Recently, our store’s trash compactor broke down. For the time being, management just had our clerks put the trash bags out in the rear lot on pallets next to the compactor until they could bring a dumpster in. This was all store trash, including things like scraps from our meat shop, sitting outside for two or three days in 90-degree heat.

Once they brought a dumpster in, they assigned two of the clerks to take all those trash bags and throw them into it to be taken away. One unlucky clerk went to throw a bag of meat shop trash in, and had it burst in his hands, splashing him from head to toe with rancid, raw meat and drippings.

That’s gross and unfortunate, but it got stupid when he asked to go home and change, and was told by the store manager to stay and finish his shift. The guy lived just down the road, probably would have been back within 20 minutes, and even offered to work past his shift to make up the lost time. But instead, they kept him working in those filthy clothes for another three hours. And he was told to do nothing but lot duty — something clerks are only supposed to do in half-hour increments in hot weather — the entire time so the smell wouldn’t offend customers.

He’s been one of our best and most reliable clerks — it says something that he followed orders there — but he put in his two weeks after that.

This story is part of the second Heatwave roundup!

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My cat is generally a lovable cuddleball who has free reign of the house, but we have two rules for him: do not jump on the kitchen counter, and do not meow repeatedly and obnoxiously for the fancy canned food he gets every day at four — he has unlimited dry food — to try to get it early or more than once. We enforce these by squirting him with cool water. He’s a smart cat who understands the rules, and like all cats, hates being sprayed with water.

One day was extremely hot — about 110 degrees — and the air conditioner wasn’t working properly, so the inside of the house felt miserable. In addition, my cat seemed to be taking out his frustration by meowing as obnoxiously as possible, jumping on the counter right in front of us, and trying to nudge us toward where we keep the canned food. Obviously, we squirted him with the cool water.

When he started purring, we realized that he knew exactly what he was doing, and that we didn’t think the punishment through.

I work for a very small, in-state pet store chain. All of us employees are major animal lovers and have pet experience of some kind or another; it’s pretty much a requirement if you want to get a job there. We offer, among other things, nail clippings. Most of the animals we see come in are obviously loved and well-cared for, especially if their owners are regulars. However, that’s not always the case.

A customer came in with a year-old male rabbit of an unidentified breed for a nail clipping. Rabbits don’t come in too often, but things seem fairly normal. Things started to get weird — in hindsight, anyway — when the customer asked us for any vets in the area that took rabbits. Apparently, the rabbit hadn’t been eating for three months — later corrected to three weeks — and she felt that something was wrong. Oh, boy, she had no idea.

According to my coworker who clipped the rabbit, he yawned during the clipping, revealing some very overgrown incisors. How overgrown, you may ask? So overgrown that the lower teeth were starting to poke into the poor bunny’s nostrils. Worse, he had matted fur on his butt, consistent with sitting in a cage for long periods of time. Even worse than that, the nails themselves turned out to be nearly an inch long. And considering he hadn’t been eating for so long, it was a wonder that he was still alive and not emaciated. The rabbit was also a total sweetheart, further adding to the heartbreak.

To make matters worse, the customer left the store for nearly an hour. We practically ceased all operations looking for her and figuring out what to do with the rabbit, since, as time ticked by, we gave up hope of her ever coming back for it. Thankfully, the customer did come back; it turned out she just stopped by the dollar store nearby. Once we told her the condition of her rabbit, she was genuinely shocked, especially when we showed her his teeth. It turns out that not only was she not getting his teeth trimmed, but she only gave him paper towel tubes to chew on, because, “That’s what Google said,” hence the overgrown lower incisors. And yet she wondered why he wasn’t eating!

We finally managed to give her the address of the nearest 24-hour emergency vet clinic to get the rabbit some fluids and grind down his teeth. We also gave her tips on how to get rid of the mats safely and recommended getting the rabbit out of the cage more often. She thanked us deeply, paid for the clipping, and left with the rabbit in tow, hopefully to the vet. I sincerely hope the owner learned from this experience and will start taking better care of the sweet little thing, but at the same time just thinking about it still pisses me off. No matter how understanding the lady was, I will never get over how much she neglected that poor little rabbit.

Moral of the story? Some people really should not own pets, and those who do should do their research before getting it.

I just started a new voluntary job and am being shown around before going to talk to the manager about my application form; I missed a page by accident. While being shown around, I am introduced to the cashier, who seems like a nice old lady. She immediately begins questioning my accent.

I have autism, and my autism has given me a strong American accent, despite being English. I explain this as clearly as I can, and she nods happily, returning to work, so I go to the meeting without a second thought. I have this conversation a lot. It’s kind of sad how everyone asks the exact same questions, honestly

When I finish the meeting, I start working. After a while, the assistant manager walks over and asks why an American on holiday is volunteering.

The cashier told my new coworkers and any regulars in the store that I was an American on holiday and was saying I was English because I was embarrassed about my “American heritage.”

I have no memory of what followed, since I think I had a minor meltdown, but apparently the manager ended up having a “long talk” with the cashier and bought me chocolates as an apology, and the assistant manager set it up so I was working as far away from the cashier as possible.

Regulars still don’t believe me when I explain I’m English and reassure me I have nothing to be ashamed of.

I grew up in a somewhat small city. When I was in kindergarten, my school had something called a Grandparents’ Lunch, for which students would bring in money, and on the specified day, students’ grandparents would come in to have an hour-long lunch with them, catered by a local restaurant. It became a big deal in my class, and I soon realized that I would be the only one unable to participate, as my only living grandmother lived in another state and was dealing with some severe health problems. The alternative would be that I would be sitting in the classroom during the program — alone, except for the teacher — to work on busy work. I was very upset when I went home, and ended up crying to my parents about the situation.  

The next day, when my dad took me to school, he ran into the principal. He explained the situation, and asked if it’d be okay if he came to the program so that I wouldn’t be excluded. The principal quite rudely told him, “No, it’s for grandparents only. Parents aren’t allowed.”As I was only five or six, I don’t remember exactly what all was said during the entire interaction, but I recall my dad getting upset and arguing with the principal.

On the day of the program, just before lunch, my dad checked me out of school and took me to one of our favorite restaurants. After we ate — and after the program was over — he took me back to school, and told me that if anyone asked, I had a doctor appointment.

Almost a decade and a half later, my dad still gets ticked off when he’s reminded of the situation. Although our relationship tends to be strained nowadays, I always remember it as a good time with my dad and am thankful for what he did.