The company where I work has a tiny carpark which is first-come, first-served, apart from one space which is a combined visitors and disabled bay. I’ve never really been that worked up about it; you either park in the carpark or on the quiet street outside.

The disabled bay is normally empty when I arrive, but it’s occasionally in use when I get my lunch. Again, I’ve never really thought about it. We rarely have visitors, and while no one is visibly disabled, it could be hidden.

We get an email, a note on the notice board, and a message relayed to us by our leaders.

Notice: “We have important visitors coming. Do not use the disabled bay unless you need to.”

That seems pretty clear. Then, a week after that:

Notice: “We have important visitors coming. Please contact [Manager] immediately if you need to use the disabled bay. Special considerations will be made.”

The messages keep coming, but a car still occasionally parks in the bay. As it gets closer to the big visit, the warnings keep coming, more and more urgent. The day before, we get one final message. 

Notice: “Do not park in the space next week. No one has informed anyone about a medical need. The cameras have been pointed at the space. This will be considered gross misconduct to disobey direct and reasonable instructions.”

That seemed way overboard, but whatever. Just don’t park in the space, I get it. The next morning, I was running a little late, and lo and behold, the same beat-up car that had parked there before was in the space.

This should be interesting. 

I got to my desk to find my manager in his office with the head of security. He looked angry. 

I didn’t have to wait very long to find out the perpetrator.

[Coworker], who sits across from me, who attended all the meetings, who joined in with all the conversations about the mystery parker, was pulled into the office.

It started quiet, voices were raised, and then [Coworker] left the office with a bang, swearing at our boss. He never comes back, so he is the only person I’ve ever seen fired for their parking.

The visitor turned out to be one of the owners, a guy in his late sixties who wanted to tour the site — something about renovations to the building.

One of the guys who was friends with [Coworker] told us later that [Coworker] was loving “sticking it to management.” He wanted them to fire him so he could claim discrimination. However, [Coworker] had made no effort to notify the company of any need, so he wouldn’t get a penny.

I’m a personal shopper. One way I try to ward off the boredom is spotting significant dates on the expiry dates. Sad, I know, but what can you do? At the time, my birthday is less than a month away. Also, the shift started at 5:00 am, and it’s just gone 10:00 am.

Me: “Oooh, it’s my birthday!”

Coworker: “What, really?”

Me: “Yeah, the date on this yoghurt.”

Coworker: “Ohhhh. I thought this place had finally fully gotten to you and that you’d actually forgotten it was your birthday today or something.”

While I’m home for winter break, my mom tells me a friend of hers needs some help at the factory she manages. I am told that she will pay me $18 per hour for as many hours as I feel like working, and I’ll be in a quiet room by myself. It sounds perfect, so I agree.

First thing upon arriving, I notice that I am the only one wearing a mask. A worker sits me down at a station near a bunch of other people and begins training me. I’m internally panicking because this isn’t what I was told I would be doing, but I try to roll with it.

Thankfully, my mom’s friend arrives not long after (also not wearing a mask).

Mom’s Friend: “[My Name] will be doing a different task today.”

She brings me to an empty room and gives me my task, and I putter away for five hours or so until I feel like going home.

The next day, I return at the same time. Again, no masks. I go into the room and begin my tasks. A few minutes later, the floor supervisor comes in with another worker.

Supervisor: “[Worker] will be helping you since this task is a priority.”

We work basically in silence, which is fine by me as I’m not a talker. An hour or so into it, we take a break and we start talking.

Worker: “I requested to be transferred to this task because the girl I was working with yesterday had [contagious illness].”

Instantly, alarm bells went off in my head. She was not wearing a mask, and she’d just told me she had been working in close proximity with someone who was confirmed to be sick. I avoided her for the rest of the day and left a few hours early, resolving not to go back again.

A few days later, my mom told me that nine of the twenty-three employees at the factory had tested positive for [contagious illness]. I was relieved that I didn’t go back, no matter how good the money was.

My dad is on travel with a group of three other coworkers: his immediate boss and two men in similar positions as my dad, one of whom is Korean-American. They decide to go to a Chinese restaurant for lunch, back when this is rather a novelty. After perusing the menu, where all the entrees are assigned numbers, the boss decides to ask the waiter a question.

Boss: “What item would give me the most food for the least amount of money?”

The waiter is a recent Chinese immigrant and doesn’t understand the question. After a minute of repeated rephrasing of the question, [Boss] turns to the Korean-American coworker.

Boss: “[Coworker], can you explain what I want to this guy?”

[Coworker] doesn’t speak Chinese, but instead of taking offense at the opinion from his boss that all Asian people understand each other, [Coworker] turns to the waiter and gestures to indicate a large pile on the table.

Coworker: “Big food…”

Then, he gestures a pinch with his thumb and forefinger.

Coworker: “…little money.”

Waiter: “Ah! Number seven!”

Related:
Don’t You Speak Asian?, Part 7
Don’t You Speak Asian?, Part 6
Don’t You Speak Asian?, Part 5
Don’t You Speak Asian?, Part 4
Don’t You Speak Asian?, Part 3

I work in a small engineering office. It’s the last day of work before the Christmas shutdown, and I’ve taken the opportunity to try and finish filing the massive pile of paperwork on my desk that has accumulated over the past year into a bin bag. The only other person in the office is my coworker, who is doing a similar job. It’s his last day here, as he has a new job starting in the new year.

We’re chatting away, and as so often happens in any conversation that has me in it, the topic turns to puns. I’ve just told a joke and received a huge groan in response. 

Me: “Yeah, that was a bad one.”

Coworker: “By definition, all your puns are bad.”

Me: “That’s true.”

Coworker: “Have you seen the new film Jungle Cruise?”

Me: “I haven’t, but I’ve heard The Rock tells lots and lots of bad puns. You know, I never thought I would hear anyone comparing me with The Rock.”

Coworker: “I meant just the bad puns.”

Me: “No, I prefer to believe my first thought.”

Coworker: “He said in it, ‘My girlfriend was cross-eyed.’”

Me: “Let me guess: we could never see eye to eye?”

Coworker: “Yup! And he thought she was seeing someone on the side.”

Me: “A lovely example of vitreous humor.”

My coworker says nothing but gives me a blank look.

Me: “The liquid inside the eye is called Vitreous Humor.” 

Coworker: “Yeah, that went straight over my head.”

Me: “Next time, I’ll do something a little bit cornea.”

My coworker groans and collapses onto the desk.

Coworker: “You know, this is one bit of the job I’m not going to miss!”