First call oreillys

I have been attempting to go through the VRE process since September 22. My first counselor ghosted me, stopped responding to emails, wouldn't return phone calls, etc. Finally, I opened a new request and a got new VRE counselor (January). The new counselor seemed better at first, recently she too has completely ghosted me, not returning emails or phone calls. I haven't spoken with or recieved any reply since May 15th. I recently just graduated with my B.S. and the program I was applying to was supposed to help with finding employment/restore my post 9/11 GI Bill that I already used. I've stopped by the local VRE office twice in the last week because I thought explaining this situation in-person may help to get some actual help but no one was there either time. Anyone have any advice from their experience? Is their goal to make it such a fucking chore that you finally give up?

So I (28F) had been talking to someone (36M) for a few months now and decided to finally meet them in person. I flew to meet them and it went really well. I was there for a short stay but it was a great time and we just clicked. When I first got back, we would talk quite a bit but now it’s just radio silent.
I feel like an idiot because either I read too much into it or I was just a booty call. Either way, I feel like an idiot and just want to tuck my tail between my legs and hide at the moment. It was fun and I don’t regret it. I just wish I wouldn’t have set my expectations so high.
Idk what I was expecting either. I just don’t have anyone to talk to about this and I’m trying to move on.

I want to confess some perverted creepy sexual behavior I have kept in the dark. I want to expose this because I dont want to bring any secrets to the grave so to speak. I was never caught doing anything of this but I still feel shame about it and I would have a hard time telling anyone close about this. I have not done this in a long time now and I pray to god this never happens again.
It began in school after I got my first smartphone. I got this dumb idea one day to start secretly filming girls. Probably because of the effect internet porn had on me...I would start following girls I found attractive and secretly film their asses, and then I would masturbate to the footage. I have then been on candid forums which share this kind of footage and sadly this behavior seems to be pretty widespread. Atleast I never shared any footage myself and I always deleted the footage immediatly afterwards. I actually never felt any emphaty for the women and never thought about how disrespectful and harrassing my behavior was. I dont want to blame autism for this but I have a hard time feeling empathy overall...now I pray for forgiveness from all the good women who crossed path with the creep writing this.
It was like I was obsessed with butts from my early pornuse. This also led me to start sniffing chairs hot women had sat on and also their underwear if they happend to cross my path. Weirdly enough I could be in a real life sexual situation with a girl but get more aroused by the idea of sniffing her underwear, then to have sex with this willing girl. Most of the time I could not even get hard enough to fuck her.
Why did I do this shit you may ask? It gave a me a rush, an alertness of doing something "tabu", the risk of getting caught, it all played in to the high. Trying to analyze myself, It seems I was doing this because it was the only thing that made me feel excited and alive, a compensation for a miserable empty life without love or adventure. My mom never let me do anything exciting so my guess is that this is the lengths I went to find excitment and this was my addiction. Now I try to satisfy my excitment needs through boxing and other things. I think the need itself for excitment is innocent but it needs healthy outlets instead of creepy compensation behavior.
Kind of a dark and sad story. The type of shit that happens when we fall to far away from god. These kept in the dark behaviors ofcourse gave me all kinds of consequenses though which finally served as a wakeup call.

Warning: Spoilers and a whole lotta rant
This movie started great but i got so fcking frustrated by the climax. I mean the husband was calling for help and she just started looking for blankets and when she couldn't find any she just screamed and stood there and let her husband burn to death for fuck's sake 🤦‍♀️
Husband also said he was going to fix the cable and we even saw in the scene that the cable was actually fixed for a second but when the baby started crying and she was about to go upstairs, she heard tapping sounds and somehow assumed that her husband was there comforting the baby at the same time which was even made her smile??? Like how could he possibly do two things at ONCE while he was out fixing the cable?? I would've immediately thought someone ELSE was in that house trying to comfort that baby.
Also these couple wasn't really mentally stable to be having kids in the first place. Towards the end I was just screaming at the screen telling her to "just go check on your fcking baby already!!!!!" Never felt so frustrated in my life.
Would've been such a good plot twist if it ended with her realizing she wasn't being paranoid the whole time and just re-adopted the twins to GO SHOW THEM SOME WELL-DESERVED PUNISHMENT OF THEIR OWN.
Kids clearly weren't innocent, and the nun knew that but had her own agenda cause she knew the mother wasn't a big believer and somehow wanted to brainwash her into their own cult, even if it meant her husband being sacrificed in the process.

