I work at a newspaper. Independence Day, July 4th, is on a Tuesday this year. Some people want to take Monday, July 3rd, off so they don’t have to work one day, be off one day, and come back the next day. Six weeks before the week of July 4th, all the employees in our region get an email from the region’s general manager, telling us that if we want to take July 3rd off, we need to ask our department head first thing. So, that day, I ask my boss for July 3rd off. I get a reply through our email chat function about two days later, saying he’ll look into it and get back to me ASAP.

Two-and-a-half weeks later, I get an email saying, “I think not,” for my July 3rd leave, because he doesn’t want our department to be understaffed on that day. (Note: We are literally always understaffed by at least two people, and even more so at the moment because there’s been an open position since May that has yet to be filled. However, on a holiday week when basically everything shuts down for July 3rd, anyway, the need for reporters is even less.)

Come July 3rd, in chatting with coworkers, I find out that of the five people in the editorial department, four people, including my boss, have asked for that day off. Maybe all five of us, but I didn’t talk to the fifth person. Only my boss, who approves the vacation time, gets the day off.

In the sales department, a friend tells me she also asked for the day off. Because of the week’s schedule, 99% of her clients and potential clients are not working, so there is very little work she can do that day. She, too, is told no, because her boss, the general manager who told us to request it off early, is also not working July 3rd, and thus, my friend needs to be there.

The only people whose vacations are approved in my region for Monday, July 3rd: The department heads who choose whose vacation is approved.

(I am 19, and my first job starts me off in a call center that’s notorious for having a high turnover and very strict policies. After training, my trainer gives me my days off and hours.)

Trainer: “You have Tuesday and Wednesday off, and Sunday is a short day. You must call if you’re not going to make it.”

Me: “Tuesday and Wednesday, got it.”

(My supervisor nods in confirmation. I end up going off on that schedule. On Friday, I am pulled into the office.)

Supervisor: “Why did you miss a day?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Supervisor: “You didn’t come in Tuesday.”

Me: “But that’s my day off. That’s what my trainer said. Here’s the schedule.”

Supervisor: “It’s Wednesday and Thursday. Now, because you have an unexplained absence, we’ll dock your sick days for the rest of the probation period.”

(I had come in Thursday to work, so essentially I still worked the same hours. I tried to show them the schedule I was given, but they refused to look at it. Fast forward about a month: I ended up getting a horrific stomach bug that lasted an entire 48 hours, where I ended up vomiting every three hours or so and thus had no sleep, but since I had lost my sick days, I couldn’t call out. I ended up arriving at work, clearly sick as a dog, exhausted, and then my floor supervisor put me on a computer with a broken headset so I wouldn’t even able to do my job. Without anything to focus on, my exhaustion caught up to me, and I ended up nodding off. I was promptly taken to the office and fired. I ended up throwing up about as soon as I exited the building. Part of me wished I had taken my time so I could’ve vomited on my supervisors.)

(I’m talking to a customer about hamsters. We are standing in front of the hamster cages, going over basic care when a young girl — seven or eight at the oldest — comes up.)

Girl: “Excuse me.”

Me: “Yes?”

Girl: “Where are the real hamsters?”

Me: “Real hamsters?”

Girl: “Yeah, where are the real hamsters?”

Me: “They’re right here!” *smiles and gestures to cages in front of me with hamsters in them*

Girl: “That’s going to be my class pet!? I knew we should’ve gotten a fish!” *looks horrified, then runs away*

(I couldn’t tell if the customers I’d been helping were laughing at the girl, or my facial expression.)

(There’s nothing I love more than getting yelled at by crazy old men for things that A) aren’t my fault, B) I can’t change, and C) have been this way since before I was born. Most gas stations, if you haven’t noticed, charge a bit of a premium for credit card use. This is because the banks themselves charge us for when people use credit cards; the premium helps to defray some of that cost. This premium has been in place for decades now, and 99% of gas stations have that premium. Those that don’t make up for it by just setting their prices higher. This somehow didn’t make it through to the geezer who runs up to my window, brandishing his receipt like it’s one of Wonka’s golden tickets.)

Customer: “YOU CHANGE PRICE! Say $2.31! Why change?! YOU CHANGE!”

Me: “Sir, $2.31 is the credit card price. $2.21 is the cash price listed on the sign.”

Customer: “WHERE SAY?”

Me: “On every pump, sir. The credit card price is listed there.”

Customer: “No, it wasn’t! Show me!”

(I lead him to a pump and point.)

Me: “Right there, sir. Every pump lists the credit price.”

Customer: “NO GOOD! IS CHANGE! YOU LIE!”

(By this time, I’m a bit fed up.)

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way. Can I help you with anything else?”

(Kill them with kindness, right? With a huff, he let out a final “F*** YOU,” jumped in his van, and peeled out of the parking lot at something like 40 miles an hour. I have to say, I wish him luck. We’re the cheapest gas station for three miles, and every other gas station in the county has the same premium.)

(The store I work at is one of the first in the area to get chip card readers. If the card has a chip, the card scanner won’t allow the customer to swipe. At this point, our store has had the chip card reader for about six months, and we’re still one of the only places to use it. The customer swipes his card and I hear the reader beep.)

Me: “Oh, you have a chip card! Just insert it in the bottom there and leave it until it tells you to take it out.”

Customer: *inserts his card* “You know, I really don’t like this new system. It’s much easier to just swipe.” *he takes his card back out*

Me: “Oh, you didn’t leave it in long enough. Try that again, and it’ll tell you when you can take it out.”

Customer: “Okay, fine.”

(He inserts his card again, and takes it out when the reader asks if he wants cash back.)

Customer: “This process takes too long.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but you took your card out too early again. Try again, and it’ll tell you on the screen when you can take your card out, and it’ll beep obnoxiously.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous!” *puts card in and takes it out too early again*

Me: “That was still too early.”

Customer: “I don’t have time for this. Here.” *hands me a $100 bill*

Me: “All right, out of a hundred.” *I open my till to make change and notice another potential problem* “I’m out of tens and fives, so you’ll be getting a lot of ones. Is that okay?”

Customer: “Whatever! I just want to get out of here.”

(I had to bite my tongue about how if he had just listened to instructions, he’d be gone already.)