I’m a receptionist. The biggest part of my job involves answering the phone and greeting people. I am fairly new and want to do my job the best I can, so when my throat starts to hurt (which is happening regularly), I don’t want to go to the doctor since he could tell me to stay home. I stupidly decide to work through it, drink tea to soothe my throat, and hope for the best.

It doesn’t get any better, and by the end of the week, I have lost my voice, can barely function, and have a bad fever.

It is Friday evening, and I go to the late-night doctor — by taxi since I don’t have a car. She diagnoses me with badly infected laryngitis. She gives me a prescription for antibiotics, painkillers, and a nebulizer for an aerosol treatment. Since it’s late, I have to buy everything at the late-night pharmacist. The taxi that drove me to the doctor drives me there, too.

Once I arrive, I see three to four young women working there, laughing and joking with the few customers. I wait. Ten minutes later, they are still slacking off and making small talk to the first customer. I wait, trying to be patient, annoyed by the fact that all of the employees are serving one customer instead of each one taking one person and moving to the other.

Another fifteen minutes later, they finally move to the second customer and start making small talk and jokes again. I still wait. I am worried about the taxi bill since the driver is still waiting for me. I am in great pain and the fever is making me very hot and very cold at the same time.

Another ten minutes pass, and they are still with the second customer. I would like to leave and go somewhere else, but it is the only pharmacy in the neighborhood, and I am in too much pain to even think about leaving without the medication.

When they finally move to the third customer and again take their very sweet time, I start crying from the pain and the frustration. I have no voice left, so I can’t even call one of them to get their attention. I cry for a good five minutes before one of the pharmacists notices me and comes toward me.

Pharmacist: “Hey, hey, honey, why are you crying?”

I’m barely able to get the words out.

Me: “It hurts… And the taxi’s been waiting for half an hour…”

This seemed to get her to move; she took the prescription and started putting all of the pills I needed and the nebulizer machine on the counter.

I paid and finally went back to the taxi. The driver was worried since I was crying and had taken a very long time, but he was not mad at me at all. He told me he knew this pharmacy and that the team there was known for slacking off and not taking the job seriously. This Godsend of a man didn’t even make me pay for the time he waited for me outside. I gave him a generous tip: 30% of the bill.

It took a whole week for my voice to come back. I still can’t believe it took me breaking down in tears for someone to finally do their job.

I still have the nebulizer at home. I intend to take my very sweet time taking it back.

I sell phones and everything that goes with phones in a retail setting. The job has gotten frustrating because the people who still go into a retail store are often just people who can’t figure out how to work a website and won’t bother to read anything. This is true for my customer the other day.

This woman comes in and buys a smartwatch, and she wants me to set it up for her. I’m more than happy to do so, but it really just boils down to her needing to configure it to her specifications — things like deciding which wrist it’ll be set for.

Customer: “Just do all the setup for me while I go get coffee.”

Me: “Ma’am, I really need you to stay. It’s going to ask me things that I can’t answer if you’re not here.”

She blows me off.

Customer: “Just do it and I’ll be back.”

I set it up and just guessed what she wanted. When it came to her height and weight, I put 6’2” and 385 pounds and set it to notify her about her daily workout progress as much as possible. She was probably more like 5’5” and 130 pounds.

She came in mad that her watch kept calling her fat and telling her that she needed to walk more.

One part of my job consists of calling the Rental Board (a tribunal dealing with landlord-tenant relations) to ask for certified copies of their decisions for the collection agency we deal with. This is necessary when we sent our one and only certified copy to the bailiff to have a tenant evicted.

The vast majority of the time, I call, I wait thirty to forty-five minutes on hold with some annoying Musak and repetitive messages, I get a Rental Board representative, I ask for the documents, they tell me it will be in the mail in a couple of days, and then, I receive it.

Then, this morning, after forty-five minutes of high-volume Musak and low-volume droning, I get this employee.

Me: “Hello, I am [My Name] for [Landlord], and I am calling to get several certified copies of Rental Board decisions.”

Employee: “Please hold for a moment.”

Cue ten more minutes of auditive torture.

Employee: “Good morning, what is your request?”

Me: “I would like to get some certified copies of Rental Board decisions.”

Employee: “I suggest that you register with [Well-Known Provider Of Rental Board Decisions].”

Me: “This provider only gives regular copies. I need certified copies for our collection agency.”

The employee speaks to me like I am some kind of cockroach.

Employee: “Then you can go to our website and choose ‘Transmit a document to the Tribunal.’”

