People Open Up About Their Most Acceptable Act Of Revenge
20. Refuse To Pay For Your Train Tickets? Get Your Whole Day Wasted
“This story is merged from 3 people: me, my conductor, and another conductor. I work as a train driver and drive both “small and big” trains in bigger cities and out in the middle of nowhere.
This took place with a small train in the middle of nowhere, where we drive on one track and have to meet the oncoming trains at stations where there are 2 tracks.
Me and my conductor had a pleasant journey until idiot 1 and 2 (being extremely rude) got on our train and locked themselves in the bathroom and tried to get a free ride to station X. However, the conductor isn’t a fool and notices when people do this. So he stands outside the toilet, and we stop at station X, the toilet unlocks, and the conductor is locking eyes with the 2 guys who are taken by surprise to see him standing outside.
The conductor smiles widely, places both his hands on the doorframes, and says with exaggeration:
Guys! There you are! I saw you getting on a few stations back and were wondering where you went! Glad I finally found you!
Idiot 1: Uuuuh, we’re getting off here.
Conductor: Oh, is that so? Well, where are your tickets?
Idiot 2: We, uh, we’ve shown them already.
Conductor: How can that be when you’ve been in there the whole time?
Idiot 1 (getting rude): We don’t have any freaking tickets, and we won’t buy any either; you can’t freaking force us! We have to get off here!
Conductor: GUYS! I don’t know if you helped each other taking a pee in there, but you ain’t gonna travel with my train for free! (Arguing continues.)
Meanwhile, I’m in my driver’s cabin and doing my job, I see no passengers entering or exiting and the time for departure comes, so I close the doors and start to drive again.
Idiot 1 & 2 noticing the doors closing, unable to get by the conductor, and starts to yell: NOO! We had to get off here!! You freaking idiot! Where the heck are we going now!?
Conductor: We’re going to station Y.
Ain’t you lucky, you get to ride even further for free!
Idiot 1: But we don’t want to go there! How are we supposed to get back, you freaking idiot!?
Conductor: Well, you can walk or buy a ticket for the oncoming train, but it’s not gonna be at station Y until 1 hour after we’ve left.
After station Y, where they guys left our train, the conductor comes to my cabin and tells me what the guys have done and that they’ve done the exact same thing multiple times before, being rude, but today, the conductor has had enough of their free rides and rude language.
So, he calls the conductor on the train we’re going to meet further ahead.
And that conductor has also had to deal with these guys before. This is what she did when she came to station Y: She sees them at the platform, informs the train driver not to drive until she gives an OK, and she places herself at the door where they will enter. And of course they are met by her blocking the door and saying: Hello! I want to see your tickets before you board the train.
Idiot 1: What? Why are you stopping us? We will show you our tickets when we are on board!
Conductor: No, you will show them to me now; I know what you’ve been doing on the other train, and now you’ve had 1 hour to buy yourselves tickets!
Idiot 2: That wasn’t us!
Conductor: Oh please! You’ve done this before! I recognize you from earlier travels! And don’t you think we colleagues talk to each other? Tickets! Now!
Idiot 1: Freaking heck, okay! pays for the tickets and gets on, and the train departs
Conductor: Good! Wish you would pay every time you guys travel with us.
Anyway, we’re at station X in 10 minutes.
Idiot 2: We don’t want to go to station X anymore; we want to go back to StationWhereTheyGotOn.
Conductor: No guys, you’re going to station X. You’re not traveling with me an inch further.
So they had to get off at station X and wait another 2.5 hours for the next train. And who meets the guys at the door? It’s the first conductor, traveling back to the starting station.
Conductor: Hello, boys!
Idiots: Oh no, please! We will pay! Please let us travel with you!
Conductor: Have we learned something today?
Idiots: Yes, for freak’s sake. This has taken the whole day! We will never do this again!
And would you believe it, after months of cheating, foul language, and racist remarks, we’ve never had any problems with them again.”
Another User Comments:
“Where I’m from, if you don’t have a ticket, they radio transit police to detain you at the next station. We don’t mess around.” DewnOracle
19. No Seasoning It Is, Just How You Like It
We wouldn’t want it to be too heavy or spicy for you.
“So, my partner and I live with his mother. She basically sits in her recliner and takes advantage of me working, my streaming services, and my eventual frustration at things not getting done, so I do it myself. My partner is disabled, and it’s hard for him to do much more than laundry and some dishes and light cooking.
I work 50+ hours a week in a restaurant.
Even through all the crap the last few months, I’ve remained full-time.
The food my store serves isn’t the healthiest, so I try to only bring home leftovers as a treat for me not having to cook.
Now, I have a very midwestern, German, hearty way of cooking. I make a lot from scratch, but I also know how to utilize condensed soups and elevate a hamburger helper.
My man loves my cooking, and I’m always having him taste-test things. We love cooking together and have always been experimental and up for trying new things.
However, this stopped when we moved in with his mom because she’s very, very picky. She used to cook her share, and we would get by that way. But slowly over time, she got flogging lazy and now won’t do more than microwave ramen or make a sandwich.
It’s fine. Whatever. But my partner can’t stand up long enough to cook a whole lot either, so it falls on me.
10-hour day on my feet be damned. I revel in my partners’s enjoyment of my cooking. That brings me joy.
So, he has a new favorite dish of mine that I can’t tell you the clever name of because it’s named after a certain situation we are dealing with as a country, but it IS clever.
For it, I utilized (mostly chicken) condensed soup since flour and butter were hard to find. I had plenty of powdered milk in the freezer, and we had plenty of frozen veggies of all kinds and a butt load of rice for the dish.
I usually use cream of mushroom or celery and a couple of cans of mushrooms with peas and carrots – all creamy and good over rice.
But last week, I was doing my weekly grocery shopping and saw cream of broccoli and cheddar cheese soup. That sparked an idea because my hubby looooves broccoli soup and cheese. So, I made the fixins with that along with a bag of frozen broccoli. Oooooh, was he happy! And it was good.
Anyway, a few days ago, my hubby lets me in that my mother-in-law was complaining about my cooking.
This was not the first time. I hear all the time about how I don’t do things right, or more like, not how SHE does it. I went on a cooking strike for a while until she whined about she’s spending too much on takeout. Like, REALLY!? There’s a full pantry, and you are getting take out every day!?
She complained that my meals were “too heavy” and had too much salt and pepper, and she didn’t like all the cream sauces I’d use.
Yet, she eats like three servings.
So, cue the malicious compliance. I didn’t go on a cooking strike this time. I made dinner tonight. My partner wanted chicken and broccoli with rice again. So, we went to the store. We got the stuff and came home. The plan all hatched in the car, and my man thought it was brilliant.
