The small nonprofit I work for has to close during the health crisis shutdown; however, we still have some online options available. My boss wants to change the home page of our website to better display them. I work full-time on marketing and do the occasional website update, but a coworker does website maintenance primarily.

Boss: “I’d like the website to look like [Similar Nonprofit in a different city]’s.”

Me: “I’m in a bit of a rush to get our online products out; can we try to work with the existing format for now?”

Boss: “Sure, let’s do that.”

The online content is released but it shows up a bit weird.

Boss: “I don’t like how it displays our products. I’ll ask [Our Contracted Website Company] to fix it.”

Me: “They would have to charge us for that and we’re trying to cut down on expenses. [Colleague] knows more about the website, so can you run it by her, instead? I’m a bit swamped marketing the online products.”

Boss: “Will do, thanks.”

A couple of days later, I call my boss to see where we are in general.

Boss: “I phoned [Our Contracted Website Company] and they can help us with the website. They said we can duplicate our existing skin for the new sections? I’m not sure exactly what that means. I’ll forward you the email they sent.”

I skim through the email and see an estimate of $250-500 for the update.

Me: “[Coworker] will be able to do this, and then we’re not paying extra for it.”

Boss: “Okay, can you ask her?”

Why couldn’t you have done that when suggested it two days ago?

When I was in high school, I worked a minimum-wage summer job at an amusement park. When I transferred from general floor staff to the birthday party division, my supervisor told me the new position came with a small raise, and I filled out the paperwork to agree to the raise. It wasn’t a lot of money — we’re talking a few cents per hour more — but I was glad to get anything I could.

The trouble was, even though I was told I had the raise, it never appeared in my paycheck. The supervisors were all very nice and apologetic about it, saying it was a backup at corporate, but it just didn’t come through. Wait a couple of weeks, they kept saying, until three months had passed, and I was ready to leave the job to resume school. At that point, I did some back-calculating and discovered that, had the raise been issued when they said it was, I would have earned about $60 more during the summer.

So, I called my former supervisor and agreed to come in and meet him. I showed him my calculations and asked how I could get the money I had already worked to earn.

“Well… I don’t know,” he said. “I guess, since you’re a good guy, I’ll figure out a way to pay you.”

The good news is that he eventually paid me, but really? “Since you’re a good guy”? What if I wasn’t a good guy? Silly me for assuming that working for a contracted amount entitles you to receive that amount.

My workplace, like most, has seen a drop in business due to a recent spreading illness, and many employees, including me, were furloughed. Just before the crisis struck, our general manager left, and a higher-level executive has been serving as the interim GM in his stead until a new one is hired. I was originally handpicked by the dealer group’s lead recruiter and brought in by the old GM for what was, at the time, a newly-created position, and while results during my years of employment show that I excelled in increasing my department’s performance and efficiency, my job is one that doesn’t exist in every store. Even during normal times, I always felt it was a bit vulnerable, so it’s not a huge surprise when the interim GM calls me to let me know I’m being laid off.

Another of my coworkers is notified of being transferred to a different location, as well, and we have grown to become friends over the years, so we coordinate to go pack up our desks at the same time to allow for a socially distant farewell. When we arrive, something unexpected happens: our department managers are surprised to see us and ask us why we’re there.

We explain, to their shock, that we’ve come to pick up our things and say our goodbyes because we don’t work there anymore. As we talk to them and other employees, we start to see a bigger, weirder picture. Unsurprisingly, we were not the only people who were notified that we no longer work for the store; in fact, there were layoffs in every department. But more surprising: among the layoffs were someone who had worked at the store for fifteen years, and another employee who sold more cars than anyone else who worked there every year and was, in fact, consistently one of the top sellers in the entire dealer group. And the salesperson wasn’t transferred like my friend; he was let go. Because, well, apparently, none of the department managers were consulted.

And here’s where it becomes truly bizarre: not only were they not consulted, but the managers were not even informed of the layoffs. Before or after! No meetings, no calls, not even a perfunctory email or text message. The managers only caught wind of what had happened and to whom as their now-ex-employees reached out to them by call, text, or — in our case — showing up seemingly out of the blue to retrieve our belongings.

I can’t say I had any particular expectations of my visit that day, but I did not anticipate being the one to tell my bosses I was laid off. I’m pretty sure it’s usually the other way around!

This happened while I was active duty in the US Navy. The most senior military person in the Navy is the Chief of Naval Operations (CNO), a four-star Admiral. At the time, I was an E-4, working in the engine room of the ship.

When senior officers or politicians visit a military facility of any sort, there is an all-hands event where the entire crew — except those standing watch — is required to attend a speech by the distinguished guest, after which the crew is often given the chance to ask questions. Enlisted personnel have very little to do with strategic decision-making or changes in policy, so there are often uncomfortable silences when military or civilian senior leaders ask if there are any questions. Commanding officers don’t like it when this happens, so three sailors are usually provided with planted questions. These questions are almost always relentlessly stupid and seemingly only intended to make the VIP feel good.