Me: “But I don’t want to transmit a document. I want to receive a document.”

Employee: “Like I said, you have to go to our website for that. Choose ‘Transmit a document to the Tribunal.’”

Me: “The ‘Rental Board decisions’ option is not even available.”

Employee: “Then you choose ‘Other Documents,’ and then you transmit your demand for the Tribunal.”

Never mind that this website is not even designed for that kind of request.

Me: “You don’t get it, I—”

She cuts me off in a tone of voice one uses on a petulant child.

Employee: “If you are not satisfied with the way I handled your request, you may deposit a complaint on the website. If there’s nothing else, I will disconnect this call. Goodbye.”

This afternoon, I will call again, and I fully expect another representative to tell me that my decisions will be in the mail in a couple of days.

I work in a hotel. Recently, I checked in a woman who said she was renting a room for her brother who is disabled and in a wheelchair.

Me: “No problem. We’ll just need his ID so I can add him to the guest list.”

Woman: “Okay. He won’t be any problem. He’ll just need help here and there. If you need to, you can call me directly at any time.”

The first night was uneventful. The woman was in the guest’s room for about an hour and then left. The next day, the guest called me at around 5:00 pm.

Guest: “My HVAC unit is blowing cold air.”

Me: “No problem. Just push the ‘heat’ button and adjust the temperature with the up and down buttons.”

Guest: *Long sigh* “I can’t do it. I need your help; I’m disabled.”

Me: “Okay, sir, I understand; however, all you need to do is push the ‘heat’ button and adjust the temperature.”

Guest: “But I can’t do it! I’m disabled. I need your help!”

I went up to the room, and the unit was set to heat and was at seventy degrees.

Me: “The unit is on heat. Would you like me to turn it up?”

Guest: “Yes; I’m freezing!”

I tried to prompt him to come over so I could show him how to adjust the temperature, but he just sat there. I turned it up to seventy-five and left.

About an hour later, he called again.

Guest: “My TV has no picture.”

Me: “Press the ‘input’ button on your remote and change it to ‘cable’.”

Guest: “I can’t do it; I need your help.”

Me: “Get your remote, and—”

Guest: “I can’t do it! I’m disabled and I need your help!”

I went and did that. I tried to show him how to change the input and he did nothing.

Later that day he apparently ordered pizza and gave the wrong room number, so the delivery guy left the pizza at the desk. I called the guest’s room.

Me: “Sir, your pizza is here at the desk.”

Guest: “I can’t come get it; I’m disabled.”

So, I took the pizza to his room. Not ten minutes later, he came down to the breakfast area with the pizza and asked me to turn on the TV. Luckily, I could do that from the desk, so I did. He was there for about two hours, which was fine; he wasn’t bothering anyone. However, he didn’t bother to clean up after himself.

He did that for a couple of days with food his sister brought. I honestly didn’t mind cleaning up after him after he was done watching TV in the breakfast area. I just let him be and do his thing. He called on and off for things he couldn’t do, per usual.

Today, however, he decided to go to [Fast Food Restaurant], which was a block away. An hour later, the restaurant called the hotel and asked for someone to pick up our “patient”. I was confused.

Me: “Um… we’re not a health care facility.”

Employee: “Well, there’s a guy in the lobby that won’t leave. He’s in a wheelchair, and his name is [Guest].

Me: “Yes, we do have a guest who’s staying with us who matches that description.”

Employee: “He wants to watch TV as he eats his food, but we don’t have one in our lobby. He won’t leave; someone needs to pick him up now.”

I called his sister and she didn’t answer. It was a busy day, and I was the only one at the desk, so I kept calling. I got no answer every time. Meanwhile, I kept checking in guests.

The fast food restaurant called again, and this time, it was the manager.

Manager: “If someone doesn’t pick up your guest soon, we’ll call the police.”

Our guest has three more days on his reservation, and I didn’t want any issues with rent or anything, so I put up our “Be Back In Ten Minutes” sign and ran to the restaurant to bring him back.

I started to take him to his room, but he insisted that he wanted to eat in the breakfast area. Okay, fine.

I called his sister again and left a lengthy voicemail about what happened and told her that I’m not doing that again.

I worked at a local supermarket for four years. Two years and a few months into my time there, one of our local shoppers — an older guy — applies for a position and joins the team. A few weeks after his joining, word spreads that a promotion to supervisor is open, so of course, the new hire becomes the manager’s best friend and starts bossing everyone else around, even though he has less experience than the entire team. The experience is irritating for us all, but the new hire will soon find his bootlicking and alienating himself from the staff will come back to bite him.

