Back many years ago when I was not old, I was a stay-at-home mom. I occasionally worked for my uncle at one of his bars/restaurants when he needed some extra help.

I was filling in as a waitress at a downtown establishment on Saint Patrick’s Day. It was located close to the courthouse, so it was frequented by local officials and quite a few attorneys. It was around noon, and one table of gentlemen had already been celebrating their Irish heritage for a while when I started serving them.

One particular patron was inappropriate from the beginning, both verbally and physically. He thought he was hilarious and irresistible. Remember, this was long before “Me Too” and we just ignored idiots up to a point.

After about forty minutes of this banter, a member of his party who knew my family told him to knock it off because I was [Uncle]’s niece. Immediately, this drunken attorney became my apologetic shadow. He followed me around telling me he was sorry and begging me to not tell [Uncle].

I finally put down my tray and responded within earshot of his colleagues.

Me: “Your behavior isn’t wrong only because you know my family. Every woman in the service industry has a family. Just because you aren’t acquainted with them, it does not mean they have to put up with your harassment!”

He grabbed his coat and left, red-faced, after leaving a decent tip.

I work at a halfway house, where girls live while trying to get back on their feet after jail/prison terms, getting sober, etc. Many of them have been through h***, and the first jobs they get are often pretty bad; the managers know they are desperate and take advantage. 

A call comes in and I take it. I give my usual greeting, which this guy doesn’t listen to. 

I have to yank the phone away from my ear as this guy just starts screaming at me. He’s telling me that I’m late and I’d better get my a** in to work right f****** now. There’s lots of profanity, but nothing I haven’t heard before. He would impress me at least a little bit if he had more than four swears in his lexicon.

Finally, he stops to breathe.

Me: *Perfectly calm* “Sir, this is a halfway house. Forty-eight women live here. Would you like to tell me who you are after?”

There is a beat of silence before I get a sheepish, half-mumbled name.

I get the girl in question, and we sort out what happened with the manager on the phone. It turns out that someone traded shifts with her, and the manager approved it. She worked their shift, but the person who traded didn’t show up for hers. 

I make it clear (to both the girl and her boss) that it’s not her responsibility to cover a shift that someone else was supposed to take. The manager is still clearly furious and only barely holding back because I am there and I don’t have to take his crap.

Me: *To the girl* “Now, tell him that you are quitting, effective immediately, and you won’t be in tomorrow. I don’t want you working where they treat you like that.”

What happened next was what can only be described as a nuclear meltdown. The manager flipped out so badly that he wasn’t even using words anymore, and he screamed so loudly that he overwhelmed the phone’s ability to transmit; I actually heard static noise overlapping his voice.

I hung up on him mid-scream.

As the girl sat in my office, shaking, I made a few phone calls to tidy up our end, one of which was a formal complaint about the manager. I also made sure that she wasn’t going to be in trouble for quitting so abruptly.

We had a talk about job boundaries, and I impressed upon her that she was fully allowed to quit in situations like this, that she was here for a chance to succeed, and that no one could reasonably expect her to flourish in abusive environments. I suspect this was the first time someone gave enough of a crap to tell her that.

Her new job is much better for her mental health.

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I’m a female programmer. On my first day on the job, my trainer told me:

Trainer: “If you have any questions, sext me on Slack.”

Me: “Surely you mean ‘text you’, right?”

Trainer: “No. Sext me.”

Me: “I might be confused. What do you mean by ‘sext you’?”

I know d*** well what a “sext” is, but I just wanted to see how deep the ditch went.

Trainer: “Flash me some breasts or something. It’ll get my attention nice and quick.”

Me: “…”

So, I went to Human Resources about it. I was reassigned to another trainer, and the guy blamed me for causing him to miss out on a raise and threatened me, which I reported AGAIN, which finally got him fired.

CONTENT WARNING: Animal Abuse, Death

For about three years, I have been running a very small reptile rescue. It’s out of my home, and I meet people in public places when taking in or rehoming animals. I have rehomed over thirty animals since I started rescuing. I also own fourteen reptiles that I haven’t been able to get rehomed, most of which have disabilities. It’s hard work and can be costly, but in my small town, there are no other animal rescues that will take in reptiles. I have a website set up with information, adoption applications, and a section where you can message me if you want to surrender an animal. I check this daily.

One day, at 2:00 am, I get a message that nearly gives me a heart attack.

Message: “Hello! My eight-year-old son loooves reptiles! So much that he made us buy him more, and more, and more. Now, we have way too many of the d*** things because they keep breeding. I can’t keep count. I have at least three baby ball pythons, the mama, the daddy, three leopard geckos, and two crested geckos with, like, six babies. Oh! And the bearded dragon. We got him from [Pet Store Chain], but he’s so d*** mean. My husband is going to throw ‘em in the river if someone doesn’t take ‘em, so we can meet tomorrow at noon at [Location]. K?”