I must also add that my partner and I both love spicy food but generally only add chili sauce or extra spice to our individual plates because my mother-in-law doesn’t like spice (relevant later).
I cut up the chicken, but I saved about half a breast worth (huge breasts of frozen chicken, like turkey-sized). I cook most of it with copious amounts of garlic and butter and ranch powder like always.
But in a separate skillet, I only added olive oil and her chicken. No salt or pepper or garlic. I sauté it up and set it aside. I then make the cream sauce and add most of the broccoli.
I saved about half a cup and steamed it. I made the rice like always but reserved a half-cup of plain rice and added the rest to the fixings and mixed it up. My partner taste tests and tweaks.
And then he surprised me. He added black pepper and our favorite chili seasoning to it. I’m wide-eyed, and my mouth is watering.
I dish up the plain rice, broccoli, and chicken into a bowl and hand it to my man.
My mother-in-law can’t be bothered with coming to get her own dinner.
We must take it to her. He’s giggling like a child. I just smile and feel satisfied that maybe she will like her dinner now.
I dish up a bowl of fixins for myself and head to the bedroom where binge tv is waiting.
I hear the exchange though.
“Here’s your dinner, Mom.”
“Oh, well what’s this? I thought Godiva was making fixins?”
“Oh, she did.
But I told her what you said after her last batch, and she wanted to make you something more to your palette.”
“Well, why did you tell her that? I told you that in confidence.”
“I didn’t want to set her up for failure, and she wants you to like her cooking. So, I told her, so she’d have a chance to fix it.”
“Oh, ok. Well, thanks, I guess.”
My man joins me.
All grins. We eat, and he hears her shuffle to the kitchen.
“Can I have a little cream sauce for my chicken?”
My partner replies, “Go for it. But I did put black pepper and chili powder in it. We didn’t think you’d want any so we added our spices.”
I think she ended up adding some salt or something but no cream sauce. She ate it.
She then let us know that she was thinking of making dinner tomorrow since I always do the cooking.
Gotcha! Go for it. I’m not a fan of her cooking either, but I welcome any day that I don’t have to cook.
I guess you could also file this under petty revenge as well.”
18. Okay, Call My Dad Then, I Won't Warn You
“Just remembered this story from junior high. In 9th grade, I was a little bit of a crap.
I have pretty severe ADHD and made it a habit of messing with teachers. I never really did anything bad per se but was constantly disruptive and talked back a lot. My grades were solid, though, so mostly I just ended up with a lot of lunch detentions. One teacher in particular, Ms.
On-Time, really did not like me, and after my malicious compliance, she basically didn’t speak directly to me the remainder of the school year.
Ms. On-Time hated students being late to class. Anyone even a minute late would be sent to in-school suspension for the rest of the class and then would receive 1 day of detention for the first infraction, a week for the second, and 2 weeks for the 3rd.
About halfway through the school year, she made an adjustment to the rule. Nobody was quite sure why, but the rumor was the front office had a talk with her about her policies for sending so many kids to detention. The new policy was that if you were able to complete a task, you would be allowed into the classroom. These ranged from doing a math problem on the board in front of the class to collecting trash around the room before you could sit.
Well, I took this as a free way to show up whenever I wanted.
After showing up late for the 4th or 5th time in two weeks, Ms. On-Time started to get mad, and the tasks started becoming more and more difficult.
The next time I showed up late, I had 15 seconds to recite the alphabet backwards; otherwise, she threatened detention for 2 weeks. This is where the malicious compliance comes in.
After she had implemented this new rule, I started asking friends from her class what tasks she had been assigning during the other periods. I had collected a pretty long list of these tasks and made sure I was able to do any of them when asked. Fortunately for me, she had used the reverse alphabet on another student in the previous term. Without breaking stride towards my desk, I rattled off the reverse alphabet and sat down without another word.
Ms. On-Time was livid. It was pretty obvious I had practiced with how quickly I had been able to respond.
After staring at me for a few seconds, she announced to the class, “It appears Mr. Jumper doesn’t take me or the rules of my classroom seriously, but maybe he’ll listen to his parents.”
She called me up to the front of the room, put her phone on speaker, and asked me to call my dad.
Everyone in the room was ooohing and aaahing at me as I made my way up. I called up my dad, and this is a basic summary of how the call went. One important thing to note is that Ms. On-Time never let my dad know he was on speaker in front of the rest of the class.
Ms. On-Time – ‘Hello, Mr. Jumper. This is Ms.
On-Time, and I have jibjumper on the line, and he has something to tell you.’
Dad – ‘What’d you do, jibjumper?’
Me – ‘I was late to class. The rule is you have to complete a task to not get detention. Ms. On-Time told me to say the alphabet backward, and I did. Then she had me call you.’
Dad – ‘Ms. On-Time, is what Jibjumper saying true?’
Ms. On-Time – ‘Yes, but he’s leaving out that he’s been late 5 times in two weeks and has a disrespectful attitude.’
Dad – ‘Is that true, Jibjumper?’
Me – ‘It’s true I was late, but I finished the task every time.
I’m just following the rules Ms. On-Time put in place. I don’t get how that’s disrespectful.’
Ms. On-Time – ‘Don’t lie and act like that you know you were being disruptive and disrespectful for ignoring the ..”
Dad cutting off Ms. On-Time mid-sentence – ‘Now wait a second. You’re calling him a liar, but you put the rule in place that he could do a task to get out of detention?’
On-Time – ‘Yes, but…’
Dad – ‘And he completes the tasks as requested?’
Ms. On-Time – ‘Yes, but…’
Dad – ‘Then what’s the problem here? It sounds like he’s following the rules YOU established for your classroom. Don’t call me at my office again unless he actually does something worth calling me for.’
And then he hung up.
I just walked back to my desk without saying another word. Ms. On-Time just stood there for about 30 seconds with a look of pure outrage on her face. Most of the class was trying to suppress giggles.
I’ll never forget the poop-eating grins on my two friends’ faces as I walked past them in the aisle.”
17. Refuse To Cancel My Gym Membership And Refer Me To The Contract? I'll Come Up With A Solution
“So around July of last year, I am coming up on the end of my contract for a big national gym chain that, let’s just say, you can visit anytime. So, I try and call and get directions to cancel, and get a voicemail box that is full. I call their 800 number and am told only the local office can cancel me. I call my bank and ask if I can block auto-debit, but because it is a check debit, they can only block a specific amount, and there is a fee.
I scan my contract, and it says I have to cancel in writing with 30 days notice regardless of my contract end date. I am pretty furious at this point because the gym was closed completely due to the 2019 world pause, and I was wasting money. I hadn’t been too concerned while my contract was going, but now, I just wanted to end my association with them.
I write the letter with my membership number, email, and phone number and send the letter certified with my fob.