Not long after the announcement, I get a call from my manager as they want to trial me for the supervisory position. I’m thrilled; I work my a**e off anyway, and I’m glad my managers have the sense to recognise that over the new hire’s antics. I pass the trial, and of course, when the new hire hears about my promotion in the weekly meeting, he isn’t too pleased. Overnight, he turns bitter, leaving jobs half done when I’m on duty or refusing to communicate with the team, all to make me look bad.

Of most concern, he gradually turns up later and later for his shifts. One day, he turns up to my shift almost one hour late. I give him a good dressing-down in the office, reminding him that his behaviour and lack of care for his role are not going to get him far. He goes back to work, but somehow I feel this isn’t over.

Fast forward a few weeks, I’m one hour into a night shift with [New Hire] and another employee. [New Hire] has turned up on time for a change and is on the shop floor whilst I’m in the back office. My phone rings with a call from [Employee #2].

Me: “Hello?”

Employee #2: “Hi, [My Name]. Um… I-I am gonna be a bit late tonight…”

From her tone of voice, it sounds like she has been crying. She informs me that her brother was just in a very nasty car accident and she’s going to the hospital with him.

Me: “Oh, my goodness. Look, it’s a Sunday night. Don’t worry about coming in. I’ll let [Manager] know. Keep us updated, okay? Take care, [Employee #2].”

I then dwell on how I’m going to break the news to [New Hire]. These are the types of excuses for his behaviour that he loves to exploit. Any time somebody’s late, he has a say on it. Any time somebody doesn’t stack beans correctly, he makes an entire show about how HE and he alone has to do it properly. He is almost fifty years old and picking fights with people half his age. It’s really, really pathetic. I take a deep breath and walk out to the floor.

Me: “[New Hire], [Employee #2] isn’t coming in tonight. It’s just going to be me and you.”

New Hire: “Oh, right?”

He folds his arms and pouts.

New Hire: “So, uh, who’s doing the stock for the floor, then?”

Me: “You will. I will try to help, but I have also the backlogs on the computer to finish tonight.”

New Hire: *Rolling his eyes* “Well, I mean, I might get busy with customers, sooo…”

Me: “Well, it’s a Sunday night, and it’s a week before payday, so I don’t see why it could get so busy for the next eight hours. But if you do need help, buzz for me.”

New Hire: *Scoffs* “Why is she even late, anyway?”

Me: “That I do not know.”

[New Hire] rolls his eyes one more time and says under his breath:

New Hire: “Don’t know a whole lot, do you? F****** idiot.”

I let the last comment go. I didn’t tell him the gravity of the situation because I don’t want to spread [Employee #2]’s affairs before she returns. Besides, it’s none of his business; why does he need to know? The next week, [Employee #2], [New Hire], and I are working. [Employee #2] arrives for work.

Me: “Hello, [Employee #2]. How are you doing? How’s your brother?”

Employee #2: “Hey, yeah, he’s all right. He’s sti—”

[New Hire] marches up behind her.

New Hire: “What’s this? You go AWOL for one day, and then you come back and everything’s just as if it didn’t happen?”

Me: “Uh… [New Hire]—”

New Hire: “No! I’ve got a right to be upset. I had to do all of her f****** s*** that day, including my own jobs. And I haven’t received so much as a thank-you or apology for it! And if this was me not bothering to show up like she f****** has, you would be tearing my head off!”

Me: “I think you’d better sit in the break room for ten minutes and cool off.”

Whilst he stewed and sulked, [Employee #2] was very obviously upset by [New Hire]’s remarks. I privately told her that he hadn’t been made aware of why she didn’t turn up. I then also called my manager, who arrived with brimstone in her eyes.

I wasn’t there to see it, but according to what my manager said later on, she explained first about [Employee #2]’s brother, and [New Hire] turned sheet white as she gave him quite possibly the biggest bollocking in his life. [New Hire] was sent home for the rest of the day and [Employee #2] carried on like a trooper as [Manager] and I closed up.

[New Hire] was allowed to remain employed, but he was later fired when he was found out for stealing gas credit from our top-up machine. Not a single person was sorry to see him go, and he would occasionally “pop by” to gloat about his new “amazing job, which he loved” until he was then banned when he was spotted weeing on our building.

By the way, [Employee #2]’s brother recovered, though he will need to use a wheelchair for the rest of his life as a result of his injuries.