I work as a healthcare assistant at a hospital, so I make beds, help patients get to where they need to be, keep them company, and serve food. I also fix small things needed for the day, for example, coffee and things for conferences. 

We had a professor from the US coming to hold a few lectures. I went to him as he was talking to our senior doctor to offer coffee, as a polite thing to do. I am, by the way, born in Ethiopia and look the part, but speak Swedish and English as well as any native-born Swede.

Me: “Would you like some coffee?”

Professor: “Yeah, with one half’n’half and two sugars.”

Me: “A “half’n’half”? What’s…?”

Professor: *Interrupts.* “Yes, one half’n’half. In the coffee, I don’t want to pour it myself.”

Me: “I…” *Glances at the doctor for support.*

Doctor: “We don’t have that, I think. I have never heard of it.”

Professor: “Well, it’s her job to go get one anyway. Coffee, half’n’half, two sugars.”

Me: “I truly don’t know what that is. Is it, like, milk?”

My obvious confusion is met with him just repeating himself:

Professor: “It’s half’n’half. Half’n’half! You know, half’n’half!”

Me: *Fed up.* “I think you should get your own coffee. I don’t want to make any mistakes; you get what you want.”

Professor: “Stop being lazy and do your job!”

Doctor: “Actually, she is our healthcare assistant. She was trying to be polite. Getting you coffee is not her actual job.”

Professor: “Whatever. Just get me a you-colored coffee with two sugars. No milk. Just coffee and sugar.”

I decided to go along just to get away, when the doctor pointed something out:

Doctor: “[Professor], Swedish coffee is a bit different; it’s stronger than American. You might want to have it with milk if that is how you have it usually. Maybe pour in milk to taste yourself.”

Professor: “Your coffee can’t be stronger than anything American. Go get coffee now!”

I got him his mug of coffee with a smile, knowing where this might end. He took a BIG gulp and immediately dropped his mug all over the carpet and himself. He grew red, his eyes bulged, and he threw a coughing fit. The doctor and I had to help him sit down so he could recuperate a bit from our coffee.

The Professor didn’t look me in the eyes for the rest of his two-day visit, and he avoided me as much as he could. The doctor told me the professor never let anyone else give him coffee for the rest of his time in Sweden.

I am having a discussion with my four-year-old kid. Please note that we are not Christians.

Four-Year-Old: “Mom? What is paradise?”

Me: “Paradise? Oh. That’s the world’s best place, the best place you can imagine.”

My kid sits quietly and thinks for a few moments.

Four-Year-Old: “Mom. You are paradise!”

I just took the bus home. It’s the middle of June, and Europe is experiencing a heatwave at the moment. When I stepped onto the bus, I was met by a wall of hot air. Clearly the AC wasn’t working, and several people were fanning themselves with whatever they had at hand.

Luckily, I only rode this bus for about five minutes to its end destination at the local train and bus central. But this line is regional, and the full route takes forty-five minutes. I felt so bad for the people who spent that entire time in that stifling heat.

Once we arrived at the end of the line, a young woman made her way to the bus driver and started talking to him. At first, I assumed she was asking about connecting buses or trains, but as I got closer, I realised that she was complaining about the heat.

She was calm but very insistent, explaining the heat issue to him in detail, as though he would somehow be unaware of the current temperature and air quality. The bus driver was looking at her, giving her the most perfectly neutral face I have ever seen. He was completely and entirely unmoved and said nothing. He knew there was no point in arguing.

I walked past her and got off the bus as she was still going, into the terminal where a large group of people was waiting to get on. I genuinely don’t think that woman realised that the bus driver may very well have spent hours in that heat already and likely had many more hours of his shift to go.

Be kind to bus drivers, people. They have to put up with so much and rarely get any gratitude.

I am a doctor at an emergency ward. Back in January, a night of undercooled rain resulted in a world coated in ice, as if everything was covered in soaped glass. I had the day off after a long and gruelling work period, but my boss called to beg me for help. It should be noted that my boss didn’t have any background in healthcare but was considered qualified due to having worked as a manager in a car factory.

Boss: “[Doctor #1] and [Doctor #2] cannot come in, since the roads are too dangerous. [Doctor #3] slipped and hit her head; she suffered a mild concussion and cannot work. Could you please come in? Otherwise, we’ll only have [New, inexperienced doctor], and a neck surgeon and a cardiologist we could scrape together from other wards. We really need another emergency doctor.”

Me: “Right, this is an all-hands situation. I’m penguin-waddling in, but I want you to know that I’m not taking this as overtime pay but overtime vacation, and I will also use one of my already saved up overtime days after this.”

Boss: “Of course!”

Me: “That means I add two days on top of my already scheduled days off. I will therefore be away for five days straight after today. Is that clear?”

Boss: “Whatever you say! I’ll make it work!”

I waddled in and arrived to total chaos. Everyone and their mum needed triaging after slips and falls, and that was on top of the usual chest pains, burns, cuts, and weird things in unmentionable places.

At the first opportunity (several hours of work with minimal breaks), I entered my overtime vacation in the system and slumped into a chair in the break room next to my boss, a secretary, and a senior nurse. I reminded my boss of what we had agreed upon so he could verify it ASAP.

Boss: “Well, about that…”

Me: “What now?”

Boss: “Could you accept three days off and the rest as money?”

Me: “No.”

Boss: “What? Why? What will you do that is so important?”

Me: “Rest.”

Boss: “What? You’ll just do nothing?”

Me: “Not nothing. I will rest.”

Boss: “That’s it? Just lazing about—”

Me: “—Resting is an activity that is important for my health. I intend to eat, sleep, exercise, and play board games with my children. Watch a movie with my wife. Possibly even invite a friend over and play StarCraft.”