Two months later, I notice I am still being charged, and they have billed me an additional $60 for my “annual access fee.” Now I am livid.
I find the customer service email and explain the situation with specific dates of calls, letters, and attempted visits to the office.
I ask that my membership be cancelled and a refund for the past several months and the annual renewal. I receive a rather curt response saying they will start my cancelation, but I will have one more monthly charge because there is a 30 day notice. I respond asking them to read my message and see that is what I did already by mail.
Apparently, the local manager has been letting mail pile up as they don’t even have someone at the office part time.
No one has seen my letter. I say this to the email rep. He/she asks me to read my contract and states that even if I can demonstrate the letter was sent I would still be on the hook for the 30 days and the annual fee. She says I need to read my contract if I have any questions. And I do.
Turns out, near the end of this very long document, is section 20.1, which states the following:
“Unexpected events: we are not responsible if Members cannot use our club because of an event caused by a natural force (such as a fire or a flood) or a road or building closure or something similar beyond our reasonable control.
If this continues for more than 30 days, then either you or we may cancel this Agreement immediately by written notice. No Fee will apply.”
So, I respond with this new knowledge I have and point out the gym had been closed 90 days prior to my original letter and even greater than my email cancellation request. I also threaten the following if they don’t refund me back to my original contract end date:
I will pay people I know to picket their gym.
I will hand out flyers telling people about this provision of the contract so others in the middle of contracts will be able to cancel without a fee.
I will publish an article in our local online newspaper about the trouble I have had offering advice to others.
And I make it clear that I have all the documentation including phone statements to prove it is all true.
Three days later, I was called by a regional director with an apology and a full refund of over $240 that had been inappropriately taken and a little extra.
For those wondering, I am sharing this now because I understand many people in California where the lockdown was more strict have gone through this, and they deserve to know how not to be abused. And remember, if someone tells you to read your contract, do it!”
16. We Tried To Tell You, We Really Did
You just didn’t want to listen.
“This is my story from five years ago. I have changed the names of all parties involved out of respect for their privacy.
At the time, I was employed in a mid-size supermarket, which was owned and operated by a retail giant. I was a baker; it was my responsibility to produce the fresh loaves of bread and bread rolls which would only be on sale for that day until closing time.
Any surplus goods would be counted, recorded, and disposed of.
Having been employed by them for ~10 years, I got to know what sold well and what didn’t. Our range included some artisanal, ethnic, and specialty breads that weren’t overly popular with customers. Day after day, I’d be ordered by the production sheet put together by the department’s manager (definitely a Karen!) to produce an inordinate number of these products which would inevitably end up in the bin.
I took it upon myself to mention to Karen that this was an issue that would reflect poorly on the department; although, the company made most of its money back with what it wasted, it meant that we were investing our time making loaves that weren’t selling rather than dedicating those hours to more profitable product lines.
Karen, of course, was having none of it.
“I’m the department manager.
I think I know what’s popular and what isn’t. Just do your job.” She said, with obvious scorn.
Fast forward a couple of weeks later, and our store is due an audit. Before I go further, there are two things to note.
At the time, there was a lot of material on mainstream TV and online “exposing” supermarket waste.
Every production sheet is stored in the bakery as a record of production levels and is kept for a minimum duration.
On it, the baker of the day annotates how many of each product he/she makes in an effort to “prove” that the sheet was followed.
So, our store was due an audit, and the bakery was to be that audit’s focus. A severe-looking group of people comes into the bakery scouring it for problems and non-compliance. They ask to see both the sales records and the production sheets to confirm the variance between production and sales.
Of course, the numbers on several product lines aren’t ideal, and Karen is questioned about the money being lost in unpopular (and therefore, waste) food. Karen doesn’t explain her position well, so they gather the team and question us asking for complete honesty.
They get to me and ask (as the person producing the majority of the saleable items) whether I’d noticed that there were products not selling well. I sweetly reply, “Yes, but I was just doing my job.” Karen ends up getting demoted from Bakery Manager and left soon after. I was asked if I fancied the gig, but I declined. I wanted out of retail.”
15. Play An Appropriate Song? I Know The Perfect One
“My mom asked me to take her to the doctor this morning for a checkup. I (21m) hate driving her around because she makes car rides difficult. She hates my taste in music; it’s a mix of lo-fi, hip hop, and alt-rock that always seems to be too loud for her ‘sensitive ears.’ Today’s playlist had a selection of Chance the Rapper, Tobi Lou, and Smino (great artists if you’re trying to get into new music).
My mom is a devout Christian woman, and I am her gay son. Needless to say, I have a higher tolerance for cussing in music. I just listen to the beat and bounce around.
My mom and I were bopping our heads along to ‘Amphetamine’ by Smino (one of my all-time favorites), so I turned the volume up… Just in time for an f-bomb.
Mom: ‘Nope. I can’t listen to that.’
Me: (shuts off the music) ‘Fine.’
Mom: (after an awkward silence) ‘It’s just that I’m praying.
You know your step-dad is going to chemo today… Can you please find something with no cussing in it?’
Me: ‘Sure. Not a problem.’
Now I’m a little ticked off. Here’s the thing, I don’t see how her praying or pop’s chemo had anything to do with my music selection or why my music would interfere.
But, as a mischievous grin came across my face, I did as I was told.
You want clean music? Well, do I have a show for you!
I quickly tapped through my phone and found a VeggieTales playlist. Suddenly the lyrics to The Water Buffalo song played through the speaker, inciting rapturous laughter from my mom and I as we sped along the interstate to our destination.
Me: ‘Well, you did say no cussing!’
We laughed about it on the way back from the doctor’s office.
It’s nice seeing her smile despite all the craziness going on in our lives right now.
I came out to my parents when I was 14. My mom took it especially hard. It’s been a long road, but she’s starting to accept my choices.
I love these moments because looking back to all our fights and arguments, small things like “music with swear words” is small potatoes. Younger me would have made it an argument, but I’ve learned to just adjust and try to make her laugh.
I considered today a small win of many in our relationship.
I make music and tend to play things kinda loud, so my hearing is definitely less sensitive to intensity than my mother’s. However, the issue this time was her hearing swear words, not that I made it too loud. I know this because I played this Christian alternative song later called “Tendons” by Bellarive (love this track because of an awesome spoken word that got me through many dark nights growing up), and it got to an extremely loud bit, which I usually headbang through.
She instinctively covered her ears. She didn’t want it off, just turned down.”
14. Think About If I Still Want To Work Here? Fine, I Will
“In my late teens/early 20’s, I worked at a bar and a restaurant that was next door to each other, owned by the same people, and attached through the kitchen. I took shifts at both. They were located in a pretty sketchy area of my city. The restaurant was a pretty cheap diner/pizza place that catered to the neighborhood, and some of the customers could be pretty sketchy, and some were cheap as heck.
