This is back when I was a little kid. I was in line in a grocery store behind a loudmouthed customer.

Customer: “I don’t want that Black boy bagging my groceries.”

The manager (a family friend) got called over to see what the problem was.

Manager: “Okay, time for you to get out and not come back.”

Customer: “I just want someone else to bag my groceries.”

Manager: “And I just want your racist a** to leave.” 

The customer “humphed” and left without his groceries. The manager had someone follow him to his car and get the license plate, and then he called the only other grocery store in town and told his buddy, the manager there, what had happened. He was denied entry into the other store.

There wasn’t another decent-sized grocery store for more than fifty miles.

My coworker and I are in a meeting room, waiting for the other meeting attendees to arrive.

Me: “Just to let you know, I’m taking next Monday off.”

Coworker: “Oh?”

Me: “Yes, it’s my wedding anniversary on Sunday, and my husband and I always celebrate with a big bottle of champagne. I’m anticipating being a bit worse-for-wear on Monday morning—” *laughs self-deprecatingly* “—so I decided it’d be best if I didn’t work that day.”

Coworker: “Is that so?”

She screws up her face as if she’s sucked a lemon.

Coworker: “And here I didn’t know that you were a drinker.”

Me: *Slightly stunned* “Uh… I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but I do enjoy a drink every now and again, yes.”

She looks me up and down, lips pursed.

Coworker: “Hmm. You hide it well, I’ll give you that.”

Me: “…”

That coworker was always cold to me after that. I’m pretty sure that she thought I had a bottle of Scotch hidden in my desk or something.

I’ve been a store manager at this store for a year. It’s a small town. I was a cashier at this store for four years during university before being promoted/hired as the store manager, so I know a lot of the faces and what they’re like. One customer has always been rude to employees, especially if they “don’t seem to know what they’re doing”.

One day, I get called over the radio to come to cash for a customer complaint. The cashier who called is still in her training phase. There are only four cashes in the store, so the other cashiers are close by if she needs help.

As I’m walking up, I notice that it’s the customer I previously mentioned, and he already looks quite unimpressed. He’s purchasing an item that requires a special ID. He has done this plenty of times as he is the one in town who does the training for this special ID, and we are one of only two businesses that sell this product. Both the employee who gets the item out of the locked showcase and the cashier check the ID.

Me: “Good afternoon. Someone needed a manager?” 

Customer: “Yes, all your employees are useless. She didn’t know I needed my ID checked again and had to ask another cashier how to do that.”

Me: “Ah, yes, I’m sorry to hear that. She is still training and asks a more senior cashier if she isn’t sure.”

Customer: “Why do you always have new people training? Why can’t I ever get someone who knows what they’re doing?”

Me: “Well, it’s hard to find people who are willing to deal with customers like you who stress them out so much over something so trivial. Most don’t last after learning that you aren’t going away.”

When I became a store manager, I made sure that my staff wasn’t treated the same way I was when I was a cashier. At that, I walked away from him while he tried to figure out a response.

He demanded the senior cashier give him the number for corporate. Corporate called me a few hours later asking for my side of the story. Once they got it all, they asked me if I wanted to ban the customer. I told them to scare him a bit by saying I had the ability to, but I’m not that heartless since there aren’t many choices in our small town. The next time he came in, he was much more appreciative of the staff.

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!