This happened at my first restaurant job. I worked in the kitchen, and a waitress told me about it later. We were open all day during the summer, and there were no set times for lunch or dinner service. It was a Friday, and we were fully booked for dinner.

There was a table that had been sitting there since we opened. They had eaten lunch, they were drinking and watching the cricket, and they wanted to stay for dinner. They asked, and they were told no with apologies as we were fully booked.

Then, a waitress went around and put out the “Reserved” signs on the tables, which sometimes included the first and last name of the person who made the booking. (I guess this was in case we had multiple bookings under common names.)

The group at the table that wanted to stay then called the venue from the table and said they were [Person whose name was on the “Reserved” sign on their table] and wanted to cancel their booking. The girl who answered the phone didn’t confirm any of the details the original booking customer had given and just cancelled the booking.

So, when the actual group who had booked the table showed up, they had a cancelled booking and no spare tables to be sat at.

They kicked out the group who had cancelled the booking.

I’ve changed jobs and have to make a decision in regard to changing superannuation (retirement savings) providers. In Australia, it is law for employers to pay into their employees’ superannuation funds which are then paid out after retirement. Each industry tends to have its own fund managers, but the employee has the right to use the company of their choice.

I start getting phone calls supposedly from the company my employer uses.

Woman: “Hi. This is [Woman] from [Company]. I just need some information from you in regards to setting up your superannuation account. We haven’t been supplied with your tax number, and we need that to proceed. Can you tell it to me now?”

Me: “Sorry, I am at work at the moment. I can call you back later. Can you give me your number?”

The call came up as a private number. I answered because my husband just got a new phone plan and his calls started coming through as a private number. 

Woman: “Oh, no problem. I will call you back at a more convenient time. What time do you finish?”

Me: “After five pm.”

Woman: “I finish before then. I will call back in a couple of days.”

My suspicions are raised because I supplied all of my details to my employer.

When she calls back again, it’s the same thing; she wants me to recite my information over the phone. Even if I felt it was legitimate, there is no way I am letting people surrounding me overhear my personal information. On the second call, I ask her to send me a letter through the post.

The third time she calls, she is insistent that I confirm the information that she already has such as my full name, address, and bank account number.  

Me: “I have already told you that I am not comfortable saying that sort of information over the phone.”

Woman: “I assure you that this is highly confidential; your information will be kept private.”

Me: “No, I am in a public place and do not want others to overhear me. I have already asked for to post me the information using the address you have on file.”

Woman: “I just need you to tell me your address to confirm it.”

Me: “No, I am not doing that. Just email it to me at the address I know you already have.”

She agreed to do that. Later, I received an email from her along with a form to fill out and return. Neither the email nor the form had any information to do with the fund management supplier, and there was no letterhead, company address, or any other information apart from the woman’s first name to sign it.

Of course, I ignored it and never heard anything back again. I definitely stayed with my previous fund manager.

The tiny town I live in is about 93% white, so most of my coworkers and I also happen to be white. A few years ago, we had one employee on the overnight shift who happened to be Black, and he had all sorts of issues even with just showing up to work on time (or at all). He had so many no-call-no-shows that administrative staff pulled him in to fire him. But then, he spun some yarn about two of his coworkers on his shift making all sorts of racial remarks toward him, calling him the N-word, etc.

These were veteran staff I knew personally enough to know they would never behave like that. (Even the shift supervisor for that shift was mixed race.)

So, of course, his canning got canceled for the time being while administrative staff had to investigate his claims.

Nothing came of it, of course, and he kept working at that job for a few more months until they finally fired him after thirteen no-call-no-shows.

I had a coworker falsely accuse me of harassment. Someone outed me as bisexual to her, and she automatically took that to mean I MUST be hitting on her by merely existing near her. She even stated:

Coworker #1: “I don’t mind gay people because my uncle is gay, but two women being together is disgusting!”

I knew nothing of this until I was pulled into the office by management and asked for my side. [Coworker #1] finally told management it was her or me, and when they declined to fire anyone, she quit. No tears were shed.

Less than a year later, one of the younger, male staff members decided I must be attracted to HIM. I made the comment, “Nice!”, to a customer who got a $60 coupon on their receipt. [Coworker #2] decided I’d said it about his butt because he was bending over at the time.

Did I mention he was fifteen years old to my twenty-six, that I was in a relationship already, and that his mother worked elsewhere in the store?

Management watched the cameras and asked AGAIN for my side, which was AGAIN the first time I was hearing about it. I was told to “watch what [I] said” around younger coworkers.

My great-grandfather Sylvester’s start to life was shaky at best. He was born at seven months gestation, and his mother did not survive the birth. According to family lore, they did not even realize she’d given birth until they went to remove her body and her premature son fell to the floor.

Sylvester’s father had older children from a prior marriage and did not have the time or the inclination to deal with a weak newborn. He sent Sylvester off to live with his maternal aunt, Liddy, who was unmarried and childless herself.

Liddy and Sylvester had a very close relationship but lived on a small farm in extreme poverty.

When Sylvester was nine years old, he decided he wanted to attend school. However, he was deeply embarrassed because all of the other children he saw wore shoes, and he had never owned a pair; Liddy simply could not afford them. His pride would not allow him to start his education barefoot, and he decided to earn the money for shoes himself.

He spent that summer working every day on a neighboring farm, running himself ragged at whatever the farmer requested, all with the motivation that, in the fall, he would be able to achieve his dream. But when the end of summer came, and Sylvester requested his wages, the farmer laughed in his face and told him to beat it.

That evening, as Sylvester was walking back to his Aunt Liddy’s, he couldn’t stop crying, and he was not a child that cried easily. Another neighbor came by in a buggy and immediately stopped, insisting that the boy tell him what was wrong. Through his tears, Sylvester explained the situation and the neighbor became enraged.

Neighbor: “Climb in. We’re getting your wages.”

What exactly the gentleman said to the dishonest farmer, there is no record of — only that he gave the man a tongue-lashing so spectacular that he paid Sylvester on the spot.

That fall, Sylvester proudly started first grade in his new shoes. He became an avid reader and became fascinated by electricity, ending up employed by one of the first power plants in the area. When promotions became available, he found more books and taught himself what he needed to know to advance in his career.

He met a young woman, got married, and fathered six children, the youngest of whom was my grandmother.

When my life becomes difficult, I think back to the tenacity of a little boy who wanted to learn to read and write and made it happen. I also think, gratefully, of the neighbor who stopped to comfort a crying child and took it upon himself to right an injustice. I would not exist if Sylvester had been less driven or the neighbor had been less kind. They are my heroes.