There was one couple in particular that I couldn’t stand. I called them Sonny and Cher, as they comically had similarities to their namesakes. They were the worst. Always ordered the special. Demanded all of my attention. Wanted endless refills. Emptied the sugar, salt, and pepper shakers into plastic baggies. You get the picture. All while pretending that we were great pals, knowing full well that they were going to leave me their standard tip of one nickel.
Happened every time.
The boss paid us under the table. At the end of the week, I would write down the hours I worked that week, multiply it by my hourly wage, pay myself from the till, and leave the slip of paper with my calculations in the till.
The boss decided to start closing the restaurant an hour earlier during the week. Obviously, people that had been used to the old hours would come in right at closing.
This would cause me to stay later than my posted shift. After a few weeks, my boss noticed that I was paying myself after closing and asked why. I explained that I was having to stay past the closing time when I still had customers. He was not happy with my reason and told me in no uncertain terms was I to pay myself after closing time.
No problem, but I don’t work for free.
So from then on when people would come in towards the end of my shift, I would ask what they planned on ordering. If there was time for it to be prepared and eaten, I would serve them. If not, I politely explained that we were closing soon and could not accommodate them.
My boss caught wind of this. He was NOT happy.
He came into the restaurant during a really busy lunch shift and told me he needed to talk to me in the bar next door RIGHT NOW. He followed behind me through the kitchen screaming at me in Greek the whole way. I do not speak Greek. When he got me out of earshot of the restaurant, he switched to English and went up one side of me and down the other.
Told me I had better think about whether I wanted this job or not. Then told me to get back to work and left the premises. I went back to a chaotic mess. And I was angry. It really didn’t take me long to think about it. Maybe a minute. I realized that I really did not want this job. So I paid myself what I was owed and left a note informing him of my decision.
I gathered my belongings. I told the cook I was quitting and walked out the door with a spring in my step.
I was full of adrenaline and had no idea what to do next. There was a bus approaching so I decided to get on. Guess who was on the bus? Sonny and Cher! They were confused to see me as they knew I should still be on shift.
I told them that I no longer worked there. They wanted to know why I had quit. Well, they asked. So I launched into a very detailed explanation of why I hated it. They featured heavily in the story. They were so embarrassed that I think they got off before their stop. It was one of the most satisfying experiences I have ever had.
I heard later that the cook thought I was kidding, had run across to the store for something, and would be right back. Eventually, the customers went into kitchen looking for me, and he figured it out…”
13. Deny My Promotion But Make Me Train The New Manager? I Know My Worth
And that’s when you leave and never look back.
“This all happened within the span of the past two months but goes back about a year and a half when the 2019 world pause first began.
During the beginning of the outbreak, my (then) employer decided to put the whole company (except herself) on the Work Share program. Work Share is essentially an extension of the Unemployment program, aimed to reduce the number of layoffs but cutting workers’ hours and therefore their pay.
Thing is, we were all salaried (small company), and the owner couldn’t put themselves on the program as she is a company executive (CEO).
Our hours were supposed to be cut by 45% with our salaries being reduced proportionally (and the rest of our pay coming from 55% of our EDD unemployment amount). In the beginning, we were able to reduce our hours (not quite to the level of 45%), but as things started picking up about 3 months in, we were back to working full hours.
This went on for the whole program term of a year when the owner decided to put us back on the Work Share program (after expressing how difficult the past year was with our salaries being reduced by 45% and having to go on food stamps and utility assistance as our benefits were up to 3 months late).
We were told we would stay on the program, but salary reduction would go from 45% to 30% (yay, I guess?).
During this time, I was given access to our companies accounting platform, as we were transitioning to using their quote-making app. I was able to see the company payroll and realized that not only was she paying herself her full salary amount while we were on Work Share, but she had the audacity to give herself a raise (25%).
Then about a month and a half ago, I had my performance review where, after explaining everything I went through and how I felt, I had asked for a raise equating to a 63% raise.
This may seem like a big jump, but it was definitely well deserved after what we were put through and for working there nearly 3 years with only one raise.
I was told my ask was too high, and that they could just find someone else at the “market rate” to make proposals and do bits of my job. I was then told they would be hiring a new Project Manager (who would be my superior) and also an Account Executive.
About a week and a half goes by, and I was finally given a 25% raise (but it wasn’t much given what my base salary was at that time) and told we could revisit to bump that up another 10% next year.
Then they start the hiring process for the new PM, in which I had no say during the whole process.
They offer him a starting salary of 50% higher than what I had received after my review, and I knew I had to get the heck out.
Interviewed at a couple of places and landed an amazing offer at a competitor and put in my two weeks notice. I was then told that I should have given them notice when I was applying for a job (LOL).
I was nice enough to stay during my whole two weeks and train the new PM that would eventually be my replacement.
A few days in, they made the pivot that the new PM would only be taking certain portions of my responsibility, as they realized he didn’t have all the skill sets required to do all my duties.
They then started to look for new hires in sales to help with that portion of the company as I was leaving but wasn’t able to find anyone during my two weeks.
On my last day, they let go of the PM (genuinely screwing him) and still haven’t found a replacement yet. Our Office Manager also decided it was time to leave and had her last day yesterday as well.
Essentially, they took my previous role and split it up into about 4 different roles totaling about $280k worth in salary (when my ask was about a quarter of that). Still, nobody has been hired for any sales position.
This was my first week at my new job, and I am already loving it. The feeling of dread every morning is a thing in the past.
Always know what you’re worth, and don’t be afraid to make changes to get to the place you deserve to be!”
12. Say I'm In The Way At Work? I'll Just Be On My Phone Then
What else do you need me here for anyway?
“I’m an overnight baker at that one bread place with the logo and whatnot. My reasons for staying are the quiet and stability of a chain, which I made clear I needed.
I recently transferred locations in a new state, meaning I was fully trained but still the new guy. For a few weeks, my trainer just sat watching Danny phantom and corrected the few things they do differently here.
She’s cool; we had fun.
After training, we would go from five 8-hour shifts (9 pm – 5 am), to four 10s (8-6) with time to clean. My first week alone starts, and I’m doing just fine. I’m cleaning the ovens and tackling lime buildup in the machines.
Now, normally, the night shift leaves at about 10 pm, and the day shift arrives from 5 am onward depending on the day’s orders.
So I see a bit of the closers, and the openers come in as I’m finishing cleaning.
On my third day alone, I’m breaking down these big heavy grates to scrub them, taking up the dish sink. The manager comes in and says I have to move.
“I’m halfway done, man. I’m almost out of your hair.”