William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.

Had the car about 2.5 months, one month in we realized it didn’t work. Notified dealer they said they give us a call back when they figured out what the problem was on the Tucson (same make and model) that was currently in having the same issues. We have been calling them once a week to check in. But they are saying corporate is sending them parts that don’t fix it, they are currently on the third iteration and the part is now on back order with no eta for delivery.
The dealership won’t take responsibility for the issue. It’s a black car and it gets hot, sure I can role all the windows down but that’s shitty. And there is a significant wind buffering issue if some are up and some are down.
My main frustration is this is now my problem for who knows how long. I would think the dealership would want to give me loaner and back charge Hyundai or something. If any other product came from factory defective it would be an automatic warranty and swap out with something’s that functioning.
Thai is my first new car and I am disappointed. I’m now keeping records just in case I need to claim lemon laws eventually.
Just want my car to work.
Any extra I for or recommendations as to handle this would be welcome.

Hi! I'm finally starting to develop my alternative fashion, after being afraid of being judged by people (mostly parents and so called 'friends' lmao), but I'm struggling with one thing. I quite like my first, although I still need to develop further, but I'm having a lot of trouble whit face and especially hair looking bland, and sometimes I feel like they're even out of place. Coloring my hair or getting piercings is not an option. I need some advice on how to do that part better, please!

So, my girlfriend works at Panera. She has medical problems once in a while. Including gastrointestinal, PTSD, etc. So she has to call off work to take care of these problems. It was discussed when she was first hired, and the manager said it was completely fine and they can work with it. Well, now the same manager hasn't scheduled her for 4 weeks straight and told everyone that he is permanently cutting her hours because she is sick too often. Not firing her. Just taking all her hours until she quits.
My question is, is there any legal backing for a lawsuit? Because it seems illegal to me that he can take all her hours just because she has to take medical leave once in a while. But idk. We live in the USA, so laws typically favor the rich.

Instagram Reels to communicate?
I’ve (25F) have been seeing a guy (30M) for about two months now, we were friends for about 7 months first. I visited him this past weekend and it went well, but we had a few issues. Everything ended fine but I had a bit of a weird feeling. Today I haven’t heard from him at all, but he sends me Instagram reels to watch? He’s done this one other time when things were a little shaky. Normally we will call or at LEAST text a bit to check in with each other during the day. Any thoughts on why he’s not really communicating, but still finds it necessary to send me pointless Instagram videos to watch? I’m really trying not to get into a stressful/toxic/ confusing relationship

Context: My former best friend (let’s call her B) and I were friends for over 10 years. She grew up in a rich household while I grew up in poverty. And she was always there for me when I needed her, she even paid most of my stuff at the time. Fast forward we got into law school. I fought my way out of poverty and lived at this point a comfortable lifestyle. On the other hand she dropped out of law school and was pretty jealous at me for still attending Law School. At this point forward she started to avoid me and talk shit behind my back. Funnily enough we started to work at the same company. As a law graduate I got a position as a team leader which was my biggest achievement so far. B at the time graduate in a different subject and was below my position. She started to spread rumors. That I am a drug addict, a petty criminal, etc. Fortunately my boss didn’t believe these rumors but my coworkers didn’t respect me anymore and started to bully me. I had to leave this job. B took over my position. She even told me how she started these rumors. She wasn’t fit to be in this position. I don’t know exactly what happened but she got fired and sued by the company for negligent behavior which caused damage of 60.000 Euros.
English is not my first language, I am sorry for mistakes.

