On the side, I do moderation for a legal assistance forum. We are not professionals, and we give advice mostly based on common sense and Googling.

For context, in France, PTO (vacation) is a minimum of five weeks a year by law, which was the case for the following user.

User: “I took the entire month of September off for my holidays, as allowed by law. At the end of September, I called my boss to say I can’t come back because of a death.”

We don’t know the relation between this user and the dead person, and why it prevented this user from going back to work.

User: “So, I decided to take the month of October as a holiday too. When I came back to work in early November, I was surprised that my boss decided to fire me.”

Me: “Is there a question?”

User: “What should I do to get a severance package?”

I’m a paralegal in a busy law firm. I’ve been here a few months. It’s late in the evening, and a few of the lawyers and senior paralegals are staying behind to finish work on a case.

Senior Paralegal: “Hey, can you go grab some Coke for the rest of us?”

They hold out some money, like… quite a lot!

Me: “Sure… uh, what kind? Diet? Zero? Cherry?”

They all burst out laughing.

Senior Paralegal: “No… we… uh. We mean the other kind.”

I’m at a loss. Do they mean Pepsi?

Senior Paralegal: “You see that room, there?”

Me: “The stationery room?”

Senior Paralegal: “Yeah. It’s where most of the lawyers, and uh… most of us go to get a bump.”

Me: “A bump?”

Other Paralegal: “Oh my god, [My Name], were you born yesterday?! Drugs, darling! Coke! It’s undiscussed office knowledge that THAT room is where one gets the… energy to carry on the work.” 

It takes me a moment to process two things. One, that they are talking about this so nonchalantly, as if it’s expected that everyone in the office just KNOWS this. And two, that they would be so brazen to expect me to just… go out and get some for them?!

Me: “…What?! No! Absolutely not! I’m not comfortable with that, and also, I wouldn’t know where to even start getting some!”

Everyone looks genuinely surprised. One of the actual lawyers speaks up.

Lawyer #1: “Well… that’s a first.”

Another lawyer leans back in his chair.

Lawyer #2: “You thinking about law school?”

Me: “Yes, actually.”

Lawyer #2: *Laughs.* “You’ll pick up a habit or two when the studying starts.”

Me: “I’ve been here five months, pulling all-nighters and midnight finishes with all of you fighting for cheating husbands who want to leave their wives with nothing. If I can do that sober, I can do anything sober.”

Three years later…

I’m in law school, still pulling all-nighters. The closest I’ve ever come to drugs is one joint in Amsterdam.

…And I hated it.

I used to work in car sales. One day, a customer comes in wanting a fully loaded vehicle. There’s just one problem: his credit history is a nightmare, with multiple repossessions on his record.

After running his application, we do manage to get him an offer… but for a much lower-end car than what he wanted. That’s when he notices something.

Customer: “Hold up. On my phone, my credit score says 521. Why are you saying 491?”

Me: “Sir, credit bureaus use different scoring models for different purposes. The one you see on your app isn’t necessarily the same one banks see. Also… 521 versus 491 isn’t going to make much of a difference.”

Customer: “You need to call every bank back right now and tell them my score isn’t 491, it’s 521!”

Me: “Sir, even at 521, you’d still be declined. You don’t make enough, you already have a lot of debt, and you have multiple repos on your record.”

He doesn’t like that answer and starts threatening to sue us. My manager steps in.

Manager: “Sir, he’s correct. There are different credit scores for different uses. None of that changes the fact that you’re not approved for this loan.”

Customer: “I’ll sue you! You’ll hear from my lawyer!”

Without missing a beat, my manager reaches into his pocket, pulls out a business card, and hands it to him.

Manager: “Here’s the law firm that represents us. Ask for Lisa, she’s their secretary and very nice. She’ll get a lawyer assigned to your lawsuit. Just so you know, once that happens, we can’t help you anymore. At that point, it’s between the lawyers and the judge.”

The customer takes the card and storms out.

We never heard from him, or his lawyer, again.

A few years ago I worked as a legal assistant at a law firm. Our office hours are 8-5, Monday-Friday. I have a new client whose case has been assigned to me. I speak with the client several times over the phone. She tells me some things about herself and her case. One thing she tells me is she works part-time at a local company doing payroll. She says she works 8-2. I know where the company is located that she works for; it’s about fifteen minutes away.

