I have recently transferred from working at one post office to another after moving. My new manager comes over to me, laughing.

Me: “What is it?”

Manager: “We just got a review online. You were mentioned.”

Me: “Is it bad?” 

Manager: “Even better: it’s hilarious.”

He shows it to me, and it’s a five-star review, so I am surprised when I read the actual words.

Review: “The new girl did everything perfectly, and the service was polite and prompt, but the tattoos do not make for a good impression. I understand that she is from another branch. Hopefully, our branch can get adequate help soon.”

Me: “I think that might be my favorite complaint about me.”

I printed it out and framed it!

My partner and I lived in Alberta for quite a long time. In 2020, he decided to move some of his belongings to Nova Scotia. (We planned to retire there together, so we wanted to take belongings there over time.) He got to the Nova Scotia border at the end of April 2020, right when the border slammed shut.

Fast forward two years. We only saw each other three times in that time period, even though we talked on the phone every day. In July, I flew to spend two and a half weeks with him. My dad was also driving across the country to meet us there to spend time with me, my partner, and his family. 

At the end of the first week, my partner and I went camping for five days, trailering our motorbikes there. (It was too far for me to drive that entire way.) The first day, there was no problem driving my bike; we spent hours all over the place. The second day, the morning was fine, although I laid the bike down a couple of times. We came up to a T intersection, I waited for traffic, and then I started around the corner. My handlebars jerked to the left, I lost my balance, and I fell with my left arm outstretched. Instant pain. I could wiggle my fingers and move my wrist. I thought it was sprained.

My partner got the bike up and yelled at me to get up, which took me a few minutes to do. He kept telling me, “It’s just a bruise, it’s just a bruise,” so I got back on that bike, lifted my left hand to the clutch, and rode the bike for a half hour back to the campsite.

Some of the other campers came over to see what had happened and got me kitted out with a sling. We stayed there until the last day of our reservation and then drove back to [Partner]’s mom’s place where he was living. [Partner]’s mom took one look at me and told me that I was going to the hospital; my arm had swollen right down to my fingertips, and my upper arm was blueish-black.

We eventually got to the metropolitan hospital, and after a few hours, they were able to see me. After TEN X-rays, I figured it was worse than a sprain. The doctor came in.

Doctor: “The good news is that you need a CT scan. The bad news is that you need a CT scan because your shoulder is broken in three places.”

We got home at about 10:00 in the morning, and Dad arrived at noon. He was NOT expecting to hear that his daughter had a broken shoulder!

They were able to get me into surgery two days after that — a full seven days after I broke it! I had a plate and screws put in, and then I had six weeks of physiotherapy. I was planning to go to my dad’s at that point, so I was happy when I went in for my surgical follow-up. I was NOT so happy when they told me that it hadn’t healed at all. In fact, the bone had slid, and screws were up in the joint space. I ended up having an emergent shoulder replacement (titanium) and a lot more physio after that.  

The total time that I spent in Nova Scotia was three and a half months — way longer than the two and a half weeks I’d planned! After that, I did go to my dad’s, and I have been there since. I was off work for thirteen months, and I went back to work for the same company with restrictions. (They were so patient; it was unreal.) It’s been a bitter pill to swallow that I’ll likely never be able to lift properly above my head or make certain other movements.

On the other hand, my physiotherapist has been a godsend, as has as my auto insurance!

Don’t be like me: when you’re hurt, get it checked out!

My friend and I work at the local waste management facility — the dump. They don’t treat us well or pay us what we’re worth, but the worst has been how my friend is treated.

Most people in our area are pickers/sorters; we stand at a conveyor belt grabbing paper, recyclables, hazardous material, etc., out of the garbage. It’s hard work, and some areas are fast-paced, but we can’t really fall behind because the belt doesn’t stop.

My friend has a different job, where he has to sort through all the cans and other random metal that gets picked up by a magnet, and also sort buckets of recyclables one of the picker groups grabs because their area goes too fast for them to sort them manually. If he finishes both of those tasks, he’s expected to join us in our areas and help until he’s needed again.

[Friend] is doing a two-person job, literally. When he takes a day off, they need one fully dedicated worker and one person who switches between picking and helping them. Everyone he’s trained who tried to do it alone has said that it’s a two-person job and nobody should be expected to do it alone, but [Friend] is because he’s capable of keeping up.

