Cassandra E. Hampson

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Cassandra E. Hampson You can get women's, men's and children's apparel, by known labels, at 50%-85% off orig Others bring product in especially for this sale. and Main Streets.

Located in the California Market Center, the Saturday Sale is where savvy shoppers buy designer apparel, sportswear and accessories at wholesale prices and below. You can get women's, men's and children's apparel, by known labels, at 50%-85% off original retail. Many manufacturers have showrooms in the building and sell to department stores and boutiques nationwide. You'll find over a hundred manufacturers selling their samples, overruns and overstock at the Saturday Sale. Though each sale has different vendors, you'll spot designer names such as Young Fabulous & Broke, DKNY, Single, Alberto Makali, XCVI, David Cline, Burnside, Joseph Ribkoff, Priorities (accessories), Christian Audigier, Ravel, Ethos, City Girl, Judy P Apparel, and Color Me Cotton. The best of these sales happens in the fall season when designer showrooms clear out remaining inventory making this a one stop holiday bargain shopping bonanza. Like most sample sales, it's cash only and can get crowded, but when you can save up to 85%, distractions are miniscule. The California Market Center is in the heart of the Los Angeles fashion district. The entrance is on Olympic Boulevard between L.A. Be sure to check the calendar for event dates and don't forget to sign up for the Saturday Sale's mailing list.

10/11/2026

I work as a temp at the city parking authority office, mainly selling various types of permits. It isn't a glamorous job, but it pays the bills for now while I figure out my next steps. I also have irritable bowel syndrome, which adds an ongoing challenge to my daily routine.

Because of my condition, I need to use the bathroom a few times during my shift. This involves bowel movements, which is an unavoidable biological reality for my body. I won't ignore my health, and I don't have the luxury of waiting until I finally get home.

To manage this issue proactively, I arrive at work half an hour early each morning. This gives me a guaranteed fifteen minutes in the restroom before I'm officially on the clock. It helps me start my day feeling physically settled and adequately prepared for the tasks ahead.

I also spend about half of my short lunch break taking care of my bodily needs instead of resting. Then, I typically require another quick bathroom visit roughly two hours before my afternoon shift ends. Only two of these brief restroom visits actually happen while I'm getting paid by the city.

Recently, an older coworker started paying close attention to my personal bathroom habits during our shared working hours. She noticed how often I step away from my desk and figured out exactly what I'm doing. She cornered me near the breakroom and flat out told me it was inherently gross.

I was quite shocked by her audacity because we have plenty of well-maintained facilities available for the staff. There are five separate, individual bathrooms on our floor, so I'm clearly not monopolizing a heavily limited resource. Usually, at most two of these private stalls are occupied by employees at any time.

My quick trips hardly affect anyone else's ability to access the necessary facilities whenever they might urgently need them. I spend maybe fifteen minutes total in the restroom during my actual paid hours. Meanwhile, several other team members regularly take extended lunch breaks without receiving any complaints from our management.

Many of my coworkers also take frequent, sanctioned smoke breaks throughout the day without facing any professional criticism. Yet, because I have a diagnosed medical condition requiring intermittent bathroom use, I'm suddenly the gross one. It feels highly unfair to be targeted simply for addressing a natural bodily function.

I brushed off her rude comments initially, assuming she was just projecting her frustration onto me. Unfortunately, she then complained to two other coworkers about my habits, and they're agreeing with her bizarre assessment. Now it's three against one in the office, and they've made me feel somewhat paranoid.

They are all at least forty years old, so I wonder if maybe this is a strange generational divide regarding etiquette. Perhaps people from older generations simply have different, more restrictive views on using shared restrooms. I can't imagine forcing my body to suffer unnecessary physical pain just to appease them.

I felt confident that taking care of a bodily need at work was acceptable behavior for any human being. Now, with their constant judgment hanging over me, I'm second-guessing my necessities while wondering if performing a biological function in a designated room makes me a nasty freak. Am I wrong?