He huffs and leaves, and I go back to listening to David Bowie.
My manager’s calling.
I put my cleaning stuff down in the sink and go to take the call.
Very long and stupid conversation later, I find that the manager called corporate, who called our regional manager, who called our branch manager, to call my boss to tell me I was in the way. I’m staring at the day manager being very clear how stupid this is.
Thirty minutes later, I’m off the phone and do a crap job finishing before leaving.
I only find out the next day it wasn’t the sinks he needed but a coffee pot I had put a screen next to. So I get more complaints.
Because of all this, my boss says that I’m not to do any deeper cleaning an hour before I leave, in case the managers need what I’m using.
The very next day, all our shifts are cut. I go from 40 hours to 32 for the entire month of May, making me $400 short on bills.
I’m told that I’m allowed to take an extra thirty minutes on my 8 hours to make it up, as if that helps. Even with that, managers might not show up until 5:30, when I’m already gone.
So now, with shorter shifts, where I’m not allowed to do extra cleaning, I’m just sitting on my phone moaning about it on Reddit. I finished a half-hour early, and I could clean any number of things we’re behind on.
But I don’t want to be in anyone’s way.”
Another User Comments:
“Put the coffee pot in a different location every day. Call corporate to tell them the manager told you not to clean.” denominatorAU2
11. We'll Play Along With Your Evil Office Scheme
“Tick had a well-deserved reputation as a toxic person. She would painstakingly script any interaction with another person so that she was up here and you were down there. Her rules were: she speaks, you listen; she teaches, you learn; she tells, you obey. Mind you, she was a coworker, not a supervisor.
A little bit of background – Tick had been a counselor for new employees at one point, which was a really bad idea.
Our organization has a bad habit of finding the worst, most insecure person for a position and putting them in there. She was known to try and win the trust of new employees and then use what they told her against them in an effort to get them fired over trivial things. She would also watch the new employees hoping to find any minor infraction and also try to get them fired.
This is where she gained the nickname of the Eye of Sauron. After two sessions, the supervisor told her that she was no longer welcome. The supervisor was a down-to-earth, true gentleman with infinite patience. He was my counselor when I was new. I ran into him one day after this, and he told me that she was a piece of human excrement. Coming from a man of that much patience, that said a lot.
In our office, Tick would watch all of the other employees like a hawk.
If she saw some minor infraction, she would run to the boss’ office, glance back at everyone, and flick her hand, saying loudly, “There is a problem with another employee.” She would then go in and close the door. Afterward, some poor schmuck would suffer an evil fate. She literally dimed people out for a 16-minute coffee break and a 46-minute lunch. She dimed out one guy for having sand in the company vehicle, but he lived on the beach and had to walk over sand to get to the car.
We were all horrified that the supervisor even gave her the time of day; it was so disruptive and Tick reveled in the power.
So, some genius supervisor decided to put her in charge of a whole section of paperwork. Not a supervisor, but just the person to ensure the formatting and correct procedure. She began kicking back paperwork for three spaces after a period, two spaces after a comma, telling you to change “puppy” to “the little dog.” It was her way of making you bow to her greatness.
In spite of all the complaints, no one could get rid of her, and she was dug in like a tick.
I had rebuffed her attempts to make me her flunky. One time, she demanded I stop working on my project because I would be working for her from now on. I was to be her “baby employee” and carry her things and help her format her paperwork.
I had been in for seven years and stopped her cold, so I was on the naughty list.
So, she battered me for two years on my paperwork, throwing me under the bus every chance she got and the supervisor always took her side. I showed the supervisor some of my paperwork and said that Libby was right… half the time. I was right, half the time; and yet, she took Tick’s side 100%.
And, the corrections were so trivial.
So, one day, Tick throws my paperwork on my desk and berates me.
Tick: “Your paperwork is always so messed up. I’m going to read everything you send me!” (Spelling and grammar were not her job to fix; her job was to ensure proper procedure.)
Me: “Oh, thank you, Libby!”
She was taken aback. From then on, I would type out forms and wait until Friday at 4 pm and toss a stack of paperwork on her desk and say, “Thanks so much, Libby.
Boss needs this by 8 am Monday morning. You have a great night.”
Then, I got a collateral duty that put me in charge a mandatory training that most employees had to complete, including her. She was very bad at this particular function, so I told her, “You wanted to play this game; let’s play this game.”
I would stand behind her whenever she had to complete this function, which was once a quarter and was very physical.
Like her with my paperwork, I would stand behind her and say, “No… No… No… What are you doing? Don’t you know how to do this? This is far more important than grammar. You should get this by now.”
Often, she was the only one to fail this function so when that happened. I would get on the PA and declare, “All those who have failed (this function) report to me immediately!”
I would walk up to the supervisor’s door and wave my hand and say, “There is a problem with an employee,” and I would go in and close the door.
Amazingly, she stopped harassing me, but the list of victims was still long.
Tick soon ran afoul of a friend of mine, Chad, who had been getting the same treatment. Chad went to the big boss as Tick was holding up a major project. Tick was called in to explain, and she became unglued, screaming at the big boss. An all-office email came out within ten minutes, saying that Tick had been immediately removed from her position, which was given to Kevin.
Kevin had previously endured Tick for two years as her “baby employee,” having been treated like dirt. He was another nice as could be guy and was ground into dust by her.
Kevin got an award for turning the position around, and during the award ceremony, Chad and I went up to Kevin. Tick was nearby, buttering a bagel. Chad and I told Kevin that he was the best person in that position and that we were so grateful and that he totally turned that disaster around. Tick dropped her bagel on the ground and fled. She retired the next day, and we held a party where we played the scene where Sauron’s eye comes crashing down as she left the building.”
10. Don't Really Want Me Working Here Anymore? I'm Gone
“When I was younger I worked as a engineer for a small company. The owner who I’ll call Jake, let me know before I started that I would be doing about 10 hour days, 6 days a week for about 6 months, but that I would have to be flexible. Some days they wouldn’t have work for me and other days I’d be expected to stay a few hours late.
This didn’t bother me too much as I wasn’t too tight for money and I didn’t mind staying behind a few extra hours occasionally.
I got to work and was told to follow instructions from the owner’s brother, Steve. He was an arrogant character, who always thought he knew how to do everyone else’s job better than them. We butted heads a few times but nothing major.
A few months in, I found a new job starting in a week that paid better.
Later on that day I had another disagreement with Steve. The situation was petty but it’s his response that really confused me. It ended with him screaming in my face, “If you don’t do as I say, then you can freaking leave!”
So I packed my stuff and left. Steve was a little confused, thinking I’d just fall in line. He was too arrogant to apologize, and I had a job lined up.
(Side note for people not in the UK, I was working a zero-hour contract.
