I work at an observatory. A school is visiting, and while the kids are having a great time, one of the chaperones seems like he doesn’t want to be there. I am assisting the astronomer.

Astronomer: “Now, Saturn’s rings are only a few million years old! That might seem old, but on an astronomical scale, that means they’re super young!”

Chaperone: “That’s complete horse-s***! Nothing out there is older than the Earth! God said so! ‘In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth!‘”

Astronomer: “Sir, please don’t use that language. I like to interpret that passage as saying the Heavens came first, and then the Earth. In that sense, regardless of how old you think the Earth is, the Heavens can be much, much older.”

Chaperone: “Oh, yeah?! Well, that’s what your science books tell you, but I only need one book!”

The other teachers are embarrassed and trying to shush the chaperone. Based on one extra embarrassed-looking child, he might be one of the parents.

Chaperone: “I knew this trip was a bad idea! We should take the kids back to the school.”

One of the teachers approaches the chaperone.

Teacher: “I’m not an astronomer, but I am pretty sure the world revolves around the sun, not you. Be quiet or leave.”

He was quiet, even during the part about the Big Bang happening thirteen billion years ago.

I work at a gas station in a pretty fancy/bougie part of town. I work with the night manager from ten at night through to six in the morning. I’m relatively new, so I’m still learning about the quirky little processes that are always unique to certain places of work.

A customer pulls up around 1:00 am.

Customer: “I want $10 of gas on tank three.”

He tries to hand me a hundred-dollar bill.

Me: “Do you have anything smaller, or a card payment? I can’t break that.”

Customer: “That’s all I got. It’s legal tender, so take it and figure it out.”

Me: “If you got a bit more gas, I could—”

Customer: “Nope, not going much further, so I don’t need you making me buy more than I need. Take my legal tender and figure it out.”

At this, my manager steps to the side and opens up a locked cupboard that has always been marked as “revenge rolls”. I’ve had yet to ask why. They begin to take out rolls of coins, adding up to $90. It’s a lot of coins, and it takes over almost all the counter between the customer and me.

Customer: “What the f*** is this?!”

Manager: “$90 change, as you’ve requested.”

Customer: “I can’t take all those f****** coins!”

Manager: “You want $10 on tank three? Take my legal tender and figure it out.”

The customer swears a little more but accepts the ridiculous amount of coins, storms out, puts $10 in his tank, and drives off.

Me: *To my manager* “Now I know why they’re called ‘revenge rolls’. Rolls of coins.”

Manager: “Yup. I save them for special customers. You wanna come in here at 1:00 am and demand change from a hundred? You f****** got it!”

My eyes catch something else in the cupboard.

Me: “You actually have some spare tens and twenties in there, too?”

Manager: “For those customers who say ‘please’.”

I may have needed the job for college, but because of that manager, I stayed a little longer in the role than I had to.

For a short while between jobs, I worked as a rideshare driver. Most of my rides were uneventful; however, one stuck out.

I picked up [Girl #1] and her friend for a drive that would earn me about $40. We set off, and I went onto the highway and encountered a bit of traffic. The two girls in the backseat were chattering as normal — that is until we reached the traffic. It should be noted that I drive a cheap little manual transmission car.

Girl #1: “Um, what are you doing?”

Me: “I’m sorry, isn’t this the route you would like to take?”

Girl #1: “Um, no. Why are you fiddling with that thing in the center?”

Me: “The gear stick?”

Girl #1: “Um, no. The fidget stick you have glued to the center console?”

Me: “No, that’s a gear lever for changing gears on the car. It’s a manual car.”

Girl #1: “Stop lying and pay attention to the road, and stop playing with the fidget stick!”

Girl #2: “Oh, my God, [Girl #1]! Leave him alone and let him drive!”

Girl #1: “No, [Girl #2]! He’s going to crash and get us killed!”

By then, we had come off the highway and were about three-quarters of the way to our destination.

Girl #1: “Listen, stop playing with the fidget stick, or else I will cancel this ride!”

Me: “It’s a manual car. I’m changing gears. I don’t know how else to explain this to you.”