I’m pretty horrified, but I don’t want to scare her off, so I simply give a generic reply confirming the meeting. I spend all night preparing a small rack system for the baby crested geckos and baby ball pythons, as well as setting up a forty-gallon for each adult and twenty-gallon for each adult gecko, of course turning them on their sides for the cresteds. By the time I’ve set up everything, it’s 6:00. I barely get any sleep and arrive at the meeting place thirty minutes early. The woman arrives thirty minutes late. She drives a very expensive car and is very well-dressed.

As the woman gets out of her car, she says to the child in the backseat:

Woman: “Sorry, hun! We’ll buy you that parrot you said was sooo pretty online!” *To me* “Okay, the cages are in the back. I’ll pop the trunk and you take them.”

I quietly listen to her, simply wanting to get these animals out of this situation. I… have no words for what I see when I get to the trunk. Two tanks. That’s it. Each is crammed full of reptiles. Each tank is twenty gallons. I’m horrified. I simply grab the tanks, put them in my car, thank the woman, and drive home as quickly as I can without killing anyone.

Once I get home, I assess each cage. One twenty-gallon has an adult bearded dragon with a very infected eye and a ball python with seven babies, four of which aren’t moving. In the second are five baby crested geckos, one of which is mangled, four leopard geckos, and two adult crested geckos, both of which are, understandably, missing their tails.

All of the animals have missing scales and scars from fighting, one of the leopard geckos is missing a foot, and the babies all look sick. Every leopard gecko is missing toes and all of them seem to have stuck shed. I quickly move them to their new homes. Three of the ball pythons which aren’t moving are dead and partially eaten. A leopard gecko is missing a tail. There is one tiny hide in each cage and a very small water bowl, as well as a large number of crickets and pellets, most of which are dead.

I feed all of the animals, remove the stuck shed, and make an appointment for the vet tomorrow for the worst of them; I will take the healthy ones the next day. When I wake up, two more of the baby crested geckos are dead, as well as the leopard gecko with a missing tail.

I rush the worst ones to the vet. No emergency animal hospitals within several hours of me will take reptiles. In the end, the bearded dragon has his eye removed, and I manage to nurse the rest of the animals back to health.

I rehome most of the animals and keep the ones I can’t: the bearded dragon, leopard gecko without a foot, a baby crested gecko that ended up losing his tail, the adult female crested gecko, and the female ball python. I upgrade all of the animals to bigger cages and give them the best life possible.

The bearded dragon ends up being the sweetest one I’ve ever met. It costs me a huge amount to nurse the animals back to health and rehome them, but I don’t regret it. I’m only horrified that someone would do that to an animal, and I hope to never see something like this again.

CONTENT WARNING: Mention Of Death

I am folding some clothes near the checkouts. A customer and her daughter, probably mid-twenties or so, are checking out some dresses.

Cashier: “Oh, hey, [Customer]!”

Customer: “Oh, [Cashier]! I forgot you worked here! How’ve you been?”

Cashier: “Getting by. It’s been tough, so—”

Customer’s Mother: *Interrupting and pushy* “Yes, yes, it must be tough being you. Ring us up, please. We’re busy.”

Cashier: “Of… of course, ma’am.”

Customer: “Mom! There’s no need to be so rude!”

Customer’s Mother: “We found your dress for the rehearsal dinner, but we still need to get you measured for the bridesmaid’s dress! There’s so much to do, and we haven’t the time for chit-chat!”

The customer’s mother then looks down at the cashier.

Customer’s Mother: “Not that this one would understand. Not like anyone’s marrying her.”

The cashier stops dead in her tracks, slowly puts the clothing down, stands up, and runs out to the back.

Customer: “Mom! She heard you! The whole store heard you!”

Customer’s Mother: “Well, maybe it’s good that she hears it. Tough love worked on you, and now you’re—”

Customer: “Shut up! She is my friend, and her husband died last year! You just insulted a widow!”

Customer’s Mother: “How was I supposed to know?”

Customer: “Exactly, Mom! You don’t! So shut your mouth! That’s it. I’m done shopping with you! Don’t be surprised if you’re no longer welcome to the wedding!”

The daughter stormed out, leaving behind the clothes. The mother looked about aimlessly for a moment and then just kind of… vaguely sauntered out.

I checked in on the cashier, and I found out later that she’d quit. She came back to work thinking she could handle retail and bereavement, but customers are just too spiteful for that. I wish her the best.

I also hope that mother didn’t get anywhere near that wedding!