10/11/2026

I live in a one-bedroom apartment, and up until last week, my personal life and my job had a solid brick wall between them. I go to work, do my job, and come back to a quiet space that belongs entirely to me.

I work at a small company that prides itself on a ""family culture."" We have one main supervisor, and recently, a coworker named Aly has been spending a lot of time hovering around their desk. Aly is friendly enough, but her actual work performance has been slipping hard.

Word around the office was that she was close to being let go. Her daily gossip sessions with the supervisor seemed like an obvious survival tactic. I didn't care, as long as it didn't affect my workload.

But then my supervisor’s focus shifted to me. It started with casual questions by the coffee machine. How did I like my neighborhood?

Was my apartment complex nice? I gave polite, vague answers, assuming they were just making small talk. Then the questions got more pointed, with my supervisor dropping comments about how lucky I was to have a whole apartment to myself.

Yesterday, the real motive showed up. My supervisor messaged me on the company chat, asking if I knew of any open units in my building for Aly. I typed back a quick no, explaining that my complex was fully occupied.

Minutes later, I was called over to my supervisor's desk. It wasn't about work. Aly’s roommates were breaking their lease, and she needed a place to stay.

My supervisor spent the next half hour pitching me on why I should let Aly move into my apartment. They laid out a fantasy of how great it would be to carpool and split expenses. I sat there, stunned that a manager was pressuring me to house a failing employee.

I kept my face blank and gave a hard no, explaining that I enjoy living alone and my lease forbids subletting. My supervisor got visibly agitated. They started pushing harder, lecturing me about how this company takes care of its own and how I had all this space to share.

I repeated my refusal and walked back to my desk. Not long after, Aly marched past my cubicle looking furious, hissed something to my supervisor, and stormed off. By the afternoon, the entire floor had turned on me.

Every time I walked past the water cooler, the conversation loudly shifted to how nice it is to work with caring people. They made sure I heard them say how some folks just don't understand our culture.

10/11/2026

I work in a standard office building that sits a short ten-minute walk away from a local smoothie shop. I frequently stroll down there on my lunch break to grab a refreshing drink and clear my head. Previously, I'd ask around to see if anyone wanted anything, and they'd pay me back.

A couple of my coworkers wouldn't reimburse me straight away, but they'd buy me rounds when we went out to a bar for our regular work mixers. It always evened out in the end, so I didn't mind this informal arrangement at all. One older coworker started taking advantage of this system.

This particular colleague has grown increasingly relaxed about squaring up with me after my daily smoothie runs. It reached the point where I'd purchased her about five expensive smoothies with nothing given in return. I honestly felt like I was running a long-term tab that she had zero intention of ever closing.

The next time I went on a run, I politely asked if she could transfer some funds for the drinks I'd bought the week before. She apologized for forgetting and promised she'd send the cash over right away. I brought her the drink, but my bank account showed no incoming transfers the following day.

I know she has my details saved because I've received funds from her through that app multiple times in the past. I decided to send her one more polite text message asking for my owed cash. She fired back a message saying she already agreed to pay and told me not to be impatient.

After receiving that rude response, I decided I'd start picking up a drink just for myself. I stopped offering to act as a delivery service for anyone else in the office. When she noticed me arriving with a single cup, she immediately started complaining loudly about my apparent lack of consideration.

She claimed she'd have placed an order if she knew I was planning to visit the shop. I simply stated that I'm low on funds right now and can't cover the upfront cost for the whole team. She scoffed and argued that everyone pays me back anyway, so being broke shouldn't matter at all.

I quickly reminded her that she still owed me cash for several past orders that she hasn't settled. She instantly flipped the script, calling me petty and selfish for only grabbing my own beverage. She insisted she'd already promised to square up and demanded I stop bringing the sensitive subject up.

I flatly told her I won't ever get her another item again and that I firmly expect to receive the money I'm currently owed. She stormed off looking immensely upset and offended by my established boundary. Several colleagues approached me later, claiming my harsh reaction was uncalled for.

They suggested she was just speaking from a place of hurt and questioned why I'm punishing everyone else over one person. They're upset with me, but I don't want to deal with the constant drama and endless complications anymore. Am I wrong?