Girl #1: “You are lying. No such thing exists. My boyfriend is a mechanic.”

By then, I was turning into the parking lot of the destination and was about to stop in front of the movie theater they wanted to go to.

Girl #1: “I am not paying you. You were driving distracted for the whole drive.”

Girl #2: “[Girl #1], shut up! Here, I’ll pay.”

[Girl #2] paid and included a $10 tip.

Girl #2: “Thanks for the ride. [Girl #1] is stupid. I don’t know why I’m friends with her — and her boyfriend works at [Fast Food Chain].”

Customer: “Could I get a BLT sandwich, but… like… with every ingredient on the side?”

Me: “So, you’d like to assemble it yourself at the table?”

Customer: *Looking nervous* “Yeah… is that okay?”

Me: “I got you, mate! Tell me what you need.”

My aunt has OCD, so I have a good gauge of what this is. And when I say OCD, I don’t mean in an “OMG, I have to have my desk neat and tidy” kind of way, but more like “If the desk has the pen the wrong way around in its placement, I will be unable to function for the rest of the day” kind of way — real OCD.

I lay out all the items on the side for the customer on little plates, and he gets visibly more relaxed as we go. He thanks me profusely when the order is finished, and we chat for a moment.

He came in at a time when he knew we’d be quiet. His therapist encouraged him to try to order food out instead of cooking at home, and our “build your own sandwich” store seemed like a good place for him to start.

Customer: “Thank you so much for accommodating me. I usually get a hard time for it wherever I go.”

After he leaves, my coworker also thanks me.

Coworker: “That was great. It taught me not to immediately judge people.”

I’m usually not this catty, and I wouldn’t do this in most other situations.

From late 2018 to early 2019, I worked for a grocery store to make money for rent. I was working thirty hours a week while attending school, so I pretty much had no life, but I didn’t have a choice because I had to pay $700 a month and other living expenses.

On the second day, I “violated” the dress code by wearing dark blue jeans instead of black jeans. I had no clue this was a thing because during training they told us that they’re not strict on dress code. The manager (who made $52,000 a year) let me off with a warning.

About four months later, I had an incident where I was walking to work in the winter. It was drizzling, but there had been freezing rain the night before, so the ground was a weird combination of muddy and slippery. As careful as I was, I slipped and got my black jeans all muddy and freezing wet. I couldn’t wear these for eight hours, so I decided to spend $40 on a rideshare back home and to work again so I could change. Unfortunately, I only had those dark blue jeans, so as soon as I got to work, I went to my manager and explained the situation and let him know that this wouldn’t happen again.

Instead of understanding me, he told me he couldn’t trust a “kid” who couldn’t uphold a simple dress code, and he told me to leave the store and never come back. On the way out, he told me to come back in five years so he could “assess” if I had amounted to anything.

The next few months were tough as I struggled to pay rent and expenses while searching for a job in a city with high density.

Fast forward to now. I’m a Product Analyst (a mix of software development and sales) and make $82,000 at the age of twenty-six.

I’m visiting my alma mater because I was invited by an old professor to give a speech to the upper-year class. I’m wearing a $500 cashmere sweater — irresponsible spending, but it feels like all is right in the world when I put it on.

On my way back home, I decide to stop at the infamous grocery to grab some snacks. Lo and behold, I see Mr. “You Won’t Amount To Anything” stacking boxes onto shelves half a decade later. I go up to the shelf to grab a full box of chips.

Me: “Hey, [Former Manager], don’t mind me. I’m just going to grab a box or two of these. I make almost double what you make now, so don’t even worry about it.”

Lowkey, I sort of mess the boxes up, as well. He looks at me, shocked, like he’s never seen me before. Then, he recognizes me. He looks at his watch. I roll up my sleeve and point to my smartwatch.

Me: “It’s 4:10. You should get back to work.”

He stands there without saying a word, and I pat his back.

Me: “I’ll be back next year to check up on you.”

Man, I felt like a b****, but that felt so necessary. Flexing on poorer people is awful and you should never do it — unless it’s your b*** boss who fired you for the worst reason, taunted you, and made you suffer financially as a result.