(I work in a pay-producing third-party company. We have more than 3,000 different clients who count on us to calculate deductions and pay their employees the right net amounts. I work in the department that works with employees. I often receive calls like these, but this one was one of my best mic-drop moments.)

Caller: “I want to know why I pay more taxes this week.”

Me: “It would be my pleasure to verify. Can I have your company ID and your employee number?”

Caller: “I don’t have them. Can’t you look with my name?”

Me: “I am sorry, I can’t. Human error is too much of a risk factor and we don’t want to risk giving your information by mistake to someone who has the same name you do.”

Caller: “Just be careful and ask me something else.”

Me: “I can’t, I am sorry. I can’t even look by name. I need your company ID and with this, I can then add your employee number.”

(She is getting frustrated because she doesn’t want to call her employer for this information or look for a pay statement. She keeps repeating that she can give me other information such as her social security number, address, mother’s maiden name, etc., and she doesn’t want to understand that I CAN’T look any other way.)

Caller: *really sarcastic voice* “I don’t understand how a big company like yours, in this day and age, does not have a security code we can give you as we do with any other companies!”

Me: *in a sweet voice, even though I am starting to get really mad* “We do. We simply call it your company ID and employee number.”

Caller: “UGH!” *hangs up*

(My seven-year-old son broke his arm. The anesthetist is explaining to us what to expect with the sedative they are going to use before setting the bone.)

Doctor: “Ketamine is a dissociative safe for kids. It puts them in a trance-like state where they can’t feel anything. The pain signals don’t reach the brain. It kind of cuts the head off from the rest of the body.”

My Already Distressed Son: “YOU’RE GOING TO WHAAAAT?!”

Doctor: “Oops.”

(I am a twenty-something blonde woman. I take my car to a small chain brake repair shop to get my rear brakes done. I cross the road and kill a few hours at the mall before I wander back, only to find my car still up on the lift.)

Worker: “Oh, there you are. Yeah. Your whole brake system is shot. We have to replace everything.”

Me: “What? No, you don’t. Just replace the rear brake pads!”

Worker: “Nope. Can’t do that. It’s not road safe. We have to do the work here and now as we can’t let that car on the road in this condition.”

Me: “How much?”

Worker: “$2,500.”

(I lose it, yelling and demanding and threatening, but he stands there unmoved. I then pull out my phone, and he asks dismissively:)

Worker: “You calling the cops?”

Me: “No. I’m calling a Teamster.”

(It isn’t a threat; I just want some advice from a good friend who is a driver, but the man’s face changes instantly.)

Worker: “Wait. What?”

(I don’t understand the fear in his eyes, but I go with it.)

Me: “Yeah. Looks like I need some help here.”

Worker: “I’ll get your keys.”

(He goes in the back and has my car lowered and pulled out of the garage by a coworker as he returns.)

Me: “No rush anymore. They’re almost here.”

(That wasn’t true. I’d actually never even dialed once I saw the fear in the man’s eyes, but I was MAD! I went out and hopped in my car. They hadn’t done any work — which I’m relieved about — so I screeched out of there and headed to a more reputable shop. I wish I’d reported them, but it never occurred to me at the time. The whole chain went under a few years later, though.)

For a few months, I worked in a large middle-end retail company that has now closed down in Canada. While it was a horrible experience for my mental health, I am still proud of this little chain of events.

My manager would always forget anything related to the employees under him, short of our name, including me asking him weekly to give me a job other than greeter because it would cause me to have mental breakdowns, even while on the clock.

However, he could also not be bothered to remember he trained me on cash, which is not only constant human interaction but also money handling: my worst points.

He not only retrained me two times, but also forgot to get me to practice for more than a few minutes. I did not care to remind him since that would be a horrible position for me.

Come Black Friday time, he suddenly realized had completely screwed himself out of a cashier since I had no experience. By that time, I was now on the floor, where I did not burst into tears every few days, thanks to HR stepping in.

I was never this happy to be forgettable!

(My boss comes up to me Monday morning, lamenting that the coffee machine isn’t working and she wants a coffee. I’m a graphic artist — so this is in no way my problem — but pretty savvy with machines, so I go to give it a once-over. I grab the key from where I know the tech keeps it, check the coffee levels — which are low, but not out — and then close everything up and make myself a coffee — that I don’t really want — so I can test the machine. Everything works fine. I tell her I can’t find a problem, but she comes to me shortly after complaining that it’s still not working. I go back to the machine with her to see where the problem could be stemming from and see that she’s ordering some sort of flavoured vanilla drink — no coffee involved at all. I open the machine again and dig deeper into its guts to find that, indeed, the vanilla is out. She keeps hovering, complaining that the coffee machine is broken and that she doesn’t have time to go upstairs to get a coffee from another machine. She continues moaning about her valuable time being wasted that she has to go upstairs to get her coffee as I’m pulling a packet of vanilla from where I know it’s kept. She then heads for the door to go upstairs to get her sugar drink as I fill the machine and lock it back up. To this day, every morning she asks me if the machine is still broken.)

Me: “It was never broken. It just ran out of vanilla.”

Boss: “So, it’s still broken.”

Me: “No. You saw me refill it. And the tech came through Wednesday and topped everything up.”

Boss: “Do you think it will be fixed by next week?”

(This woman is not an idiot! I don’t know what was happening in her brain here!)