10/11/2026

My boyfriend of two years showed up at my job today, five minutes after my shift ended, and asked me to take a quick break outside. I genuinely thought he was surprising me with something nice. Instead, he walked me right out the front door, turned around on the sidewalk, and threw our entire relationship into the trash without a second thought.

We had been dating for two years without a single major crack in the foundation. We had the kind of easy, comfortable partnership that most people spend a decade looking for. We had our routines, our shared jokes, and a future that felt incredibly secure.

I work at a pet grooming salon, and my day was running a bit long because we were severely behind schedule. I was exhausted, covered in dog hair, and I just wanted to go home and collapse. So when I saw him standing inside the lobby right at four-thirty, holding his keys and waiting patiently, I actually smiled.

I assumed he was taking me to an early dinner, or just being sweet and picking me up. He didn't smile back.

He asked if I could step outside for a minute. The moment the heavy glass door swung shut behind us, cutting off the noise of the dryers and barking dogs, he didn't even bother walking me to his car. He just squared his shoulders, looked me dead in the eye, and ended it.

He didn't stutter. He didn't look emotional. It was surgical. He stood there with his arms crossed, completely closed off, looking like a stranger wearing my partner's clothes.

When I demanded to know where this was coming from, considering we hadn't fought in over a year, he gave me the most hollow excuse I have ever heard. He just shrugged slightly, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and said I did nothing wrong.

I pressed him harder. You don't just walk away from two years on a random Wednesday afternoon without a reason. You don't stand in front of a busy strip mall and casually blow up someone's life just because you woke up feeling bored.

When I wouldn't let it go, he stared at his shoes and told me he had ""just lost feelings"" for me. It was such a cowardly, sanitized phrase that it actually made me dizzy. I asked him how we could work on it, what I could do to fix whatever disconnect he was feeling, because a good partner tries to fight for the relationship.

He just shook his head. He looked impatient, like I was keeping him from an appointment.

And that was when the atmosphere shifted. You can always tell when someone is holding back the actual truth because their eyes start darting everywhere except your face. I knew right then, with absolute certainty, that this wasn't about him quietly outgrowing us.

It was about him finding a reason somewhere else.

I asked him the only question left to ask. I asked him who she was.

He flinched. He actually physically flinched, and then he pulled his phone out of his pocket like it was a shield, staring down at the dark display. He refused to say her name out loud.

10/11/2026

I recently transferred to a new store location for my job because I moved to a different city. I didn't get my old position back right away, so I put in extra effort to earn it back. Unlike my original store, this new location has two people running the department instead of just one.

My new coworker, let's call her Anna, is an older woman who has worked in that department for over ten years. From my first week, she couldn't get my name right no matter how many times I introduced myself. She preferred calling me Margret instead of my birth name, which is Peggy.

My birth name is strictly Peggy, and that is exactly what it says on all my official paperwork. However, she continually refused to believe me and kept insisting my real name was Margret. Whenever she'd call out for me, I wouldn't respond because I honestly did not realize she was speaking to me at all.

Eventually, she'd get frustrated and yell across the retail floor to get my immediate attention. She would say things like, ""Margret, I need you to come over here and help this customer right now."" I'd politely correct her, reminding her that my name is Peggy and kindly asking her to use it.

Rather than making an effort to correct herself, she'd instantly become dismissive and rude. She told me flat out that she'd call me whatever she liked, regardless of my personal preference. I tried to explain that I'd appreciate being called by my actual name, but she clearly didn't care one bit.

I even took the time to learn her name properly, which is a somewhat complicated one to pronounce correctly. I figured that since I showed her that basic respect, she could extend the same courtesy to me. Sadly, my optimistic assumption turned out to be profoundly misguided in this particular situation.

During some downtime on a slow shift, she came up to me and initiated a bizarre conversation. She explicitly told me that she simply did not believe my name was Peggy and stated she'd never call me that. This interaction proved she clearly knew what I wanted to be called, so she wasn't just forgetting.

