for all of two steps before I manage to brace my feet and yank backward. The manager’s grip is so painfully tight that I don’t free my arm so much as yank him unexpectedly backward off his balance.

As he’s stumbling back, I bellow in a drill sergeant’s voice.

Me: “GET YOUR MOTHERF****** HANDS OFF ME!”

Then, I kicked his feet out from under him. Since he was off balance anyway, he went down on the tiled floor. Blessedly, he lost his grip on me as he reflexively let go to try to catch himself.

I bolted to the front and told one of the cashiers to call the police, as their manager had just put his hands on me. My arm was throbbing from his grip, and it later developed a hand-shaped bruise that seemed to take forever to heal up.

I whipped out my keys, which had a canister of pepper spray attached, and stood near the front of the store where I’d have witnesses.

The cops arrived on the scene to find me in a defensive stance, the manager barely being held at bay by the threat of getting pepper spray in the eyes, and people literally yelling at the manager to back off. The manager had both fists clenched, and he was yelling at me all sorts of nonsense, including threats of physical violence, and, “You wouldn’t be so tough without that pepper spray!” (That’s hilarious to me in retrospect considering I had just dumped a 200-plus-pound man on his a** a few minutes before.) I was just repeating over and over that I didn’t work there and that he had no right to touch me even if I did.

The cops separated us — no easy feat on the manager’s end — and got the stories while also checking the security cameras.

So that no one has to ask, yes, charges were pressed, and the court date is pending.

I came out of the incident shaken and craving a metric ton of greasy and comforting food, but d*** proud of myself for taking out an attacker. The store was practically hysterical in their apologies to me, and I advised them to investigate how a violent person like that was able to get a management position in the first place.

I’m not sure about the employee I was mistaken for; I was too wound up to focus on anything but trying to gear myself down. All fighty, no flighty. So, of course, I don’t even know if someone looking like me came skidding in sideways, late to work, or if they had just quit the night before with no notice. What I do know is that, apparently, the manager had severe anger issues — no surprise — and had only held his job due to nepotism until the police got involved.

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I worked in a bakery, and this lady came in with those religious notes that are like real-life spam.

Lady: “Can I leave a stack of these by the register?”

Me: “No, I’m afraid not, ma’am.”

So, she hid them around the bakery. She left stack in each bathroom, she tucked some into menus, and some were just on the ground or on seats. As soon as one was found, we went around to throw them all away.

The second time, she was warned: “Do NOT leave any notes.” And of course, she did anyway.

The third time, she actually came in with a wig and big sunglasses. We didn’t recognize her. She left so many notes EVERYWHERE.

The fourth time, the owner threatened to call security on her if she didn’t leave immediately. She had a full meltdown.

Lady: “How am I supposed to save people if you won’t let me?! You’re going to Hell! You’re all going to Hell!”

And so on. She started knocking things off the counter, tipping chairs, and throwing menus and her stupid notes. Luckily, security was quick; she was physically dragged from the store and banned from the bakery.

When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I worked in a retail store that had a jewelry counter. A male customer in his late twenties or early thirties came in. He came up to the counter and smiled at me.

Me: “What can I help you find, sir?”

Customer: “What do you think I should be looking for?”

Me: *Confused* “Well… only you would know that. Are you looking for men’s jewelry, women’s jewelry…?”

Customer: “Whatever you think. Pick what you like.” *Winks*

At that point, I was tired of his nonsense already, but I tried to remain professional. We looked through some pieces in the men’s case, and he decided on some men’s bracelets; it was a set that had three. One blended in with the other, so I only saw two.

Me: “Just the set of two, then?”

Customer: *With a sly smile* “There are three there. Am I making you flustered?”

Me: “Um, no. You’re not. I’m in a relationship.”

Then, he asked me to show him where we kept the rugs, and I informed him that another associate would have to help him, and I went on break.

Fifteen minutes later, I got moved to a register, and guess who came to my line?

I pretended not to recognize him and he got angry.

I worked under a manager a few years ago who was awful in every sense of the word. She would throw personal belongings into the garbage — things like designer purses, coffee mugs, etc. Her excuse was that they shouldn’t be laying around in the open. I understand that, but you don’t throw people’s personal belongings away.

Once, I was off work hours and was still there, holding my thermos mug, and [Manager] came over to the reporting area and grabbed it.

Me: “I’m off the clock. Don’t touch my belongings.”

Manager: “You’re not allowed to have it here.”

She went over to the garbage with it. I grabbed the papers she had just been carrying and held them over the paper shredder.

Me: “If you throw my mug out, your important papers are going in the shredder.”

She gave me a lecture, so I told her how inappropriate her actions were. She eventually put my mug down and I grabbed it.

Me: “The next time you throw something of mine away, I’ll be billing you for it.”

[Manager] also enjoyed making our lives h***. She would add extra work onto us from previous shifts that were short-staffed, as well as add work when governing bodies would be coming in to “clean up” the area. We would tell her we didn’t have the already hilariously ridiculous time to get the impossible work done. She started suggesting we skip our breaks.

Whenever we complained that we didn’t have time to complete work, she would say:

Manager: “Oh, I never got breaks whenever I worked for forty years before getting this position.”

She’d even say things like:

Manager: “Oh, your breaks aren’t that important.”

I’m nice to people’s faces to a point, but I shouldn’t have been messed with.

I emailed the general manager of the building, as well as his assistant, a union representative, and our union president. I explained how [Manager] was treating the staff regarding our breaks and how our belongings were literally being thrown in the garbage.

Nobody responded to my email, but with the system we used, you could see everyone who saw it. So, when everyone saw it and I received no reply, I replied to the email:

Me: “Failure to respond appropriately within a week will result in this email being forwarded to the Ministry of Labour and Human Rights Board.”

I received two emails from the union. One was from the representative saying he did not agree with [Manager]’s comments. The other was from the general manager saying he would deal with the issue.

The next day, I came in for my evening shift. [Manager] was standing next to our reporting area, looking very upset. She pointed at a paper on the wall.

Manager: “[General Manager] gave me this. You are to sign off on this paper when you take your breaks. If you miss them for whatever reason, I am to pay you overtime for them.”

She then took me aside.

Manager: “I don’t understand why someone would report me for cracking jokes!”

Me: “Jokes are made when everyone laughs. When you made your ‘jokes’ about our breaks and throwing our belongings out, not even you were laughing.”

She quit three days later, stating “too much stress”.