Fifteen years ago when I was starting my career as a graphic designer, I was hired part-time by a small design agency. By “small” I mean that it was just the owner, a senior designer, and me. The salary was not high, but I was happy because it was really close to where I lived and I was building a real portfolio, apart from what I had made in design school.

One day, the owner asked me to make a logo for her husband’s company. She told me, really excitedly and proudly, that I would receive my first commission for doing the logo. She offered to pay 10% of the logo selling price. At the time, we sold logos for $150, so I was expecting to get about $15 as a commission. (I don’t live in America; this is converted to US dollars).

I designed a logo, and both my boss and her husband liked it. Everyone was happy… until I got my commission.

She added $1.50 to my paycheque.

Me: “Hey, I think you made a typo; you only paid me $1.50 for my commission.”

Client: “Oh, no, that’s right.”

Me: “So, you’re saying you sold my logo… for $15?”

Client: “Well, he is my husband. I gave him a discount!”

She smiled like she was really teaching me something. And I guess she was: to always negotiate in advance and never trust a client.

Later, I learned that the senior designer left when the owner pulled the same move, asking them to design a cookbook for “a friend”.

I work in a hotel. We have a full-time auditor who works strictly Sunday through Thursday nights. He steadfastly refuses to work Friday and Saturday. He’s retired Air Force and makes sure everyone he meets is aware of this. He never saw combat and never was in harm’s way. He was in administration or something of that nature. I digress.

The relief auditor works audit Friday and Saturday, and he comes back on Sunday from 3:00 to 11:00. Days off are Wednesday and Thursday.

Last year, [Relief Auditor] was looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with his family who live on the opposite coast. At the last minute, [Full-Time Auditor] insisted that he needed it off and practically bullied [Relief Auditor] into working.

Well, [Relief Auditor] decided to wait until this year to have Thanksgiving with his family. Sadly, his mother passed away in May. He also learned in September that his father has stage four inoperable lung cancer.

Unbelievably, again, [Full-Time Auditor] told [Relief Auditor] last week that his kids were flying in for Thanksgiving and he needed him to cover. [Relief Auditor] told him he would not.

He is rightfully resentful over last year and told the general manager that he was not going to work this year. [General Manager] approved and told him he’d take care of it, not to worry.

When [Relief Auditor] came in for the second shift, he was apprehensive about [Full-Time Auditor]. We were surprised to see [General Manager] come in to do audit.

Apparently, [Full-Time Auditor] told [General Manager] that he wanted off Thanksgiving. [General Manager] pointed out that he had used up his paid time off and reminded him of last year. He then told [General Manager] that he would quit if he didn’t get it off. [General Manager] told him goodbye.

I’m glad our [General Manager] stands up for principles!

I used to work at the front desk at a furniture store. This was a horrible job, and if I’d been thinking about it, I could have actually gotten a lovely Labor & Industries settlement when I left, but I was young enough that when I got a new job, I just left as fast as possible. It took me about a year and a half, but I finally managed to get that new job. 

Even though the furniture store was a nightmare and a half, I was also nice enough (or naive enough?) to still want to give them notice. So, I got the new job, signed all the paperwork, and asked them to give me some time so I could give my current job notice. I kind of liked the irony of the fact that I handed my resignation in on a day that was supposed to be my day off, but my manager was forcing me in to watch a demonstration of some new furniture.

This presentation was before the store was opened, so my manager thought it was fine to tell me to get up early on my day off and come in. She was willing to let me come in in whatever street clothes I wanted, but asking to be paid for it was like asking her to give me a kidney.

Anyway, I walked in and headed up to where she was waiting at the front desk.

Me: “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Manager: “Sure.”

We went back to the office, and I pulled out my letter.

Manager: “Oh, no.”

Me: “So, I got a new job. I leave in two weeks.”

Manager: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yep. [Date] is my last day.”

She gave a heavy, put-upon sigh because she wouldn’t be able to blame me for her not paying vendors anymore.

Manager: “Okay. Well, I guess if you’re leaving, you don’t have to stay for this demo, either.”

Me: “Great. See you Thursday.”

And I walked out. While I was upset at not being able to sleep in, by this point, I was awake enough that going home and back to bed was out of the question. So, I ended up swinging by my mom’s work, having lunch with her, and having a mini-celebration for breaking out of the store.

Sometimes I wonder if they’re even still in business, but I haven’t been bored enough to actually check.

When I was eighteen, my parents came into the cafe where I worked to tell me that my dog (sixteen years old) had to be put down ASAP. They organised for me to have a break to say goodbye and be there while she passed.

Boss: “I need you to come back right after. We’re short-staffed!”

I came back. I was sobbing serving people, trying to make coffees, and begging for the rest of the day off when [Boss] loudly stated:

Boss: “It was just a d*** dog!”

Several people got up and left after giving me their condolences. One of them (a regular) made a comment to [Boss] on the way out.

Regular: “There don’t seem to be many people to serve now.”

[Boss] still didn’t get the hint.

I make a pit stop on a road trip for gas and a quick bathroom break, and I discover that I unexpectedly have my period. Luckily, the store has a small section of sanitary items, and I’m able to pick some up when I pay for my fuel. The cashier, a young woman, hesitates when ringing up my purchase.

Cashier: “Uh. Um. I— If I give you a discount on your purchase, can I have one of your pads?”

Me: “Oh! Of course! Sure, that’s no problem.”

Cashier: *Visibly relieved* “Thank you. It was a surprise, and we don’t have anything for employees. Thank you so much.”

Me: “You’d think the store would let you charge them to the store or something, at the very least.”

Cashier: “No, we have to buy them in situations like this. I’ve bought a roll of toilet paper for the bathroom before because it was out, and I couldn’t justify the price of the mini-pack of pads. I don’t even make that much in an hour.”

I turned around and bought two more packs, and I told her to keep them in her locker for others who might need them. When my kids hit menstruating age, I made period kits for them to carry around — with lots of extras for anyone who needs them.