My dad put me in touch with an old friend who’d just written a book, which needed some illustrations. Working with him was very casual so, because I was a naive college graduate, I didn’t make him sign a contract. The topic of copyrights didn’t come up at all until he brought me the first draft of the printed book. I was excited to see my name as the illustrator, but my name — and my copyright — was nowhere to be found.

Me: “I think you made a mistake here. It says you own the copyrights to my illustrations.”

Client: “Oh, no. I purchased the copyright when I paid you.”

Me: “No, you didn’t.”

Client: “Yes, I did. We talked about this.”

Me: “No, we didn’t. Ever.”

Client: “Oh. Well, it must have been because I was so sick recently. But they are mine, anyway.”

I argued with him for days that, as the artist, I maintained copyright privileges and that I just wanted the right to be able to display my work in my portfolio online, but he was paranoid about it. I think he thought that if people could see the pictures on my website, then no one would buy his book. Finally, we agreed that I would sign away the copyright on the condition that I could use the illustrations on social media to promote my work.

A week later, I get a threatening letter from a lawyer saying [Client] would sue me if he saw any of those illustrations on said social media. I didn’t have the money to try and see if I could call his bluff or if he really meant it, so I took everything down. I did over sixty drawings for that man, and my name and credit didn’t end up anywhere in the final printing.

Related:
CopyWrong, Part 2
CopyWrong

I am taking accounting for my business degree, and my teacher is probably the most uptight teacher I have had in years. He is a stickler for language and has a “no phones allowed in class or you are buying me doughnuts” policy — the usual signs of a migraine-inducing professor.

This beginning-of-semester assignment takes the cake, though.

He tells everyone that we have a MANDATORY meeting all the way across town for a business convention and that we need to have a “very good reason to not attend”.

This meeting is an hour’s drive away at 6:00 pm. He keeps talking about how important it is, and I stress about dressing nice and appearing on time ready to answer questions.

The day comes.

I show up and there are a total of ten booths, most of them trying to advertise their tax companies to us.

I spend five minutes there and get my pamphlet and myself put on the grade, and then I leave.

I missed out on a lot of homework time for this.

I work at a hotspot breakfast joint. We open at 6:00 am, and there’s already a line at the starting bell. I’m the only server on — no host or busser — but it’s breakfast, so I seat eight tables in the first minute. I’ve had my caffeine boost, so I grab about fifteen coffees plus all the tables’ orders like clockwork. People continue trickling in, and even the kitchen manager is out on the floor helping bus tables between flipping flapjacks.

It’s gonna be an hour until another server comes on, and I’m barely hanging on, but I’m making do. One of the last things we set up in the mornings is the outside patio. It didn’t exist until the global health crisis, and it’s unfortunately situated across the parking lot, so it usually has one dedicated server to handle the entire section. At 6:00 am, the sun hasn’t come out yet, and we’re already experiencing a light drizzle under the fog of morn.

At this point, I have twelve tables, and there’s a figure hovering at the entrance. I come over and ask if he’s looking for a table.

Customer: “Yes, and I understand you have patio seating available per your website?”

Me: “We do. But, unfortunately, I am the only person on the floor right now, so if you’re looking for a quick meal, I would recommend dining in as it will help consolidate service.”

I motion to an empty table.

Me: “But you’re more than welcome to have a seat out there if you’re okay with taking a more relaxed breakfast, as I’ll be slow getting out there.”

He harumphs.

Customer: “Well, I was looking for a quick bite, but it also sounds like you’re not going to be giving me adequate service!”

Me: “I’m merely making the suggestion that I can better serve you if I have less ground to cover.”

Customer: “Well, it certainly sounds like you don’t want my business. I think I’ll be heading on over to [Other Breakfast Spot across town].”

He left, clearly feeling superior.

My shoulders had never shrugged with such fervor. Crisis averted.

I’ve been working for my company for close to five years now. I started on tills, then I moved to working in the stock room, and now I pull in deliveries with another colleague. 

This colleague is literally the worst. We do have days where he is nice and works well with others, but they are very few and far between.

[Colleague] loves to complain about everything: times deliveries are due in, times we finish work, etc.

The last time I worked with [Colleague] was a week ago. During that week, I got screamed at for not doing things his way, even though management told me to do things a certain way. He thinks he is above management and can do as he pleases.