Boss: “But it is also important that you’re a team player—”

Nurse: “[Boss], do you seriously not think that coming in on a day off to save our collective butts is being a team player?”

Boss: “Well, it looks bad if people start expecting so much time off after just some work…”

Secretary: “[My Name] does make decisions that could mean life and death. Isn’t that more important than how this looks on the schedule?”

Boss: “Fine! If it’s so bloody important then—”

Me: “—It is. Five days.”

Boss: “God, you’re annoying!” *Storms off.*

Me: “Thanks, guys. I’m in your debt.”

Nurse: “Don’t think about it. We need to stick together!”

Secretary: “He promised. If you need five days and he agreed, you should have five days.”

Me: “I appreciate it.”

The boss had sent out a passive-aggressive e-mail when I returned.

E-mail: “It is important that we work as a team here and help each other out to fix scheduling problems. We have a duty to each other and especially the patients to never be understaffed.”

The reply from the most senior doctor:

Reply: “It is important that our leadership prevents understaffing by hiring enough staff and allowing enough time off to prevent burnout. The patients deserve healthcare from rested professionals.”

The boss recently resigned, citing how “unwilling to compromise”, “egoistic,” and “stubborn” we were regarding vacation, scheduled days off, and overtime as major reasons for quitting. He will instead run a grocery store. I pity his staff.

I got hired at a bar and restaurant with a dance floor. I usually had the early shift (16:00 – 24:00), and I often arrived early, but the quiet dishwasher (let’s call him Simon) was always there before me. I soon realized he also left after me when I had the later shift (21:00 – 05:00). 

One day, I got there way outside of opening hours to pick up my jacket, and I found Simon dressed in comfy clothes, rummaging through the fridge. I asked what he was doing, and he didn’t answer but looked very guilty. Since we had lost some expensive food and wine recently, I naturally suspected Simon. 

The next shift, I approached my boss; he was the older brother of the owner. The owner managed another place in town; since this place was up and running, he rarely came by anymore. He did hiring, taxes, and stuff. My boss was quite lazy and didn’t manage much, but we didn’t need much managing anyway. He usually did something meaningless to look busy.

Me: “Hey, I have to tell you something.”

Boss: “Not now, [Not My Name], run off and play.”

Me: “I’m [My Name].”

Boss: “Whatever, [Mean, rhyming nickname], I’m busy.”

Me: “That’s not my name, but seriously. It’s about…”

A senior bartender tapped on my shoulder.

Bartender: “Hey, I need help switching a keg.”

Me: “Can it wait?”

Bartender: “No, come along.”

Boss: “Yeah, stop being lazy. Do some work!”

We went to the bar; our boss kept doing nothing. The kegs didn’t need switching.

Bartender: *Quietly.* “So, you noticed something about Simon?”

Me: *Matching his tone.* “Yes? He was here outside of reasonable hours, rummaged through the fridge, and looked guilty. It was really weird.”

Bartender: “He told me you found him here. He lives here. For the moment.”

Me: “What? Why?”

Bartender: “He’s homeless, for about four more months. He needed help, so we helped him.”

Me: “Okay?”

Bartender: “Simon had to flee his psycho girlfriend in the dead of night. She assaulted him for not buying her flowers; I saw the bruises. She trashed all his stuff, tossed his cat out on the street, filed a false police report against him… He found the cat, and it lives with [Chef]. And the cops didn’t buy her story. Anyway. Our boss laughed and called Simon a wimp, said he deserved to live on the street. Said the rain and snow would wash the shame away.”

Me: “How awful!”

Bartender: “Yes. Simon has no relatives and no friends besides us, so we had to help. Social housing takes a long time to get.”

Me: “Of course we should help, but why does he have to live here?”

Bartender: “We tried helping him by letting him couch surf. Simon is… well, very autistic. He is very, hmm, peculiar to live with. It really, really didn’t work, and we really tried. Then we realized that this place is empty during the day and [Boss] never gets here early.”

Me: “Wouldn’t [Boss] help someone in real need? This is a real emergency!”

Bartender: “Our boss thinks poor people deserve to be poor and the homeless should have a better work ethic. And our dear boss thinks Simon should work somewhere else and be less weird, despite being the best god-d*** dishwasher in the kingdom. Now, living here is illegal, I think. At least not allowed.”

Me: “Oh. That would make it easy to get rid of him.”

Bartender: “Indeed. Social housing takes a while, but Simon will get an apartment in four months. There is a known date. Since this is constrained by time, we thought that this was a decent emergency solution.”

Me: “I understand. I’ll keep the secret.”

Bartender: “Good man. Most people here know, and we help keep our dear boss in the dark. But we still try to keep the conspiracy small.”

I passed through the kitchen and found Simon. He looked at me with real fear.

Me: “Simon. [Bartender] told me your story. I’m sorry that I scared you.”

Simon: “I was not able to tell you what I was doing.”

Me: “No, I understand. The secret is safe with me. I want to help you; no one should be on the street.”

Simon looked relieved and happy and gave my shoulder an awkward squeeze.

Me: “I just must ask, what were you doing in the fridge?”

Simon: “Look.”

He showed me the fridge. There was a shelf at the bottom with some common groceries that we didn’t use for cooking.

Simon: “My food. I bought it. I eat it.”

Me: “I see. Sorry for suspecting you.”

Simon (and his cat) was relocated to a municipal apartment four months later, just as planned. Simon still works here and still does an impeccable job, but our boss doesn’t. You see, our dear boss had decided that he deserved to take fancy wine and food to impress his latest girlfriend. When his wife and his younger brother found out, he lost his job, his marriage, and the girlfriend.

We are now managed by the bartender.