The guy who had the job before him couldn’t even keep up; he would dump half his buckets back on the conveyor belt if he got behind, which meant the pickers in other areas had to sort them and we’d get hit with a wave of stuff that made us rush. In the year since he started, [Friend] hasn’t dumped a bucket once. They even closed up the hole that the last guy used to do that.

We also have deep cleaning days once a month, where we don’t run anything and just clean everywhere. For months, [Friend] (and I, once I got hired) was the only one volunteering to do one of the hardest, most back-breaking, most boiling-hot-in-the-summer jobs, which was also super important because if it wasn’t done, the machines would break down.

Despite all of that, [Friend] hasn’t received any raises or bonuses. When he brought up that other people worked far less and made more, he was told, “They’ve been here longer,” and, “You’re young, so you can just do more than them,” and, “Everyone finds their own pace.” He didn’t mind the pace or amount of work — he likes going fast — he just wanted to be recognized and rewarded for it.

So, he tried to stop doing the extra work he’d been doing, going into our work areas to help us when he was done with his own tasks. Instead, he would use that time to watch movies on his phone; he had enough free time to watch an entire two-hour movie on most days. But the big bosses noticed it on the cameras, and he was told he wasn’t allowed to do that anymore. He also got reprimanded and had a performance bonus removed because he would wear an earbud while he worked, even though he was one of the only people without a radio to listen to.

During cleaning days, both of us started getting in trouble for not cleaning — after we spent three-quarters of the shift working our butts off, while other people swept the same pile of dirt for an hour or “supervised”, aka stood around in groups while one or two people actually cleaned. The two of us could finish a job in two hours which used to take twelve people four hours.

On one cleaning day, [Friend] got in trouble for goofing off by shooting a few people with a water gun. Sure, it wasn’t exactly professional, but it was all in good fun, and the only reason the incident was even noticed was that someone else sprayed a guy who [Friend] knew to avoid. That guy retaliated by spraying two people in the face with a bottle of concentrated sanitizer. Both of them got the same punishment.

So now, we’ve slowed down on cleaning days and get less done, and we find easier jobs to do to take up our time. And [Friend] no longer does the extra work because he’s too busy standing at his spot waiting for one can to drop every minute. He’s finally “found his pace”.

I work at the main entrance of a hospital. To get inside, you walk through one set of sliding doors, which leads you into a small area with a couple of parking machines and another set of doors that goes into the main lobby.

One afternoon, I am on shift during a horrible cold snap where it is -35 Celsius (-31 F). Suddenly, a pipe between the doors bursts, and it immediately starts flooding the entire area, including the main lobby!

When the pipes first burst, I am talking with someone who is trying to locate a patient. Our conversation is interrupted when someone comes to the desk and points out the water pouring from the ceiling. I inform the lady I’ve been helping that I need to deal with the disaster, and I point to a courtesy phone in front of her that will immediately connect her with staff who can locate the patient. To my surprise, she gives me a look of absolute disgust. I point to the courtesy phone again as I pick my phone up to call in for help, and she very hesitantly looks at the courtesy phone. Not sure why she is so uncertain!

Then, as water rapidly begins filling the area, a patient in a wheelchair attempts to go over to the ATM located right next to the doors. I inform him that he can’t go there.

Patient: “But I want to use the ATM!”

Me: “You will have to go to the food court to use theirs.”

Patient: “But that one doesn’t work with my card!” *Tries to move forward*

Me: “Sir, you cannot go past here!”

Patient: “I want to use the ATM!”

Me: “Sir, this is an emergency! You absolutely can’t go past here!”

A healthcare worker was able to redirect him, thankfully, but there were towels and an inch or two of dirty water everywhere, and people were frantically running about, trying to mitigate the disaster… and all he cared about was using the ATM!

This is a story my mom tells about my older brother’s birth. My brother was born with a head full of thick black hair. After he was born, my grandmother would take him to give my mother a break or when she needed to be seen by nurses or doctors.

Once, while she was holding him in her arms out in the hall, someone walked by and noticed him.

Stranger: “Aww, what a cute puppy!”

I imagine that my grandmother must have laughed and told her the truth, and I hope she wasn’t too embarrassed! She gave my mom a great story to tell for years after.