Bill C-27 is a Bill in Canada that would replace the Personal Information Protection and Electronic Documents Act (PIPEDA) with the new so called Consumer Privacy Protection Act (CPPA). It has passed second reading. This new law is worse than PIPEDA.
1 The Protections (or lack thereof)
CPPA offers less protection than PIPEDA. Under PIPEDA organizations are required to give purposes must be stated in such a manner that the individual can reasonably understand how the information will be used or disclosed. Under CPPA organizations still must give purposes, however they do not have to give individuals an understanding of the information will be used or disclosed.
This law introduces vague new exceptions to consent. These are the new exceptions (note de-identified means pretty much nothing. You can still be identified): Business Activities

18 (1) An organization may collect or use an individual’s personal information without their knowledge or consent if the collection or use is made for the purpose of a business activity described in subsection (2) and
(a) a reasonable person would expect the collection or use for such an activity; >and
(b) the personal information is not collected or used for the purpose of influencing the individual’s behaviour or decisions.
List of activities
(2) Subject to the regulations, the following activities are business activities for the purpose of subsection (1):
(a) an activity that is necessary to provide a product or service that the individual has requested from the organization;
(b) an activity that is necessary for the organization’s information, system or network security;
(c) an activity that is necessary for the safety of a product or service that the organization provides; and

>(d) any other prescribed activity. 

Legitimate Interest

An organization may collect or use an individual’s personal information without their knowledge or consent if the collection or use is made for the purpose of an activity in which the organization has a legitimate interest that outweighs any potential adverse effect on the individual resulting from that collection or use and
(a) a reasonable person would expect the collection or use for such an activity; and
(b) the personal information is not collected or used for the purpose of influencing the individual’s behaviour or decisions. Research, analysis and development 21 An organization may use an individual’s personal information without their knowledge or consent for the organization’s internal research, analysis and development purposes, if the information is de-identified before it is used. Information produced in employment, business or profession An organization may collect, use or disclose an individual’s personal information without their knowledge or consent if it was produced by the individual in the course of their employment, business or profession and the collection, use or disclosure is consistent with the purposes for which the information was produced. Employment relationship — federal work, undertaking or business 24 An organization that operates a federal work, undertaking or business may collect, use or disclose an individual’s personal information without their consent if
(a) the collection, use or disclosure is necessary to establish, manage or terminate an employment relationship between the organization and the individual in connection with the operation of a federal work, undertaking or business; and
(b) the organization has informed the individual that the personal information will be or may be collected, used or disclosed for those purposes. Financial abuse
34 An organization may on its own initiative disclose an individual’s personal information without their knowledge or consent to a government institution, a part of a government institution or the individual’s next of kin or authorized representative if
(a) the organization has reasonable grounds to believe that the individual has been, is or may be the victim of financial abuse;
(b) the disclosure is made solely for purposes related to preventing or investigating the abuse; and
(c) it is reasonable to expect that disclosure with the knowledge or consent of the individual would compromise the ability to prevent or investigate the abuse. Statistics, study or research 35 An organization may disclose an individual’s personal information without their knowledge or consent if
(a) the disclosure is made for statistical purposes or for study or research purposes and those purposes cannot be achieved without disclosing the information;
(b) it is impracticable to obtain consent; and
(c) the organization informs the Commissioner of the disclosure before the information is disclosed. Socially beneficial purposes
39 (1) An organization may disclose an individual’s personal information without their knowledge or consent if
(a) the personal information is de-identified before the disclosure is made;
(b) the disclosure is made to

 (i) a government institution or part of a government institution in Canada, (ii) a health care institution, post-secondary educational institution or public library in Canada, 

> (iii) any organization that is mandated, under a federal or provincial law or by contract with a government institution or part of a government institution in Canada, to carry out a socially beneficial purpose, or > (iv) any other prescribed entity; and >(c) the disclosure is made for a socially beneficial purpose. 

or Prevention, detection or suppression of fraud *Debt Collection *Records of historic or archival importance *Breach of agreement or contravention *2 Enforcement** CPPA's enforcement is similar to PIPEDA's but worse. At least there are penalties. The process: 1. An individual files a complaint with the OPC. There are several reasons which can the commissioner can use to not investigate but not talking to the organization first isn't one of them. 2. The OPC investigates during which the Commissioner may attempt to resolve a complaint by means of a dispute resolution mechanism such as mediation and conciliation, unless an inquiry is being conducted in respect of the complaint or try to enter a compliance agreement. There is not time frame for this. (note under PIPEDA, a report of findings must be issued within a year see my last post)). It doesn't really say what an "investigation" is. 3. If the matter is still not resolved or the commissioner believe a compliance agreement is being breach an inquiry will start. The Commissioner must make rules respecting the conduct of an inquiry, including the procedure and rules of evidence to be followed, and must make those rules publicly available. 4. After the inquiry, the commissioner must make a decision.