Since she was choosing to ignore my boundary, I decided to provide undeniable proof the next day. I brought my state ID from my locker and calmly showed it to her to settle the debate. I thought seeing the physical card would finally resolve the absurd situation once and for all.

Instead of acknowledging her mistake, she immediately stormed off and went directly to our store management team. She filed a formal complaint against me, claiming I was being hostile and confrontational with her. I'm still in shock that showing my legal identification to prove my own name could be considered a hostile workplace action.

Now management is involved, and I'm feeling stressed about how this petty conflict will impact my newly reclaimed position. I just wanted my coworker to show me the bare minimum level of professional respect by using the correct name. Am I wrong?

10/11/2026

I run a department at an education startup, and last week I had to make the hardest staffing decision of my career. It wasn't because of a bad employee, but because of a parent who refused to cut the cord.

Our company model is built around students teaching students. We hire older teenagers and young adults to lead classes for younger kids, specifically focusing on lower-income communities to build leadership skills. It is incredibly rewarding work, and I've seen firsthand how giving a teenager real responsibility can completely change their trajectory. We have kids that go through our program and can lead full classes confidently by the time they are fifteen. It's an environment built on growth, patience, and learning how to handle professional boundaries.

A few months ago, we brought on a new nineteen-year-old instructor. I'll be honest, he was not a great hire at first. He showed up late, came to classes unprepared, and had that specific teenage flakiness that usually gets someone washed out in the first two weeks.

But I sat him down, gave him some very direct feedback, and to his credit, he took it to heart. He started putting in the effort. He wasn't the best instructor we had, but I could see him trying, and I wanted to give him the space to figure it out.

The problem was never him. The problem was his mother. She knows me loosely through a mutual friend, and from week one, she treated my professional department like her son's personal extracurricular activity.

It started with emails. She would ask why she hadn't been given guest access to our internal company systems so she could ""check on his work."" I politely explained that we deal with minors, that our systems are strictly confidential, and that parents do not get logins to monitor their adult children at work.

She didn't like that answer, so she started trying to manage his schedule for him. I would get texts from her at the last minute saying he couldn't conduct his class that afternoon because she hadn't finished her errands in time to drive him. Not an emergency, just her own poor time management. I had to scramble to find our backup paid instructors to cover his shifts.

I eventually had a very firm conversation with both of them. I told him he was responsible for his own job, and I told her that I could no longer communicate with her about his employment. I blocked her personal number and her email address, thinking I had built a solid wall.

For a few weeks, things went smoothly. He was doing his job. I was managing my department.

Then last week, I was out of the office for a full day. I came back the next morning and went through the payroll logs. He had shown up twenty-five minutes late for his shift, hadn't notified anyone on the team, and had proceeded to bill for the full time he was scheduled.

It was an annoying infraction, but a standard one. I pulled up his digital timesheet, adjusted the hours, and left a direct note on his file. I wrote that he had overbilled and that he must inform management if he was going to be late to a shift.

10/11/2026

Last week, things at my job went off the rails, and I’m pretty sure it’s my fault, though I haven't admitted it to anyone. We have this one coworker who has a severe peanut allergy. I mean, everyone in the office knows about it because she’s mentioned it a few times, but it’s not something I constantly think about when I'm at home eating breakfast. So, that morning, I decided to make myself some waffles and smothered them in peanut butter before heading out the door. It was just a regular Tuesday, and I didn't think twice about what I ate.

When I got to work, things were busy right away. My coworker and I share this one specific computer in the back room to check our daily orders and update the inventory logs. I hopped on the computer first to clear out my tasks. Looking back, I definitely didn’t wash my hands after breakfast, and I didn't wipe down the keyboard when I was done. A few minutes later, she sat down at the same computer to do her checks.

Not even twenty minutes passed before she started feeling unwell. She was breaking out, her breathing got weird, and she started panicking. Another coworker rushed her to the ER because it was clearly an allergic reaction. I sat there in shock. It didn't hit me right away, but then I remembered the waffles. My heart sank into my stomach. I realized I probably caused the whole thing by touching the keyboard with peanut butter residue on my fingers.

