Our entire department was laid off. Two months later, I got a phone call from the manager who was suspiciously the only worker from our department retained.

Manager: “We’re having issues with the inventory system.”

Me: “I’m not surprised. That’s a customised system I built for my team over several years.”

Manager: “I didn’t know that. You didn’t train me how to work it.”

Me: “Our entire team was told at 10:00 am two months ago that we were to be out of the office forever by that afternoon. Not a lot of time for training.”

Manager: “Can you come back?”

Me: “What’s the offer?”

Manager: “Contract position.”

Me: “Pay?”

Manager: “[Same rate of pay].”

Me: “Benefits?”

Manager: “Umm…”

Me: “You ask anyone else on the team yet?”

Manager: “Yes.”

Me: “Anyone else accept yet?”

Manager: “Umm…”

Me: “Then you know my answer.”

We’d all found better jobs by then! I heard my old manager was also let go a couple of weeks later.

This happened in the 1950s. My grandfather Al was an abusive jacka** but was also an excellent auto mechanic. When other mechanics couldn’t figure out the problem, they’d tell their customers to take their car to Al. He’d fix the problem, but he’d yell at the customer for not doing the required maintenance or some other infraction.

One day, a woman pulled up to the garage. The car battery kept dying. She’d had the battery, alternator, and countless other parts replaced by other mechanics to no avail.

Grandpa walked around the back of the car, opened the trunk, twisted the metal bracket holding the trunk light in place, and then closed the trunk.

Grandpa: “Problem fixed, no charge.”

The woman burst into tears.

Back in those days, the trunk light turned off and on via a mercury switch — a little glass vial with wires and a blob of mercury. When you opened the trunk, the vial tilted and the mercury contacted the wires, creating an electrical connection and turning the light on. The bracket holding the vial was bent, so the light was always on, draining the battery.

I order some pizza online. They have to call me to tell me that they are out of certain crusts and certain toppings. I can detect hesitation in the woman’s voice when she calls me, but I am completely civil and nice about everything, which I can tell relaxes her a lot.

Worker: “Oh, since I have you, there’s a promo code for a free bottle of soda and pizza that could be applied to your order. Would you like to use it?”

Me: “I don’t know that code.”

Worker: “I got you. What soda and pizza do you want?”

I thanked her and told her what I wanted. She put it in, and when my order arrived, I even got an extra order of chicken wings and more sauces.

Being a decent human being pays off!

I had a contracting gig with a large financial services company. My little group was part of a much bigger department that generated the annual tax forms. They were incredibly busy from January 2 through April. The guy who ran the department issued an edict that everyone had to put in ten hours each day and work Saturdays if necessary.

Office Manager: “Why do you and your team leave every day at 5:00 pm?”

Me: “Our group has nothing to do with the tax statements. We’re all done by 5:00.”

Office Manager: “The rest of the office is complaining when you’re all seen leaving at 5:00 pm. It would be better if you stayed late, as well.”

Me: “Are you asking or telling?”

Office Manager: “Telling.”

Me: “Does that apply to me and the other contractors?”

Office Manager: “Everyone. No exceptions.”

We were happy to do so since we were being paid by the hour. When we submitted our invoice for January, [Officer Manager] almost wet his pants and decided that the overtime rule didn’t apply to us.

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.