>(a) the Commissioner’s findings on whether the organization has contravened this Act or has not complied with the terms of a compliance agreement; >(b) any order made under subsection (2); >(c) any decision made under subsection 94(1); and >(d) the Commissioner’s reasons for the findings, order or decision. 

"Compliance order"
(2) The Commissioner may, to the extent that is reasonably necessary to ensure compliance with this Act, order the organization to

>(a) take measures to comply with this Act; >(b) stop doing something that is in contravention of this Act; >(c) comply with the terms of a compliance agreement that has been entered into by the organization; or >(d) make public any measures taken or proposed to be taken to correct the policies, practices or procedures that the organization has put in place to fulfill its obligations under this Act. 

This must happen within 2 years of the complaint being followed, except it might not, see my last post. 5. The commissioner may recommend a penalty be imposed. This seems irrelevant because of, 6. Appeals may be made by the complainant or respondent to the tribunal with respect to a finding made by the inquiry, an order made by the commissioner or the commissioner's decision not to recommend a penalty. You only have 30 days to go to court. Under PIPEDA you have a year. 7. The tribunal may impose a penalty for all the contraventions in a recommendation taken together is the higher of $10,000,000 and 3% of the organization’s gross global revenue in its financial year before the one in which the penalty is imposed. Those numbers are the maximum. The law sets out relevant factors. 8. You may sue for damages if a finding by the commissioner or tribunal has made a finding that the respondent has violated the act. This is done in federal court or the superior court of a province. 9. An order by the tribunal may be reviewed by the Federal Court. The judgment of the federal court may be appealed to the Federal Court of Appeal. The Supreme court may also take an appeal afterwards. This is much longer than PIPEDA and although there are fines, the protections are so weak that the fines barely matter.

Hi Would like some advice please. I’ve created a throwaway account for safety and anxiety reasons.
I had been taken on for some summer work with a small company for numerous weekend dates over the next few months and worked for the company for the first event of these dates last month. I replied to a job advert online about temporary summer work and spoke with the employer on WhatsApp, video calls and phone calls where we negotiated the role and most importantly the hourly wage I was being accepted on. This was over WhatsApp message which I still have. There was no actual contract I signed. I’ve been informed that I will be reduced my wage by nearly 50% hourly, for reasons such as “not performed as expected/didn’t meet set standards” which I contest highly. My pay has gone in at the reduced rate and have been messaged saying they do not want to offer me any more employment and goodbye.
I’ve asked for an invoice which hasn’t been received yet.
I’ve been paid gross. No tax or NI taken off. Bank transferred.
What options do I have?
Thanks for any replies

I think it’s clear the post Credit scene for MoM Is secret wars set up, then after that will Cumberbatch be sticking around all that long?
The lack of a (good imo) arc in the second movie and cutting away his supporting cast has really hurt the flow of things.
If the second movie had focused on arcs including Clea as a central character and Dr strange becoming sorcerer supreme, then built on that a little particular him and clea in the upcoming avengers movies then you have an amazing trilogy ender.
Peak Dr strange as sorcerer supreme with his wife by his side, perhaps with friends such as brother voodoo as well, taking on shuma, or the return of Dormammu with Umar this time as well etc.
But now by the time you give him the arcs required to give us this movie it’s too late unless you fast track back to back sequels.
So what’s the point of giving us another movie when the development goes nowhere?
Would be like if Spider-Man could only do one more movie after 2. But that second movie was all about him getting over Lis from the first movie and also he still isn’t actually called Spider-Man yet and MJ was a post credit scene in the second movie and wasn’t seen anywhere else before.