The CNO was visiting various ships on deployment — this particular ship was in the Mediterranean — and he was discussing plans to reduce the total number of warships in the Navy. After the speech, the “planted” questions were asked, and the CNO cheerfully answered them. Then, he asked if there were any more questions.

Despite being a junior enlisted sailor, I had actually read up on Navy doctrine, which still officially required the Navy to fight wars in two oceans simultaneously. Since the CNO had just spent an hour telling us we were going to reduce the number of warships and also reduce the total manpower in the Navy, I was curious how this planned policy would change the official two-ocean warfighting doctrine. I raised my hand and the CNO called on me.

“Sir, are we still expected to fight wars in two oceans at the same time with fewer ships and crews?”

The CNO gave me a deer-in-the-headlights expression for several seconds, before he said, “Um… well… there may have to be some changes in our expectations.”

He continued to blather for almost a minute without actually answering my question, and then he turned the podium over to our Commanding Officer, who dismissed us back to our normal duties. I was then hauled into the Chief Engineer’s office and yelled at for several minutes for making the CNO uncomfortable. Since I hadn’t been insubordinate or otherwise in violation of Navy regulations, my chain of command couldn’t legally punish me, but they did make certain I never had to attend any future assemblies where a valid question might make a VIP look dumb. 

That was fine by me; I had — and still have — a low tolerance for stupidity, and attending these all-hands events always seemed to be a colossal waste of everyone’s time.

The best part happened that afternoon. The CNO and his staff were touring the local Navy Exchange facility — which was very small, since it was not located at a major NATO facility — and happened to run into my wife while she was shopping. The CNO’s Chief of Staff, a senior Captain, made the mistake of asking the dependents who were present in the Exchange if they had any issues. My wife and another enlisted spouse proceeded to tell the Chief of Staff exactly what problems the dependents had to deal with due to the lack of Navy facilities available. For the best part of a half-hour, they kept bringing up problems and weren’t the least bit interested in being asked to calm down.

The next morning, I was again hauled into the Chief engineer’s office and yelled at because my wife had told the Chief of Staff the truth. I was told I should prevent my wife from speaking her mind, at which point I laughed aloud. I pointed out that my wife is not subject to military discipline, and I also noted that the Chief of Staff had asked her for input. Furthermore, I told my chain of command that every word she’d said was the plain truth, so the Navy could either fix the problems or stop asking questions if the brass didn’t like the possible answers. 

Some of the ship’s senior personnel steered well clear of my wife for the rest of the time I was stationed aboard that ship.

One of my first jobs is at a local bakery department inside a supermarket. After a couple of months, the manager is badly injured on the job in a way that winds up needing surgery and rehab, so she is out for a very long time.

None of the other women in the department want the extra responsibility, so I end up handling schedules, sales, orders, etc. It’s very stressful and it means I’m always on the 5:00 am shift doing extra work, and the assistant store manager makes a big deal of saying how much she appreciates it, and how much of a lifesaver I allegedly am, every day. 

After a few months of this, one of the other department heads pulls me aside and tells me that, per company policy, I am actually entitled to an extra dollar-fifty every hour I am performing the duties of a manager. Looking it up, I see he’s right. Like most young people making minimum wage, that extra buck-fifty means a lot to me, so I go to the assistant manager about it. 

Contrary to how she’s acted — as if I’m a hero — to date, suddenly she becomes cold and combative. First, she insists I’m wrong, even when I show her the employee handbook, and then tries to argue that I don’t qualify, which I very much do. Naively, I am shocked by her abrupt 180 from how supportive and appreciative she’s been.

Finally, she angrily says, “It’s not even a big deal! It’s just a dollar-fifty! That’s nothing!” 

“That’s an extra twelve dollars a day for me,” I reply, “and almost fifty dollars a week. Nearly two hundred dollars a month. That’s my heating and my telephone bill, easy.” 

She scoffs but relents, and she makes a big deal out of making me fill out paperwork requesting the extra money I am owed, acting as if I am being greedy and unreasonable the whole time. Thereafter, she was very chilly and snide to me. It really opened up my eyes to how too many managers regard their employees as valuable until they know their worth, though I have been fortunate in the years since to work with some great managers and senior staff elsewhere. 

When I left the company to move away a few years later, still “temporary acting management,” I learned that they were just planning to have one of my coworkers fill in as manager rather than hiring someone, so I made sure to tell her about the extra money. She was very surprised and said nobody had mentioned anything to her. Hopefully, she followed through. 

Let this be a lesson, folks; always stand firm and don’t let yourself be guilted out of what is rightfully yours. You deserve it.