I work for a major financial company. I was the manager of the branch in question. I worked long hours there. I was usually there from a few hours before open until significantly after close. I was the first person to arrive in the morning and the last to leave at night. It was exhausting.

We were running on (essentially) a skeleton crew, so I had to be familiar with every position from janitor on out and fill in for anyone who was sick.

We were in a dense commercial block, with small antique shops, restaurants, other financial companies, and even a theatre.

I started getting headaches at work. Some days, they were so bad I threw up in the bathroom before driving home. It seemed that the longer I was at work, the worse I felt.

I started seeing the gas company van parked on the block more and more often. In a local restaurant, while enjoying lunch, I overheard that all of the commercial spaces near ours were complaining about gas smell.

One day, one of our clients complained of a gas smell in our branch. I didn’t smell anything. None of my coworkers smelled anything. But the guidance was clear on what to do; we called the gas company and reported that there was a gas smell.

We were told to leave the building, so we did dutifully, complaining the whole way. The gas company showed up with their tester. As he brought the tester device near my office, it started clicking. It started clicking really fast. The gas company guy turned to us, quite pale, and asked how we hadn’t exploded yet.

They evacuated us a few more blocks away. I remember a fire company person asking me if I was dizzy or nauseous. I was, but it was normal for me, so I was confused and didn’t know how to answer. I wish to this day I had answered, because my spouse had apparently noticed that I was mentally deteriorating the whole time, and even now, five years later, I’m noticeably slower and less mentally capable than I once was. 

After they aired out the first floor with large vans that had large fans, I was brought back into the office to unlock the door to the basement, where the gas concentration was strongest. By now, I’d sent all my coworkers home with a promised full day’s pay.

I unlocked the door a bit nervously and was hustled away from it again while they went into the basement.

Earlier that year, in January, we’d gotten a new furnace. It turned out that they hadn’t joined the unions correctly and the furnace was leaking out gas at a prodigious rate. What actually saved us from an explosion was that there was very little oxygen down there, mostly just gas and carbon monoxide.

The basements of all of the commercial buildings on the block were separated by old crumbling brickwork, so the gas from my office was leaking into the neighboring commercial buildings, too. They all had to be aired out. All of the gas problems on the block were the fault of my faulty furnace.

And I was the one who’d suffered the most exposure to it, as we kept our secure documents in the basement, and I was the only one with the key, going down there every day, multiple times a day to retrieve or return documents.

I still work for the company, but in a different district far away. I still don’t know how to get compensation for any harm I may have suffered in those working conditions.

The company I work for has a policy of checking the IDs of all people in a group if they shop together and buy alcohol. In my experience, that’s a pretty common practice. Unfortunately, quite often, those who don’t have their ID will ask if they can just step outside. The answer is still no, because we know they’re shopping together.

Two women in their early to mid-twenties come in together. My coworker and I see them shopping together, including going to the liquor aisle together. I have a strong feeling that one of them is underage, so I make sure my coworker checks both women’s IDs when ringing them up.

Eventually, I get called to the front. One of the girls is at the register and is visibly livid. As I suspected, the other girl does not have an ID. The sale was denied, and the girl at the register is furious that we won’t sell the liquor, even with her friend outside in the car. She throws a fit, demanding corporate’s number and my name to file a complaint.

While this is going on, a woman lines up behind them. I guess here I should point out that my coworker, this woman, and I are all white; the two women purchasing the alcohol are black. Despite hearing me explain to the first girl why the sale was denied, the other woman demands to know why the sale is denied. She clearly thinks we are being racist even though she doesn’t know about the other girl.

We never hear from the first two, but this woman goes to Twitter to express her rage at this racial injustice. Luckily, the security cameras show the entire scenario, and we see [Girl #2] handing [Girl #1] money to buy said alcohol. Case closed!

We have a rewards program to get sale prices, discounts, and coupons. To use the rewards, we can scan the card or type in the customers’ phone numbers. When asking a customer if they are part of the program, I always say:

Me: “Do you have a [card] or phone number to enter?”

I long ago lost count of the number of people who say, “No,” but after I back out of that screen, they say, “But I do have a phone number!” Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t understand why they can’t put that answer all in one sentence!

I’m flying back from a sales conference in Vegas, and I am able to upgrade to a first-class seat. We have a very annoying sales VP that’s on the same flight. She is the snobby, entitled type who brags about having a full-time nanny and giant mansion in the suburbs, and she generally treats people who work for her like servants.

She sees me in a first-class seat as she is making her way to coach.

VP: “How did you get that seat?”

Me: “I used points to upgrade.”

As people are getting settled in, she makes her way back up to the first-class cabin.

VP: “I want to speak with the lead flight attendant.”

Lead Flight Attendant: “How can I help you?”

VP: “One of my underlings is sitting in first class, and I need to switch with him since I’m higher on the corporate ladder.”

The lead flight attendant can’t believe what he’s hearing, but she won’t take no for an answer. Finally…

Lead Flight Attendant: “Ma’am, you have to go back to her seat or you will be escorted from the plane.”

She trotted off back to coach after having made a complete a** of herself to the entire first-class cabin.

Twice every year since I was eight, I get what I call a sinus attack when the seasons change from summer to fall and from winter to spring. Basically, my sinuses go crazy — teary eyes, super runny nose, and sore throat — for five days. I’ll admit that it can look really bad, but I’m not contagious — I’ve been to the doctor a couple of times — and I can’t afford to miss ten days of work each year. This attack happens to land at the height of cold season.

I am scanning a customer’s groceries, having to occasionally blow my nose.

Customer: “You’d better not get me sick.”

Me: “I won’t. I’m not contagious; it’s just my allergies.”

Customer: “If you do, I’m going to sue you.”

Me: “Okay.”

I am thinking, “Yeah, right. You’ll forget about me.”

I forget about her. A week later, the customer comes up to me. I don’t recognize her immediately; she wasn’t the only one who was worried about me making them sick.

Customer: “I got sick.”

Me: “I’m sorry.”

Customer: “I missed three days of work.”

Me: “Okay.”

Customer: “Well, aren’t you going to pay me? You have to pay me for the days I missed work because you got me sick.”

Me: “No?”

Customer: “Well, I’m going to sue you! You made me miss work because you got me sick!”

Me: *Faking calm* “You do what you have to do.”

Customer: “You have to pay me.”

Me: “No.”

She walked away in a huff and I proceeded to freak out and ask my coworkers about what would happen to me. Of course, my coworkers pointed out that there would be no way she could prove I made her sick and that she could have gotten sick from touching the shopping carts, etc.

Obviously, I never heard from her again, but seriously, what did she think she was going to be able to get from a retail worker? And I wasn’t contagious!