Lockdown has just started and everyone is still getting used to only meeting with colleagues via video calls. I swear, this happens several times a day…

Me: “Sorry, your signal’s going. I can’t hear you very well—”

Boss: *Shouting* “CAN YOU HEAR ME BETTER NOW?!”

Thanks. Now your signal sucks AND I’m partially deaf.

I have chronic back issues that may flare up quite unexpectedly. My team leader is aware of that. After a few years working in the factory, with increasingly poor ergonomy, my back begins to act up more often. Permanent workers can get a sick day or two just by letting the team leader know.

A few months go by. I call or message the team leader if I have a really bad day, and I don’t go to work that day.

Team Leader: “I can’t let you take any more sick days without a doctor’s note.”

Me: “So, even if it’s one day — like it’s been this far — I need to visit a doctor and get a note?”

Team Leader: “That’s right. I hope you understand.”

Me: “All right.”

From then on, every time my back flared up — not talking about a minor twinge or muscle cramp here — I called the occupational healthcare clinic, got an appointment, and got a doctor’s note. Those notes ALWAYS prescribed at least three days of paid sick leave, sometimes a week!

My wife works in a mall. I have a job in the oil and gas sector. It is one of those rare Saturdays when the wife is home and the kid is in school and we are, shall we say, making the most of it, when my phone rings. I did not switch it off because you never know whether a child of primary school age may pick this particular day to be sick or have a nosebleed or break an arm during recess.

I check the incoming call and recognize the number: it’s from my company’s project manager. I feel a knot starting to form in my belly; a few years ago, we had a severe accident occur with a team that was working during the weekend. I knock on wood and hope it will turn to be only a minor annoyance.

Me: “Hello.”

Project Manager: *Sounding frantic* “[My Name]? S*** just got real here. You gotta help me!”

I freeze, literally. Sweat chills on the skin of my back; my lips go numb. Our job is dangerous, the site is dangerous, and I expect him to tell me that someone on the team was injured or worse.

Me: “What happened? Is everyone all right?”

Project Manager: “Yeah, well… let me explain.”

Me: “Answer me first. Is anyone hurt?”

Project Manager: “No. We were written up by the customer’s health and safety inspector because he found that a bit of our warning tape had snapped and was tied back but it fell off, and I need you to send out a reply to their findings.”

Two things happened. First, I deflated. I let out a long breath and didn’t feel like drawing another one soon. The sensation of relief that I was feeling was like the hit from an illicit substance. But then, right on top of it, came the rage. How dare this moron disturb me on my off day, ruining my chance of finally getting a leg up, and actually giving me a scare because he can’t handle such a laughable matter himself?! I called him a lot of names and told him that if I received the HSE inspector report, it would be considered with the attention it deserved… on Monday morning. Not a minute earlier.

It turned out that the project manager did not need to panic; we never received any complaint from the customer about warning tape. The mood, however, had been killed and did not return on that day.

I’m an analytical chemist in the petroleum industry. I’m attached to a refining pilot plant where we test products related to refining. The data I produce supports various other groups. My lab is staffed by me — senior chemist — and a temp/contractor lab tech.

Due to the health crisis, an edict came from high up in the corporate pantheon that we weren’t allowed to carry over any vacation time this year; I’m usually allowed to carry over five days. I guess they were worried about people banking up too much time and leaving various groups critically understaffed when too many people took vacation time at once — never mind that vacation time has to be approved. This being America with lax labor protections, this is all perfectly legal.

My boss emailed me.

Boss: “You have five and a half days left of vacation time, and I’ve been told to tell you to use it or lose it.”

I looked at our holiday schedule and figured out that strategic use of vacation and holiday time meant I could take two consecutive weeks off. I told my boss this.

Boss: “Well, if they didn’t want you to use it all at once, they shouldn’t force you to use it all at once.”

She approved my plan.

So, the lab will be critically understaffed for two weeks — what they were trying to avoid — because I am doing what I was told. Not sure what the other departments are going to do but it won’t be anything that requires data from the pilot plant.

I’m at a cafe where I usually hang out on Saturdays to work on my novel. Most of the staff know me, but they recently hired a new manager, and one of the baristas admits that they don’t really like her.

One day, I sit down in front of my computer at the cafe and prepare to type the words of a future bestseller. I have my earphones in, listening to music.

After a few minutes, I realize that there’s a lady beside me, tapping her foot. I take the earphones out.

Me: “Can I help you?”

Lady: “I’m the manager here.”

Me: “Okay… Am I doing anything wrong?”

Lady: “Are you even prepared for the interview?”

Me: “What interview? I’m just a customer here.”

She looks at the clipboard in her hands.

Lady: “Aren’t you [Job Seeker]?”

Me: “No, actually, my name is [My Name].”

A man in the corner speaks up.

Job Seeker: “I’m [Job Seeker]. I was here for an interview about the baker position?”

The lady huffed and stomped over to him. My barista friends tell me that she’s still there after a year and a half, and they hate her even more because she’s incompetent and rude.