Later that afternoon, someone got a call that she was okay, which was a huge relief. They gathered us all in a group and asked if anyone had eaten peanut butter that day. I froze. I stayed entirely silent. I just couldn't bring myself to confess in front of everyone. I was terrified I'd lose my job or they'd all hate me.

Well, yesterday she finally came back to work. She was fine, but we found out the ER trip still cost her $300 out of pocket after insurance, plus she missed out on two days of pay. My coworkers were all sympathizing with her, and then the conversation took a turn. A few of them started saying that whoever brought the peanut butter into the office and caused the reaction should be forced to pay her medical bill and cover her lost wages.

I wasn't directly part of that conversation, but I heard them from across the room. I just kept my head down, focused on my spreadsheet, and tried to avoid the subject for the rest of the day. A ton of people have brought this up online since I asked for advice, and just so you know, I will bring up worker's compensation to her since it happened on the job, and yes, she did have an EpiPen on her, but the hospital trip was still necessary. Still, I’m wondering if I’m a terrible person for not owning up to it and offering to pay her bill. I don't know what to do.

10/11/2026

My sister has always possessed a terrifying conviction that she would make a better mother than me, and last week she used the state government to try and prove it. It started when I finally kicked her out of my house. She had been staying in our guest room for a temporary transition that quickly mutated into a hostile takeover.

She criticized every single aspect of how I raised my son. She made passive-aggressive comments about his feeding schedule, rolled her eyes at his clothes, and questioned the methods I used to soothe him. I told her to pack her bags the day I caught her telling our mother over the phone that a child like him belonged in ""more capable hands.""

The retaliation campaign started less than twenty-four hours after she dragged her suitcases out the door. First, it was a barrage of vague social media posts about selfish people putting innocent lives at risk. Then she escalated to calling our extended relatives, crying hysterically and spinning wild stories about how I was neglecting my baby and refusing help.

I refused to engage with the public drama directly, but I wasn't naive about what she was doing. I knew exactly how her mind worked and what kind of twisted groundwork she was laying. So I started quietly preparing for the exact nightmare I knew she was trying to manifest.

I documented every single interaction. I saved every frantic text she sent me, downloaded her smear posts, and kept a date-stamped record of every time she or her husband showed up uninvited. When they banged on my front door screaming about giving my son a better future, I exported the audio from the porch camera.

I even called the local family services office preemptively to cover my bases. I explained the escalating situation, gave them a clear heads-up about a potential retaliatory claim, and made sure my son's pediatrician had a glowing health record ready to send. I thought I had built a solid, impenetrable defense against whatever she was planning.

Then Tuesday morning happened, and my preparations were suddenly put to the test. A woman with a clipboard and a permanently stern expression knocked on my door, flanked by a much younger trainee who looked incredibly nervous. The senior worker introduced herself and bluntly stated she was here following up on a detailed report of child endangerment.

She was instantly combative, walking into my living room like it was a crime scene. She eyed the scattered toys on the floor and started taking aggressive notes before I had even offered her a seat. She told me, in a tone dripping with judgment, that the allegations against me were incredibly serious and corroborated by a concerned family member.

10/10/2026

I've had a tiny spider in my office space for a few months now, and she's been a surprisingly good coworker. She's a cool, small creature who just chills near my desk most days without causing any trouble. I've even started bringing her little treats to eat when I find them outside, which she seems to appreciate.

Sometimes she disappears for a while, but she always seems to find her way back to her favorite spot near the window. I've named her, and honestly, I've grown quite fond of having her around during those long afternoon shifts. It's nice having a quiet companion while I work through my daily tasks in silence.

My colleague Michelle, however, isn't a fan of my tiny eight-legged friend living in the workspace. She's aware of the spider's existence and is constantly complaining about it being a dangerous pest. She firmly believes it needs to be killed or at least removed from the building immediately for the safety of everyone.

