I recently returned to work after being in the hospital for an operation, but I was told to go back to hospital if I get into severe pain. On my third day back at work, I collapse and my team leader gets me a [Rideshare] to get to hospital, setting up the pickup point on the right side of the road. I manage to stagger downstairs and wait for the [Rideshare] while all but collapsing on the pavement.

When the [Ride Share] driver arrives, he’s on the other side of the road with six lanes of traffic as well as buses and trams between us.

Me:
“Come over here!”

Driver:
“I can’t turn around!”

Me:
“Come over here! I can’t cross the road.”

Driver:
“I can’t do a U-turn here!”

I am about to faint from the intense pain I am in, so I scream at him.

Me:
“Get the f*** over here! I don’t care how you do it! I’m in f****** pain!”

The driver then went around the block and comes onto the right side of the road to pick me up. He got a one-star rating.

After a month of trying to get medical leave and being given a difficult time about it, I quit my job. Between quitting my old job and being hired at my new job, a time period of about two months, I have three surgeries and spend a total of two weeks in the hospital. I’m worried about my chances of being hired while still in recovery, but I need the money. I’m discussing this with the head of HR.

Me:
“My doctor has told me to not lift over 15 pounds, but I know [department] has a lot of product that’s regularly over twenty pounds.”

HR:
“Do you know if it’s a permanent restriction? If it’s only short-term, we can just make sure there’s someone else in [department] with you so it’s never an issue.”

Me:
“I believe it is. I also have been told I need the ability to sit down when I feel it’s necessary.”

HR:
“We can absolutely get a stool over there for you. Do you know if there are any more surgeries you’ll need time off for? I’d hate to have you worry about that.”

Me:
“I should be good. You mean… you actually take care of your employees?”

HR:
“We try to. We’ve found that when we do, people actually like working.” 

After a few more weeks of recovery, my doctor pulled me off of my restrictions, and HR even gave me a card for it!

My son received a gift card for a restaurant we had never been to and were excited to try. As the gift card covered most of the meal, we ordered more than normal, adding appetizers and drinks. My son ordered a full meal with a loaded baked potato, but after eating the appetizers, he decided to bring the potato home and save it for later. 

The waitress, who had been bussing tables nearby — with bare hands — came over and we asked her if we could get a to-go box for our leftovers. She came back with the box and looked at my son’s potato. After a moment’s hesitation, she reached over and picked up the potato with her bare hand — that she had just been cleaning tables with — and plopped it into the box!

She then handed the packaged food to my son and left to get the bill. Needless to say, she didn’t get the large tip we were prepared to pay — we did tip her — and that potato went directly into the garbage!

(I work in an inbound 24/7 call centre while studying. We take calls for over 150 different companies and can rarely do more than take their details and have them be called back, but we are not supposed to let the callers know that. On one of my last Saturday night shifts, my coworker receives a call from an elderly man for a company that sells and waits on equipment for patient care, including oxygen tanks for private use. Extra note: on weekends we rarely get any calls, so there are only two people in the office at a time.)

Coworker: “This is [Company]; how can I help you?”

Old Man: “My oxygen tank isn’t working. Please send someone to help me.”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, but we are already closed. I can make a note for support to call you back, but they will only see it on Monday. Do you require the oxygen supply constantly?”

Old Man: “I need my oxygen tank and it isn’t working. Please help me.”

Coworker: “I am really sorry, but there is nothing I can do until Monday. Please hang up and call emergency services; they will be able to help you until we can get your oxygen tank fixed.”

Old Man: “No! These are your oxygen tanks! You have to help me! Please help me!”

(They keep going in circles like this for almost 15 minutes, with the man repeating the phrase “please help me” until he hangs up on my coworker, but not before she has convinced him to tell her his name and address.)

Coworker: “I don’t know what to do. I don’t think he’s going to call an ambulance. What if something happens to him?”

Me: “Maybe we should call an ambulance for him to be sure? You got his address, right? Lack of oxygen can make people very confused, I think.”

(My coworker called our supervisor, because we are not technically allowed to make external calls. He said he didn’t know, either. We could call emergency services if we wanted to, but if the man decided to sue for breach of privacy, it would be on us. I decided to call the non-emergency line instead of my coworker, since they couldn’t fire me, anyway. The operator seemed more than a little weirded out by me calling an ambulance for a stranger I had never seen or spoken to but had an address and a name for, but he thanked me and my coworker for the effort. I never found out what happened to the old man, but I hope he was okay, whether he needed that ambulance or not. Emergency services are completely free here, by the way, for you concerned US citizens out there. PSA: At least around here, if you suspect someone’s life is in danger, you are totally allowed to disregard any data protection slips your workplace had you sign.)

(Just after high school, I was diagnosed with oral cancer. Thankfully, I recovered, but due to chances of remission, I remained out of school and ended up as head waitress at a local fish and chip place. Two men are regulars at the restaurant. They always complain and tip next to nothing. Consistently, they insult my job and tell me I should be educated and do more with life. I set two plates of their usual order down and greet them.)

Customer #1: “Why are the fish pieces always smaller and smaller each time we come in?”

Me: “Sir, all our fish is measured by weight, and the senior portion has always remained the same.”

Customer #2: *rudely points at the opposite table of a younger couple* “Then why are their pieces so much bigger?!”

Me: “You two order the senior discount, and less batter. If you’d like to upgrade, let me know!” *turns to get their condiments*

Customer #2: “Hey! You didn’t grab the tartar sauce!”

(I motion to the tartar I’m about to grab as I’m not halfway across the store, not too far away to hear the other man grumble.)

Customer #1: “Maybe if she spent more time in school and less time working for these d*** Asians she’d have a better memory.”

(The rest of the meal they groan and complain, being rude and disrespectful. Finally, they approach the table to pay.)

Customer #1: “How come you’re not in school? Shouldn’t you be doing something with your life?”

(This has to be about the tenth time this man has asked me this and usually I politely shrug it off.)

Customer #2: “You’re wasting your life, I tell you! When you’re old you’ll regret that you only amounted to serving for some [Asian slur]s!”

(I’ve finally had enough and I snap.)

Me: “No. The owners are not ‘[slurs]’ and your racial slurs are not welcome. They are good people who helped me in a bad time. I graduated with over a 96% average and fully intend to go back to school when I’m ready to get back into action. However, having any job is a good job. I cannot apply when I am in remission as the cancer I had when I was 18 may very well just come back, and I am still recovering and in pain! If you assume things and use racial slurs, you are the uneducated ones. Now, will that be all?”

(At a loss for words, the two apologized under their breath, leaving behind nearly a $20 tip on a ten-dollar meal. They have been nothing but pleasant ever since. My boss, who heard the whole thing, gave me a smile and thumbs-up. Made my day!)