Every Thursday she would stop in the office to speak to me about her case. That’s great except she would come by at 4:50. She would talk a lot. She usually would leave at about 5:15.

She did this every time and despite me telling her we close at five, she would do this.

I asked my boss if I could tell her to either come earlier or when it was five I could tell her politely we were closing, and we could just discuss what she needed over the phone. He told me to try both. Well, she never could come earlier, so the next time she came dragging in it was 4:55.

I politely informed her we were closing the doors at five and if she just wanted to discuss whatever she needed over the phone. She said no, she wanted to talk about it then. I let her know she had five minutes.

Client: *Getting upset.* “It’s not my fault! I can’t make here any earlier!”

Me: “Ma’am, I thought you got off at two and you are only fifteen minutes away. Can you not come after work?”

Client: “No. I have things to do after work and then I go get my nails done every other Thursday or I go get my hair done, so I can’t get here sooner on Thursdays.”

Me: “You are welcome to come any other day.”

Client: “No I can only come on Thursdays. I go home and watch some TV and then I take a nap.”

My boss overhears this.

Boss: “Sorry, our business hours are Monday-Friday, 8-5. From now on you will need to make an appointment to come in. No appointments after 3:45. We will no longer allow clients to just walk in. Or you can call us instead before four if you have something to discuss. We close at five and there are no exceptions.”

Client: “Um, okay can I make an appointment to come in next Thursday at 3:15?”

We told her yes and scheduled her.

Next Thursday I call her at 3:15, no answer. I try her two more times and no answer. At 4:45 she shows up at the office with no explanation as to why she didn’t answer the phone and just says:

Client: “I was over here in the area anyway, so can we talk?

Me: “No, we not taking walk-ins anymore.”

Client: *Pouts.* “Well my hair appointment ran over. I couldn’t answer the phone. Once it was done, I had to go visit my boyfriend!”

My boss steps over again.

Boss: “If you want us to represent you then you will need to schedule hair appointments or go to see your boyfriend around your appointment with us.”

Client: “No. I’m the client so you’ll do what I say.”

Boss: “Okay then, I am afraid we will no longer be able to represent you. Good luck finding another attorney.”

She looked surprised and as she started walking away, she said:

Client: “I will find a firm that works with my busy schedule!”

A guy comes into our salad shop and he’s bleeding. It’s running from his arm, down his wrist, and dripping off of his fingers.

Me: “Sir, you’ve got some blood. Over there.”

He glances at it curiously, then looks away from it.

Customer: “I’d like to place an order.”

Me: “Sir. You are bleeding. It is all over your hand. You should seek medical attention. Or at least bandage that.”

Customer: “I’m fine. I’d like to place an order.”

Unfortunately corporate will probably be pissed at me if I tell him to go away.

Me: “Fine. I will not be accepting any cash from you if it’s smeared with blood, and I don’t want to have blood swiped into the card reader, so we are only doing a contactless payment. Your credit card can do contactless, correct?”

Customer: “Yes. I don’t get what the big deal is, but I can do contactless with my card. Is this a pandemic thing?”

Me: “No sir, this is not a pandemic thing. You are bleeding.”

Customer: “I said I’m fine.”

Me: “Tell me what you want, and don’t touch anything.”

He makes his order, I take the payment, and I sit him in the corner then pointedly mop up the trail of blood he left on the floor while my coworkers made his salad. While glaring at him passive-aggressively the whole time.

His order comes up, and I bring it to him. A little later he shouts:

Customer: “What’s the big idea, you can’t expect me to eat this salad?”

Me: *Fed up and out of patience with this guy.* “Why. The h***. Not.”

Customer: “There’s blood in this salad.”

Me: “It’s your own blood. You’re bleeding.”

Customer: “I’m fine. The guy who made the salad must have bled in it. he must have cut himself making it or something. I demand a remake.”

Me: “No. Get out.”

Customer: “You can’t do this to me! I’m a paying customer. I’ll sue!”

Me: “Get out.”

I went to grab the salad from him, but he hissed at me.

Customer: “No! This is evidence!”

He took the salad with him and left. I cleaned up the multiple handprints and drippings of blood he left on the table and chair and everything in that little area.

Well, his lawyers got in touch with our lawyers, and he took his salad to a genetic testing lab to prove it wasn’t his own blood for a lawsuit against us. Guess whose blood it was?

His. It was his own f****** blood.