Recently, Michelle saw just the web, not even the actual spider, and that was enough to set her off into a panic. She started an official whiteboard scoresheet to see if anyone else was in favor of the spider being removed from the premises. Apparently, she's terrified, and being anywhere near my office makes her uncontrollably jittery.

Luckily, most people in the office voted that the spider should be allowed to stay right where she is. A few of her close friends, though, wrote some strongly worded notes on the board expressing their profound disgust. They claimed the spider is a clear sign of poor housekeeping and shouldn't be tolerated in a professional environment under any circumstances.

I must admit I was a little peeved at this whole situation, considering the blatant hypocrisy on display. We're in a pet-friendly workspace, and Michelle's own dog comes into work with her sometimes despite the potential distractions. We have people who are genuinely frightened of dogs, yet she doesn't bother keeping hers on a leash or monitoring its behavior.

The issue finally came to a head during a company-wide team meeting last week when tensions were already high. Michelle brought up that she firmly refused to go into my office because she was profoundly scared of the spider. My boss seemed irritated by the ongoing drama and bluntly told me I needed to remove it or kill it.

I straight up refused his unreasonable request and pointed out the glaring double standard happening right here in our office. I told him he wouldn't dare ask Michelle to remove her dog, even though some people are undeniably afraid of it. My spider is a lot less threatening than a poorly behaved dog running around the office all day.

He ultimately agreed with my valid point, and my spider thankfully gets to stay in her quiet corner without further harassment. Since then, though, Michelle keeps going on about how I don't care about her feelings and that I must enjoy watching her suffer. Am I wrong?

10/10/2026

I am a thirty-six-year-old le***an, and I have taught kindergarten at a prestigious private school for eight straight years. It is a traditional community where parents are heavily involved, so from the day I was hired, I made a quiet decision to keep my personal life entirely separate. If you asked any of my colleagues, they would tell you I am a single woman singularly focused on her career, completely unaware that I have a wife and eighteen-month-old twin girls.

I genuinely love my students, and I have spent nearly a decade building a reputation as a dedicated, reliable educator who always puts the children first. But that professional respect always felt conditional, because I have overheard enough hushed conversations in the hallways to know exactly how some of these families view people like me. Maintaining the illusion wasn't just about privacy; it felt like a necessary, permanent shield for my career.

The wall I built between my two worlds started as a temporary boundary. When I first got the job, I just didn't want the added stress of navigating small-minded questions during my probationary period. Then the years started stacking up, and the silence just became the easiest path to walk.

My wife is fiercely open, fiercely proud, and she has never hidden who she is for anyone's comfort. When we got married, it was a beautiful, intimate ceremony surrounded by people who truly loved us. I didn't invite a single person from my school, telling her I wanted the day to just be about our actual loved ones, and she accepted that without a second thought.

Our journey to having our daughters was not an easy one. It took multiple grueling rounds of IVF, heartbreaks we weathered in private, and months of physical and emotional exhaustion. My wife carried our twins, and while she was going through the hardest parts of the pregnancy, I was smiling through staff meetings.

When the girls were born, I took two weeks away from my classroom. I filed it under ""personal leave"" with HR and told my coworkers I was dealing with a private family matter. Nobody pushed for details, and I returned to work pretending my entire world hadn't just shifted on its axis.

I sit in the staff lounge eating my lunch while my colleagues try to set me up with their single brothers or nephews, always just laughing it off and steering the conversation back to lesson plans. I told myself I was doing it to protect my family's peace, because the culture in our area has gotten increasingly conservative and there are currently zero openly gay teachers at my school.

I didn't want my wife or my daughters to become a talking point at the school's fundraising galas. I didn't want my performance reviews to suddenly include vague notes about my ""cultural fit"" from traditional parents. So I kept my head down, did my job, and left my real life at the door every morning.

What I failed to realize was that my wife and I were living in two completely different versions of our reality. She knew I didn't socialize outside of work, and she knew I kept things strictly professional. But she operated under the assumption that the people I spent forty hours a week with at least knew she existed.

Address

110 E 9th Street
Los Angeles, CA
90079

Telephone

(310) 837-6788

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