I work in a small restaurant in South Dakota. The place is profitable — barely — but the building is old and in poor repair.

One day, the fire extinguisher falls out of its designated slot in the wall overnight. We find it on the floor in the morning. The manager grumbles and puts it back in place, only for it to immediately fall out again.

Inspection shows that the bits that are supposed to hold the extinguisher in place are bent and broken. Grumbling some more, the manager fetches some duct tape and tapes it back into place.

I attempt to point out that’s probably a bad idea and almost certainly is not compliant with local safety regulations, but the manager says it’s just temporary until he can get someone out to fix it.

As you can probably predict, no one ever comes out to fix it. Eventually, the tape wears out, and the extinguisher falls again. The manager replaces the tape.

Over the course of about five years, this happens three times. Finally, during a business rush, a waiter accidentally bumps the extinguisher, knocking it down, and it explodes.

White powder goes flying everywhere. It fills up the kitchen. It fills up the dining area. We’re all coughing and choking on the powder. One of the cooks steadies himself against the grill, burning the skin on his hand badly. I’m not entirely sure how he is able to hold on to the grill for such a long period of time while in so much pain, but he basically burns completely through the skin on the palm of his hand.

We have to shut down for the day to clean up, which becomes three days, which becomes a week. Then, the owners announce that they are closing for good.

All because of one idiot decision about a fire extinguisher.

I am one of two women in a job with an otherwise-male staff. Though I expected that to make things troublesome, the work environment is actually quite pleasant. However, there are some coworkers who are a problem — they are a problem to EVERYONE — and there is exactly one instance when my gender actually causes an altercation.

I go to the bathroom at one point during the day and come back to find [Coworker] standing at my desk, looking annoyed.

Coworker: “Where were you?”

Me: “Sorry, I was in the bathroom. Did you need something?”

[Coworker] glares at me but focuses on the task he needed me for and leaves.

As the day is winding down, I am called into [Manager]’s office to find [Coworker] already there, looking upset.

Manager: “[My Name], sorry to keep you. [Coworker] tells me that you were slacking off shortly after lunch. Care to tell your side?”

Me: “Shortly after lunch… You mean when I was in the bathroom?” *To [Coworker]* “I told you I was in the bathroom!”

Coworker: “There’s no reason you’d have to be in the bathroom!”

Me: “It was right after lunch! I had to take a s***!”

Coworker: “Women don’t have to s***!”

There is silence in the room for a long while. [Manager] and I trade looks of befuddlement, both of us trying to understand what [Coworker] has just said.

Manager: “…[My Name], you can leave now.”

I left the office as [Coworker] started speaking to [Manager] again, trying to imagine what kind of life he must have lived to be a grown man who thought that women don’t need to s***.

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I am in charge of my school’s social media account. The principal insists that he must approve every photo I post to the account. He emails me one day.

Principal: “You recently posted pictures of [Event] without my approval.”

Me: “You emailed me those pictures and told me to post them.”

Principal: “You still need to get my approval.”

He’d forgotten he was the one who sent me the pictures but didn’t want to admit it. So, from then on, every time he sent me pictures to post, I’d immediately send them right back asking if I could post them.

There was a locally-owned hardware store close to where I worked. This place had the most amazing selection of fasteners — nuts, bolts, screws, etc. — down to M2 Allen screws, the kind of stuff you’d never find at a big box store. Everything was always in its place; you would never see a bag of M3x5 screws in the M3x8 slot. It was heaven for a tinkerer like me.

One evening, I complimented the manager on how immaculate the section always was, and she started laughing.

She told me that section used to be a mess, but one day, everything was in the right spots, but none of the employees would take credit. They all hated having to organize the section, and she couldn’t blame them. Everyone was confused, and they started joking about being visited by the “Bolt Fairy”.

A couple of days later, she noticed a teen boy intently looking through one of the drawers, and then he moved a few bags around and closed it. She realized she was witnessing the “Bolt Fairy” in action. He noticed he was being watched, so he muttered a timid apology and started to leave. The manager stopped him.

Manager: “Don’t be sorry, but I can’t have you working here unless you work here. Can you come back later with your mom or dad?”

Boy: *Shyly* “Okay.” *Leaves*

About an hour later, he came back with his mom. The mom was looking apprehensive and apologetic, the teen looked like he knew he was about to be in big trouble.

Mom: “[Boy] is autistic, and he loves organizing things. He doesn’t get stressed about things that are disorganized; he just enjoys sorting stuff.”

Manager: “For insurance, legal, and moral reasons, he can’t work in the store unless he works for the store.”

Mom: “It won’t happen again.”

The teen’s eyes started to water. That’s when the manager pulled out an application and a uniform polo.

Manager: “What hours do you want to be scheduled?”

The mom just started laughing and the boy exploded into tears of joy.

I found out later that the boy worked there for about two years until his family had to move across the country. When he put in his notice, the owner found out where they were moving, went online, and found another locally-owned hardware store with good reviews, contacted them, and gave a glowing recommendation.

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My first job is about a year working at a supermarket on the night shift. My manager is a horrible hard-a** who seems to think there is no good reason to not come to work. Sick and vomiting? [Manager] doesn’t care; you shouldn’t be absent. Injured with doctor’s orders to recover at home? [Manager] doesn’t care; you shouldn’t be absent. Live half an hour out of the city, and there’s a hellish blizzard tearing through the fields that has covered the highway in snow? [Manager] doesn’t care; you shouldn’t be absent.

As you can imagine, the turnover rate is awful, but I have the fortune to not end up in anything that inhibits my ability to get to work. During the course of my employment, I meet and become friends with [Coworker], which directly leads to me quitting.

Our work starts by sorting products on pallets which are delivered to the front of the aisles by forklift. Owing to [Manager] being the only one qualified to use the forklifts, he doesn’t take a headcount until the pallets are out. Tonight, I’ve received some very somber news that has me in an unpleasant mood as my compatriots and I arrive in a position to get to work.

Manager: “Hey, where’s [Coworker]?”

Me: “She’s not coming.”

Manager: “What? Why the h*** not?”

Me: “Because her grandmother just died.”

Manager: “That’s not an excuse!”

Everyone turns to glare at [Manager] as my brain struggles to process the fact that his mouth opened and those words came out.

Me: “I really hope you didn’t just say what I think you said.”

Manager: “I said, ‘That’s not an excuse!’”

Me: “…Right. You can go f*** yourself with that forklift now.”

I turned and walked out of the store, with [Manager]’s indignant yells chasing me until I hit the employee exit. As I was getting into my car, I noticed what seemed to be EVERYONE ELSE who was working that night following me outside, leaving [Manager] coming to the door and shrieking at us.

I sent [Supermarket] my resignation in the morning. I later heard that [Manager] had been fired, but by then, [Coworker] and I had already found new employment.