CONTENT WARNING: Pet Cancer, Death

Our fluffy white cat, Mr. Blizzard, has been battling skin cancer for over six months. Due to his age, other health problems, and the aggressiveness of the cancer we’ve decided to keep him happy and comfortable for however long he has.

The bleeding tumor on his nose has grown large enough that it’s causing obvious pain and interfering with his breathing. We take him to the vet one Monday to discuss Final Arrangements and see if they can give him anything to make him more comfortable for a couple of days while we prepare to say the final goodbye. The great white floof gets a shot of something to help his pain, and we leave.

On Thursday, we return with our beloved cat for the last vet appointment. The staff all visit to say their goodbyes to our kitty boy, and there are tears in the vet’s eyes. He spent a lot of time there during his life, so the staff know and adore him. As we’re waiting for the sleeping drugs to take effect, the vet tells us how much they love our mini white lion.

Vet: “[Groomer] was really upset when we told him about Blizzard. He really loved the big guy. Remember when he was here for that major bowel surgery a few years ago? For the first day, he looked like he’d given up. I was worried we’d lose him. But then, [Groomer] declared, ‘Mr. Blizzard is not dying!’ and marched into the back. [Groomer] petted him and gave him a pep talk and spent a lot of time with him. Mr. Blizzard was perky and eating by the next day, ready to live.”

We’d never heard this story before. We knew the bowel issue nearly killed Mr. B but didn’t know how much extra effort had gone into caring for him. It was a sad day for everyone, but it helped to know just how loved our kitty boy was by everyone at the clinic. Mr. Blizzard crossed the rainbow bridge surrounded by his family and friends.

CONTENT WARNING: Animal Cruelty, Creepy

I work as a waiter at an upscale seafood restaurant. I’m serving a middle-aged, single woman.

Me: “Here’s your Caesar salad with extra shrimp, ma’am.”

Customer: “Thank you.”

Me: “No problem, and if you need anyth—”

The customer cuts me off, still with a cheerful voice.

Customer: “I like to slowly rip the tails off the shrimps and imagine their pained, high-pitched shrieks of agony as they bleed to death.”

Then, she just stares at me with a disturbingly gleeful smile. I’m at a loss for words.

Me: “Yeaaaaah, just let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

I moved to the next table. To this day, I sometimes have trouble falling asleep because of the awful mental image that lady put in my head.

This story will always stand out in my memory as one of the worst interviews I have ever heard of or been a part of.

Many moons ago, I was unemployed and desperately looking for a job. I thought I had gotten lucky and found a position as an Operations Manager. I applied, and around an hour after I applied, I got a call for an interview later that week.

On the interview day, I arrived about twenty minutes early. Even when I first got there, I saw some red flags. The main one was that everyone in the office looked miserable — a level of misery like they hadn’t slept in days. (This one would be explained later — by design or by accident, I really can’t decide.) 

My appointment time was 2:00 pm. That time came and went. At 2:45, the manager finally let me come into the office. They started asking me the standard questions… and then it got weird.

They first asked me how old I was — which is totally illegal. They then asked me if I was married — again, totally illegal. I dodged the question, but then…

Manager: “Well, we need to know if you are having babies anytime soon. It is imperative that the manager in this position does not have babies.”

Ooooookay…

Then, it got weirder. The manager asked me how many hours I thought I was going to work. To be honest, an Ops Manager can work a lot, so I said at least fifty to fifty-five hours a week. The manager shook their head.

Manager: “You should expect 100 hours a week, minimum.”

It somehow got worse. We got to the salary part, and the manager asked me how much I was looking for. Well, the job description clearly said $52,000. Thinking that this might be a trick to see if I had actually read the posting, I stated $52,000.

The manager blinked at me and laughed.

Manager: “No… this pays $22,000. Where did you come up with an absurd number like that?”

Me: “It was on your job description.”

The manager paused and turned white as a sheet. They immediately got out their phone, started typing something frantically, and then stopped and smirked at me.

Manager: “Oh… I just fixed that. See, it now says $22,000, and you have no proof otherwise.”

Actually, I did — I had printed out the job application — but at that point, I was done with the line of questioning and extreme lowball salary.