This means I get an hourly wage but I’m not afforded some labor rights like a set salary, minimum work hours or notice for dismissal. This works both ways though so I can leave the job whenever I want with no notice.)
I decided to call up Jake since he’d always been chill and told him what happened. He told me he needed me and I should just return to work.
I told him unless he controls steve and made him apologize, there was no way I was coming back. He refused so I told him I’ll send in my final timesheet.
Two weeks later and I’ve started my new job. I still haven’t been paid for my final week, so I call Jake. He told me that “since you didn’t give notice for leaving, you owe me for the lost product of work.” He said if I didn’t like it, I should sue him and “recommended” I should just take the loss and move on.
This was complete bull.
A couple of months go by until I finally find time to file for small claims court. A few days after sending him notice, Jake paid my money including court fees and extra. He actually called me up apologizing for the “confusion.” He wanted to know when I could return to work. I’d heard from one of my ex co-workers that because of the infrequent hours, people would leave as soon as they were told they wouldn’t have work the next day.
Others would leave when they realized how much of a jerk Steve was. They’d gone through about 7 different workers in the time I was gone and struggled to keep anyone for more than a week. I told him I’d think about it. I managed to string him along for a few weeks before he stopped calling me.
The moral of the story is that if you think you’re being treated unfairly, you shouldn’t just put up with it. Your self-respect isn’t worth compromising. Don’t settle for being treated like trash, especially when you’re willing to go above and beyond for them.”
9. Sure, Speak To The Manager
“Prior to being a tender of the bar, I worked at a retail chain called Big W. I’m a nerd, I tend to switch to autopilot when tired (almost always at the end of shifts) and can be a when annoyed. Me in a nutshell.
It’s a slow Wednesday afternoon, the A/C has broken again and it’s about 5 degrees C hotter inside than it is outside (29c).
I’m on autopilot, rigor mortis smile on my face and retail greetings are droning out of my throat.
A guy walks into my line at the register, demanding a refund for something trivial. Probably his panties were the wrong color, I don’t remember.
I inform him in a monotone voice that refunds are issued by my supervisor, not me. There’s a surprisingly substantial line at the supervisor’s desk, people wanting refunds or information.
He informs me that he’s not waiting that long for something trivial.
He demands I do it, because ‘Even someone as dumb as you can do this.’ Well, that snapped me out of autopilot and the smile fades.
I repeat, in a much more direct tone that, ‘only the supervisor can do refunds.’ The customer is having none of it. ‘Refund my item.’ He demands again, saying it very slowly as if I was the dumbest potato in the strawberry patch.
‘I am unable to-‘ He cuts me off.
‘I want to speak to your manager, I don’t want to talk to you.’ Now, this is where people need to be careful with their words.
As a cashier, I report directly to my supervisor, one of the two at the desk. They’re in charge of me. My manager sits out back managing the store, and usually never has to interact with customers unless the supervisor calls him.
So I nod, calling through the headset for my manager (let’s call him Fred). Fred’s a great guy, he tells good jokes, he’s always ready to help his friends and he’s a caring soul.
He’s also a mute; and after wrapping his vehicle around a tree as a teen, he’s also deaf.
As such he knows Auslan (Australian Sign Language), but can’t read lips to save his life.
I also can’t speak Auslan at all.
This probably took about 5 minutes for someone to alert Fred that he was needed and for him to come down. All this time, I’m smiling but not saying a word to the gentleman, as he told me to.
He comes up to the registers, sees it’s me waving him down and pulls out his personal digital assistant device to communicate with me.
‘What’s up?’ Fred types. I take the PDA and type, ‘Customer has a complaint, wants to speak to “my manager” not me.’ Fred raises an eyebrow at me and I just shrug.
The guy is turning red with anger, probably thinking we’re ignoring him.
Fred turns to the guy who launches into a full-on verbal assault that would curdle milk chocolate. Something about incompetent employees and terrible service. Fred just stands there. Eventually, the guy runs out of breath and Fred has a chance to show him the PDA with the words, ‘Sir I am a deaf-mute, please use this to communicate with me.’ The guy practically screams and storms out of the store.”
8. My Apologies, Let Me Heat Up Your Soup Even More
“So, this was a few years ago when I was a chef working in what was a fancy golf club for wealthy people. You really got a very assorted bunch of people coming into the club, and every so often, an absolute weapon.
I was working in one of the smaller kitchens on my own doing bar food and snacks for the members, and it was a particularly busy day, and I was flat out.
One of the tables was booked for a group of four looking for a ladies’ lunch.
The first of the women arrive and orders a soup as the waitress tells me that she’s starving.
I put it on and am finishing off some of the other checks I had and then see that it’s starting to boil, so I pour it into a bowl and send it.
Waitress brings it back minutes later saying that the customer isn’t happy and that it’s cold. I’m sitting there thinking, Strange, I really thought I had that at a boil.”
I heat it again and send it out, and the waitress literally bounced straight back to me with the bowl in hand saying the customer is saying that the soup is still too cold.
It’s an open kitchen, and I look over to see this woman in her late sixties who is still alone at the table with this look of disdain on her face, like I was the help and had ruined her day by existing.
Now, if you’ve worked in the service industry, you know Karens are everywhere, and I’ve always been of the approach of deflecting and give them what they want.
I put the soup back on and get it to a racing boil, grab a bowl from the bottom of the hot press, and have the waitress standing there waiting, so it’s served and straight out.
The poor waitress comes back minutes later with, “I’m so sorry.
She’s saying that the soup is cold…” I glance over and see that’s she’s still sitting there with this look on her face.
Now, I’m starting to get pretty angry. It’s not like dealing with this woman was the only thing I had on either. It’s the middle of a busy lunch rush with loads of orders coming in, and this is messing up any flow I am getting going.
So, I put more soup on this time.
I’ve got it on the hottest hob. I’ve also banged a soup bowl into the oven and cranked it up to 300 degrees.
Once the soup has been at a racing boil for a couple of minutes, I pull the bowl, and it’s like lava, pour the soup in, and it’s so hot that it’s still boiling in the heat of the bowl as the waitress takes it to the table.
Now, the other guests on the booking have arrived, and they’re all sitting there chatting away, and she without even looking at the bowl picks up a spoon and goes for it.
As soon as the soup hits her tongue, she lets out the most almighty scream, and it’s carnage, people running all over the place with ice and cold water.
She’s throwing a fit that I’ve tried to kill her with soup!
When the dust starts to settle, I am taken to the general manager’s office and am getting a lashing.
I ask them to grab the waitress I’ve been working with and to get her to tell them what happened. She backs me up the whole way and ended up just getting a, “Don’t be smart, and don’t try to kill any more members, please.”