Seriously. I'm an INFP, and some of my best friends, for whatever reason, have been ENTPs. Despite the way we can clash sometimes, as they love pushing my buttons because they know they'll get this reaction out of me, they're always there when I really need somebody. I'm often quite surprised at the depth of your caring, even if they wouldn't be describing their attention and willingness to listen to me to be "caring". Further, the ones I know seem to have a developed Fe in that they all seem to have great timing in knowing when I'm open for engagement and whatever they come up with, and when I need space.
Speaking of pushing my buttons, I, of course, also love the way they need to make sure I'm paying attention to them when they say something "naughty" or "inappropriate" or "shocking"... when my INFP self sometimes looks faraway (my head is probably jumping to all sorts of things), they'll call me back to Earth and repeat what they said just so they can get my reaction. When I get in the mood to call their bluff and take it even further, darker, etc., I love how they always act surprise that I went there even though I've done it many times before. Maybe it's because I more often have a genuinely shocked reaction to whatever it is they've said first before I think of a way to ramp it up.
Finally, thank you for allowing me to let my Ne flag fly. I swear, our chats must seem manic if any outsider has the opportunity to observe us in action... be it in person or through text messages.
So, thank you, ENTPs, for adding spice to my life and making it really fun to live in. You give some of us INFPs a respite from our penchant to over-indulge in our need for solitude, and knowing that just because we love and crave solitude doesn't mean we want to be lonely or are okay with loneliness.

My husband (38M) and I began fostering kittens together over the pandemic. It was a hobby we both really enjoyed, or so I thought.
Recently though, I got called to go away fairly suddenly on a lengthy work trip. We were already scheduled to pick up some newly-weaned 6-week-old kittens a few days before my leave. I told my husband if he wasn’t sure he could handle them on his own we could let the shelter know right away so they could find a different foster home. But he insisted he could do it on his own.
I trusted his word, but told him if it got to be too much he could probably coordinate with the foster Programme manager to bring them back after a couple of weeks and it would probably be okay.
For the first three days after I left, he sent me cute photos of himself playing with the kittens, and it seemed all was well. On the fourth day he texted to tell me he’d taken them back to the shelter and felt bad about it. I was shocked and demanded an explanation, and if he’d coordinated the return with the foster coordinator.
He said that he’d not coordinated the return with the foster coordinator, who was not scheduled to be back to the office for another four days, meaning the poor kittens would likely just sit in the shelter at least until she got back.
In way of explanation, he said he was feeling overwhelmed with work and also receiving requests from a real estate agent to make the apartment available for showing (we’re planning to move in a couple of months and aren’t supposed to have pets in the apartment, although we’d talked about contingency plans before I left for moving the kittens out during showings, and in my opinion it would have been totally reasonable for him to tell the real estate agent that he needed at least a few days before showing anyway).
I’m so hurt and disappointed by the way he handled the situation. I feel like intercommunication is a chronic problem in our relationship, where he doesn’t tell me things that I think it should be obvious I’d want to know in a timely manner. Plus I feel like it was a really callous way to handle the kittens. I made my unhappiness very evident to him, and then he wrote a somewhat emotional apology to the foster coordinator, and also tried calling her. But she didn’t respond to either, so I figure she’s also unhappy and done working with us as volunteers now also.
This hasn’t been the first challenge in our relationship, but I definitely have a soft spot for baby animals and I feel like this has really shaken my trust in who he is as a person, and whether I can rely on him to take care of others (like hypothetical children) or to make good on his word. I cried a lot after this, and haven’t wanted to talk to him much either. To be honest I’m contemplating divorce, and while it’s not only over this, this has definitely played a big role.
Part of me worries this is an extreme and irrational reaction on my part though, given he also told me he felt bad about taking them back. So Reddit, AITBF?

Hey, I've been working on a chat bot for a few months. It's my first Android app, though I've been a dev for decades, just not Android. I'm tentatively calling it DynamicGPTChat, could probably use a better name. I finally got to the point where I'm ready to put out my first release. It basically has all the features of the ChatGPT website, but uses the API instead. To use it you need to put your API key in the settings, then everything should work fine. There's no backend, all calls go directly to OpenAI's endpoints. It's also open source, so you can check the code or build it yourself. I wanted to put it out to the community.
You can get a copy on github under the releases section. https://github.com/phazei/dynamicGPTChat
Here's a short video showing most of the features: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_lXz7aTZLr4
I'd love to get some feedback and suggestions on what I might add to it.