I went through and finished the interview — I have always been taught to finish an interview, no matter how bad — but I knew I was not interested at all. I was somehow wrong?

Three days later, I got a call back from the company. The hiring manager — a different person — called and raved.

Hiring Manager: “[Manager] spoke so highly of you! We really want you on board. There are just two things we need from you. First, you’ll need to sign paperwork stating that you agree to work up to 100 hours per week and, if needed, sleep at the office at night. Second, we want you to write a three-page paper on how awesome it would be to work here.”

I kid you not.

I declined. and when I did, the hiring manager got really rude and snippy with me.

Hiring Manager: “Why not?!”

Me: “First off, 100 hours a week is crazy. And my application is for a manager’s position, not school, so why do I need to write a paper?”

Hiring Manager: “But [Manager] spoke so highly of you! You’re spitting in their face and letting them down. And you’re letting the company down, too! You will never find a job as fair and reasonable as ours — a company that cares about their employees and their children!”

Wait, what?! I was told no babies in the interview!

Riggggght.

I am so glad I dodged that bullet.

I work in a preschool.

Teacher: “Good morning, [Student!]”

Student: “My mummy died!”

The student’s dad yells from across the hallway.

Dad: “Dyed her hair! [Student], we talked about this! Say the whole sentence!”

I start getting phone calls from a doctor’s office for my ex-husband. My ex-husband and I have been divorced for ten years at this point. They keep leaving voicemails for him to call back.

Receptionist: “My name is [Receptionist], and I’m calling from [Doctor]’s office, trying to reach [Ex-Husband]. Please give us a call back.”

I have not been in contact with my ex-husband in several years, and he changes numbers all the time, so I have no way of getting in touch with him.

The next week, I get another voicemail.

Receptionist: “Hi, [Ex-Husband]. This is [Receptionist] calling from [Doctor]’s office. I need you to give me a call back today.”

The doctor’s office always seems to call when I am at work. By the time I get off work, they are already closed so I cannot call them back to tell them they have the wrong number.

The next week, I have another voicemail, and it is the same as the previous ones. 

I tell my coworkers I am going to take a ten-minute break to attend to some important business, and I call the doctor’s office back.

Receptionist: “[Receptionist] speaking.”

Me: “Hi, [Receptionist]. I have been receiving phone calls from you. You are trying to get in touch with [Ex-Husband], and I am calling to tell you that this is not his number.”

Receptionist: “Okay, thank you for letting us know. I’ll make a note in his file.”

The next week, the doctor’s office calls again.

Receptionist: “Hi, [Ex-Husband], this is [Receptionist] calling you from [Doctor]’s office. We need to give us a call back.”

I manage to call them back, and I tell them the same thing. Again, I am told they will make a note of it and remove it from the file.

But they don’t do it for the next three weeks. I still continue to receive calls for my ex-husband. I call back one more time, and this time, I ask to speak to the office manager.

Me: “I am receiving phone calls for [Ex-Husband], and I have told your staff members that this is not his number. They have told me they will make a note in the file and remove the number.”

Office Manager: “Oh, I am so sorry about that. Let me get into his file. Are you [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes.”

Office Manager: “He has you listed as an emergency contact.”

Me: “We have been divorced for many, many years. I don’t know why he would have it listed. I also don’t know how to reach him as we haven’t spoken in many years.”

Office Manager: “Oh, we need to speak with him about an urgent financial matter.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I do not know how to get a hold of him.”

Office Manager: “Okay, we will remove you from his file.”

A few months later, I tried to finance a new car and, to my horror, there was a negative mark on my credit file. And guess what it was? The doctor’s office bill!

I got the original bill, and it was only in my ex’s name. I had to fax my divorce decree over to the collection agency, and I also sent it to the doctor’s office. It was removed from my credit file. 

I don’t know why they put me on this bill as we are divorced and I am not obligated to any of his bills. When I told them we were divorced, that should have been a clue! 

I also don’t have a clue why he would list me as an emergency contact. He probably just did it so they would call me since he changed numbers frequently and had no intention of paying that $100 bill.