I’m working on the shop floor of a supermarket, and one of my main jobs is handling delinquents — basically any item that’s been handed in as unwanted at the tills or left in the wrong place in the store.

Anyone who has worked in a supermarket will know how draining this is: people will leave things in the most ridiculous places. I’m in the frozen aisle looking out for any refrigerated items — so much milk and bread ends up in the freezers — when I spot a brown and black bag.

It’s a chicken, specifically, one of the hot, cooked chickens that we have for sale at the front of the store. Someone decided to buy a hot chicken, got almost to the other side of the store, and changed their mind, and then they decided the best place to put it was the freezer?

Granted, discarded hot chickens have to be wasted no matter where we find them, but we also had to waste the frozen item next to it because it was noticeably warm. The chicken remained the most amusing misplaced item until I left, only possibly matched by the half-drunk [Fast Food Place] coffee also found in the freezer.

(I’m waiting for a flight and grabbing a bite to eat at a well-known Canadian coffee chain. While I’m in line, I see a new menu item, but I don’t know what’s in it.)

Me: “Hi, what’s in [item]?”

Cashier: *punches in item* “That’ll be [price].”

Me: “What’s in it?”

Cashier: “Pardon?”

Me: “I don’t know what is in the [item].”

Cashier: *points to the sign overhead*

(I can’t see very well without my glasses, so the sign is only slightly helpful and I had seen it from the line to decide to ask about. In particular, there’s something on top of the wrap that looks like it could be potatoes, which I like, or eggs, which I hate, and I have no idea if there are small vegetables like diced onions, or any sauces.)

Me: “I can’t tell what’s in the picture.”

Cashier: *looking at the sign* “Lettuce, tomato, sausage, cheese, and vegetables.”

Me: “Vegetables? What vegetables?”

Cashier: “Lettuce and tomato.”

Me: “Okay… What about that thing on top?”

Cashier: “Vegetables. They’re… fried potatoes.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll get that.”

(It had sauce. No idea what kind. It was quite good, but I hate to think of if I’d had a food restriction.)

(I am going through the carry-on security scanner at the airport and one of my bins is flagged. It contains only my laptop, my shoes, and my earbuds, and I have no idea what the scanner took issue with since they should all be fine.)

Me: *jokingly referring to the machine* “What did it get mad at?”

Security Dude: “I’m not mad at it. I’m just mad that I have to be here on a Saturday morning.”

(Fair, but should you really be telling me that?)

(I am invited to join a conference call with our division manager, in middle management. I don’t know at the time, but they are a real firebrand when roused. Information is given to us, discussion is held, and then they ask if anyone has any questions. I smile inwardly.)

Me: “Yes. I would like to ask about our ‘broken processes.'”

(The manager, assuming I’m talking about the online systems we have been having ongoing problems with, starts talking about initiatives in place to remedy them.)

Me: *stopping them* “No. I don’t mean our computer systems; I mean our interdepartmental processes.”

Middle Manager: “What do you mean?”

Me: “For example. A customer is going to leave us, but we get them to stay with a good offer. Before we can put the order in place to give them that offer, the order to leave must be cancelled in the computer. I have been told that, for the department who does that, nineteen days is considered fast.”

(I go on to name department after department where we have problems like that and conclude with this statement:)

Me: “We cannot do our jobs because the other departments are not supporting us. The processes are broken.”

(Manager raises and bonuses are dependent on the performance of their departments. I had just told them of a serious threat to their income. I found out later that our division manager went on the warpath. The department where a task being done in nineteen days was fast? It went to 48 hours being slow.)

When I was in my early 20s, I worked for a dental clinic where the dentist’s wife was the office manager. We weren’t permitted to take our own vacation days; we could only take time off when the dentist was closed for his own vacations. We worked Monday to Thursday, so any personal things could be done on Fridays. The wife was not lenient in letting us take any vacation or sick time, so we were expected to be there every day for all office hours. I don’t recall taking any sick days or ever asking for time off in the three years I worked there.

My boyfriend had been across the country working for a month and was due to fly into the airport at lunch time on a weekday — not a Friday. We live in a smaller city without public transportation from the airport, which is outside the city limits. I was very excited to see my boyfriend after him being away for so long and only needed to leave half an hour before lunch to pick him up on time.

I checked with my other coworkers that it wouldn’t be an issue for me to leave early this one time. They assured me they could cover the half-hour; we didn’t admit patients at that time of day, which was my job, so they would just be watching to make sure no one arrived off-schedule. So, I happily set off for the airport and picked up my boyfriend and drove him home.

I was back to work on time after lunch and my coworkers said everything was fine. When the dentist’s wife found out the next day, she called me into her office and berated me for ten minutes about how selfish I was for taking an early lunch, how irresponsible it was, and how I needed to grow up! I was in tears when I left her office. My coworkers were livid about the encounter but there was nothing I could do. 

I gladly quit for a new job a few months later. Thanks for having compassion for a loyal worker, lady!