That is the one and only time in a 12-year career in some very good establishments I have ever messed with someone’s food.”
7. I'm Sorry, But I'm Not Supposed To Be Working From Home
“I work in a support role for a global insurance/investment company. Over the last 6 months, I’ve lost many an evening and weekend to unexpected work problems, with not even a thank you, let alone any financial compensation.
As an example, being called at 21:30 and asked if you can log on when you’ve met friends for a drink.
Where a job needs to provide out-of-hours support, a supplement is meant to be paid for being on call, with additional payment if you‘re required to actually work.
My contract is based on annual salary, where additional work might be required for no extra pay/overtime if it’s considered business as usual (BAU) or known in advance (this bit is important). However, the work I’ve been asked to do on weekends/evenings is not BAU.
BAU assumes processes work. If something goes wrong, someone needs to step in to fix it and it’s no longer BAU.
A couple of months ago, I had a conversation with my manager about being paid for being on call.
I was told the work I was covering actually fell under BAU, and as I was always given advance notice (I wasn’t) I wouldn’t be paid for being on call.
The manager wouldn’t budge on this, so I made it clear I would not be taking my laptop home/available unless I was given advance notice I might be required to log on, to which my manager agreed.
On this glorious day, I received a call from my manager asking me to log on as some critical data was missing from a file, causing significant problems with several admin systems.
Trying to sound as sincere as I could, I apologized and said as I was not made aware in advance, and I’m not on call, my laptop was left at the office.
This was met by an ‘Ah.’ To which I responded, ‘Good luck, and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
So, after the call to me, my manager rang around and finally got hold of a manager from P Team (Team I provide support to).
Over several hours, between them, they figured out that somehow a group in the system had not been run for the day (controls are in place so this shouldn’t be possible).
To fix it, they had to run the missed group, validate the movements, and then rerun processes to send the data to the admin systems.
After looking into it this morning, this is for Team P to look into how they’ve managed to done goof on such a scale, a ‘near miss’ recorded with governance, who they’ll need to explain it to.
This caused several issues with admin systems and a lot of verifying everything is as it should be this morning.
Following this, a group email has been sent around, to remind people that laptops should be taken home, as in the event of the building being unavailable/inaccessible, recovery plans are for people to use their laptops to work from home/alternate site.
It seems the manager had trouble contacting someone with a laptop able to log on.
I’m positive they’ll have no issues finding someone to drop everything at a moments notice going forward . . .
I fear that should I receive a similar call in the future, I’ll not be in a position to access my laptop. Work-life balance is important, and I’m going to enforce those boundaries. The trouble is, it starts as a one-off here and there, and you do it to be nice with the best of intentions, but give an inch and they’ll take a mile if you’re not careful.
For some of those asking, I‘m already looking at other jobs. Although there are definitely issues with the management in my current area, and employees being taken for granted (not just me), the company as a whole does have a good ethos.”
6. I Really Can't Argue With You - It's Your Car, Your Money, And Your Decision
“Concrete mixers are big, ungainly things.
Trying to maneuver them around a crowded job site is like trying to play miniature golf with a tennis ball. The biggest problem is, of course, other people, specifically other people’s cars. Nobody is going to lug 50 pounds of tools any further than they have to, so if there is an open space near where they want to be, they park there, never mind that it is right next to a sidewalk or directly across from a driveway that a crew is obviously prepping.
It only makes things worse when it’s done by people who should know better (and done intentionally).
So, we’re pumping grout walls in the late afternoon, which already has me in a bit of a mood.
Grout jobs tend to be very slow. Each cinder block has two cells, and the crew pumps the grout into those cells filling them all the way to the top of the wall.
Grout is really just a term for a weak concrete mix that is pumped super wet. It has to be that wet to make it all the way to the bottom of the wall, otherwise, it sticks to the sides of the cinder blocks (or gets caught up on steel reinforcement).
There is a lot of stopping and starting, as well as a lot of moving the pump.
It all takes time, during which that concrete starts to go off and stiffen up.
Things only get worse on a hot day, and the subs will do anything to get more water in the load (addicts looking for a fix have nothing on grout pumpers eyeballing your last 20 gallons).
As we move to a new street, we find a line of cars parked all along the side of the street we are working on, just far enough apart to take up as much space as possible without leaving enough room to get the pump in there.
Turns out it is another concrete crew setting up to do patios. No problem, we’re all concrete guys here, and they know how it is. We ask them to move.
That I am writing this post tells you what their response was. It turns out they are waiting for their own pump and mixer to show up, and they intentionally blocked the street because they don’t want us to be in their way.
Their crew chief tells us we can wait for them to finish and move on, or we can just work around them.
It’s pretty obvious he expects us to wait.
Waiting is, of course, going to make the concrete go off even more and will rack up standby charges for the customer, but trying to work around their cars is going to mean blocking the street and rolling up the hose every time we move (normally the crew just drags/carries it down the sidewalk, but we can’t do that with the cars in the way).
It would take much longer; depending on when their pump shows up, it might not even save us any time. Still, Todd the pumper rolls his pump right up next to the lead car and feeds his hose out around it.
At the best of times, a concrete pump farts and sputters like a nervous chihuahua, flinging small globs of concrete out the hopper. If the driver isn’t paying attention and accidentally lets the concrete level get too low, the pump sucks in air.
Feeding a concrete pump air is like feeding a hippopotamus Olestra; crap’s not pretty, and it gets everywhere. We probably end up moving that pump twice as many times as we have to, but it ensures that every single one of those cars gets to spend some quality time next to the hopper.
We finish with the job and are washing out the pump when the crew chief (whose own concrete and pump still haven’t shown up yet) storms over to complain about all the concrete splatter on their cars.
I point out that we told them we’d be pumping there and asked them to move, but they refused. At this point, he sees that I have a truck wash bucket strapped to my water tank and demands I let him use it to clean off his car.
I tell him that is a terrible idea, smoking lounge on the Hindenburg levels of terrible. The stuff we use is designed to dissolve dried concrete, and it will probably damage his car.
The concrete is fresh enough that he can probably just rinse it off with water. He isn’t having it. He tells me to stop lying because if it doesn’t damage my truck, it won’t hurt his car.
Besides, he’s done this before and knows what he is doing.
Now, keeping a concrete mixer clean is a downright Sisyphean task. No matter how hard you try, chutes overflow, pumps splatter, and plants huff cement powder all over your truck.
There are a variety of chemicals used to clean off concrete, and most of the modern mixes are relatively safe (for something that can dissolve concrete). Our plants provide a phosphoric acid mix (relatively safe isn’t the same as actually safe) to any drivers that need it, so it quite common for there to be a bucket of it stashed somewhere on the truck.
Of course, part of what makes these chemicals safer also makes them somewhat less effective.