He has tried to give me relationship advice despite him not being in a relationship. He has made it to the point that I do not wish to continue working at the company due to his comments toward other members that are off sick, either due to mental health or other sicknesses.

Management is no help as, according to them, he is the best worker ever because he is fast.

I’ve been pulled up for how slow I’ve gone on delivery. The expected time for each item is one minute or under, and [Colleague] loves to talk to me whilst I’m in the middle of putting items away, pushing my times back a lot. 

He claims that because he can do things one way, I should be able to do them that way, despite me telling him I find it easier doing them another way. I’ve now resorted to saying:

Me: “If I can give birth, so can you. That’s your logic surrounding other things, right?”

[Colleague] also loves to play games, and multiple times, he has tried to convince me to buy games that I am not interested in, despite the fact that I usually respond the same way.

Colleague: “It only costs [amount]! It’s so fun to play! You should definitely buy it!”

Me: “You have no children or any other things to pay for. I have a child and a house to run and pay for, as well as my bills.”

He lives with his dad at the age of thirty-six.

Some days, [Colleague] can be nice, but it’s VERY rare.

I work in a small store, and we have a regular customer who is a veteran. I can’t give him too much hate since he was shot in the head a long time ago and still has the scar to show it. This has led to him having, um… special privileges. Let’s just say that he can get more than a military discount from the local bakery. Don’t mistake this as me hating him for his condition. I respect him for his service, and he usually is kind. He just… has his moments. Today is one of those moments.

He comes into our small store and starts sweeping through, grabs about $300 worth of stuff, and hauls it up to our only till. Now, when I say $300, I mean $300-plus after the military discount and state taxes; it is honestly closer to $330.

Me: “Your total is [amount].”

He nods his head, mumbles something, and pulls out a thick wallet, full to the brim with credit cards — thicker than two thumbs of cards and nothing but. He doesn’t even look down and pulls out the frontmost card.

A few seconds later, my screen flashes: “DECLINED.” No problem; we can do the next card. What can possibly go wrong?

“DECLINED.”

“DECLINED.”

“DECLINED.”

“DECLINED.”

Me: “Perhaps we should do cash or a check?”

He shakes his head and motions that he doesn’t have either. On to the next card!

“DECLINED.”

“DECLINED.”

“APPROVED!” …for $20 only. Yep, it’s a gift card. On to the next card.

Three more cards decline.

“APPROVED!” …for $19.91. We have less than $300 to go.

Two more cards decline.

At this point, I’m getting a rare sight in this small store: a line. We have three people waiting. I’m on the only till, and I’m the only employee.

“DECLINED.”

[Veteran] is getting mad. I don’t blame him. We are now out of bank-approved cards, and we’re into “special funds” from “special clients” cards.

“DECLINED.”

“APPROVED!” …for $5.

Three more cards decline.

There are five people in line now, and the guy behind [Veteran] is giving me the look a hungry [Entitled Customer] gives when she knows there’s a weak retail worker with no manager nearby to feast upon. And more people are coming in.

“DECLINED.”

“DECLINED.”

Can you tell I’m in Hell yet? Several more cards decline.

Finally, the last card… guess what?

“APPROVED!” …for $25. Another gift card.

[Veteran] lets out a long sigh and reaches into his pocket, pulling out ANOTHER WALLET! It’s full of fifties — about three fingers thick! He pays the rest off, and all of the bills pass the UV and marker tests. I give him his change and his bags of stuff, and I am about to turn to the next customer when he says:

Veteran: “Auugh Uuu Ggoo Krrr Hsss?”

Me: *Thrown off* “I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?”

Veteran: “Auugh Uuu Ggoo Krrr Hsss?”

Yep, I didn’t mishear him. He wanted me to carry his bags out to his car — as the only retail worker in the store and with five or six people behind him. Thankfully, a nice guy from the line realized what [Veteran] wanted and volunteered as tribute. He carried out [Veteran]’s stuff as I rang up everyone else’s purchases.

Bless you, [Nice Guy]; he told me after coming back to buy his things that [Veteran]’s car was three blocks away. [Nice Guy], please know that if I could have made your purchases any cheaper, I would have, but I do hope that you accept the secret military discount I snuck into your purchase.

I want to elaborate again that I do not hate [Veteran] for who he is. He is a chill dude, but dang, some days he’s so frustrating!