That’s why some of us will bring in our own cleaning products to fortify the company mix. These are not the friendly chemicals that will just leave you with a mild chemical burn; My bucket of fun dips down to the good old days of leaded gasoline, asbestos and red dye no. 2. Still, I warned him, and he assured me he knew what he was doing.
Besides, he’s intentionally being a jerk and expected my sub to pay standby for his convenience. I let him have the bucket.
I half expect him to stop when he pulls the lid off.
The witch’s brew in the bucket smells like Walter White’s bathtub. Somehow, the fact that his nose hairs are curling up like a spider in a flame doesn’t seem to faze him. Brush goes in the bucket.
The brush comes out of the bucket. Brush slams onto the hood of the car with a wet slap. I can only watch in mute horror as the man proceeds to not just clear off the concrete, but bathe his entire hood in hydrochloric acid, rubbing it in to get out all those nasty water spots.
It’s like watching an orphan unwittingly skin his favorite puppy. None of us stick around long enough to see the final result, but it is already apparent that he has scrubbed off the clear coat and is in the process of etching brush marks in the paint.
I don’t want to be anywhere near him when that hood dries out. I let him keep the bucket.”
5. Sure, We'll Help You Sell More Coffee
“A long time ago, I worked for a chain of posh pubs in London.
The one I worked at was in Maida Vale, a fairly wealthy neighborhood with several celebrity residents (Jude Law, for example).
Anyway, I was an assistant supervisor in the pub and was always responsible for the Sunday afternoon shift, which for those of you who are familiar with the UK, knows means Sunday roast was a big deal.
And we had a really good roast with all the fixings, and we’d get really, really busy on Sundays with all of our tables full with people who’d come to eat and drink for half a day at least.
For whatever reason, my manager had decided that, despite how busy we are on Sundays, that we only needed two people on the shift.
Again, for those of you who are familiar with UK pubs, everyone typically orders at the bar, but it’s table service, so the other person and I on shift were responsible for staffing the bar, pouring drinks, taking food orders, but also taking out the food, taking out cutlery and sauces, restocking, cleaning glasses, and bussing tables.
You’re essentially a cashier, bartender, and wait staff all at once.
And then there was the one thing I hated the most – coffees.
We had this old, slow, partially broken espresso machine which none of us had been properly trained on. Making coffee on it took AGES. The worst was that it would take so long that food orders would go out more slowly, and a queue would form at the bar of people wanting to order drinks.
I hated having to leave customers waiting at the bar who just wanted a quick pint or soda while I fussed with the stupid coffee machine for 15 minutes.
We all hated the freaking coffee machine and complained about it constantly. Luckily, however, demand for coffee wasn’t that high at the pub – given that it’s traditionally a venue for drinking adult beverages. But then, one day, corporate management announced that they wanted all their pubs to sell more coffee.
In fact, they had quotas of coffee sales they wanted us to meet, and they wanted us to ask EVERY guest whg was placing a food order if they wanted a fancy coffee drink like we were some sort of Starbucks or something.
But they still didn’t give us a new, proper machine, and they still provided us with exactly zero training on making espresso drinks.
For the most part, on Sundays, I ignored this edict.
We were so slammed just with regular beverages and getting out Sunday roasts that adding obligatory coffees into the mix would be suicide.
Then one Sunday, my manager was in the pub doing paperwork, and pulled me aside and said that he noticed our sales of coffee weren’t what they should be, particularly on Sundays. He noted that Sunday afternoon should be our best day for coffee sales because everyone’s in for roasts.
He then perched himself next to the bar to work on his paperwork, and I could kinda tell he was doing this so he could monitor whether I was up-selling coffees or not.
I tried to warn him. I said, ‘You know, with only two people on shift, when the rush comes we’re going to be really slammed. If I’m doing coffees as well as drinks and food service, there will be a significant delay.’
‘Whatever, I’ll jump on if things get out of hand,’ he said.
So, I decided he should see how crazy Sundays get, and just what adding coffees to the mix would do. As usual on a Sunday, a trickle of people start filling into the bar around 11 am, but by noon it’s already two-deep at the bar, all the tables are full, and there are two full lines of food tickets with multiple plates of starters, mains, and dessert.
It’s now that I and the other bartender start selling the coffees hard. We’re telling everyone, ‘You know what would go well with that, a nice cappuccino, or maybe a latte!’
And they’re all agreeing with me. I wait until I have about a dozen coffee orders all lined up, and I tell the other staff member that he’s on the bar and food service, and I go over to start preparing them with our old, slow, crappy espresso machine.
It’s at this point that things go a bit haywire. Food starts coming down the food lift, and so the bartender is sprinting back and forth between the bar, the food lift, and the tables.
The crowd at the bar is growing and becoming restless. They just want some beer, FFS! I’m going as fast as I can with the coffees, but honestly, it takes a really long time.
Then my manager looks up and sees the angry mob at the bar, my colleague running around like a crazy person, and asks me ‘Why aren’t you pouring drinks?!’
I show him my tickets, ‘I have 20 fancy coffee orders!’
The manager decides to take over the coffees so I can go back to the bar, so I double down on the coffees. I’m getting people to order mochas, flat whites (I don’t even know what that is, really, but now we sell them!), Irish coffees, coffee with shots of Baileys or Amaretto.
I’m going wild. And my manager is visibly sweating and frustrated and cursing at our terrible coffee machine. And then the best thing happens. We run out of coffee cups and saucers. He’s now making coffees in some Styrofoam cups he found in a closet. He’s very close to making a cappuccino in one of those fancy Belgian beer goblets. And then finally, he comes up to me, all angry, ‘Stop offering people fancy coffee drinks.’
‘But you said…’
‘No more coffee drinks.’
He never asked me to up-sell coffee ever again!”
4. The Customer Is Always Right
“I’m a part-time home baker. I took it up while I’m studying from home during the 2019 world pause and it’s basically a fundraiser for my charity since I can’t do my monthly fundraiser bake sales on campus anymore. I’m also the only person selling baked goods in my entire area, so my items are very popular. Specifically this one particular type of cake I make that people absolutely love.
The other day, a lady called me and wanted to place an order for one pound of this particular cake. She said she had tried it at a friend’s house and loved it and wanted it for her niece’s birthday. I told her that I used the metric measurements, so my cakes are actually 500 grams or 1 kilogram (1 pound = 454 grams). She said she wanted a one-pound cake.
I dropped it because it was more or less the same thing.
Important for later: when I had made the cake for her friend, I had run out of my one-pound cake bases, so I had used two-pound cake base. In my opinion, this made the cake look smaller, but it’s possible that someone else might think that the cake was bigger. (To clear up some confusion – cake base is the cardboard on top of which you put the cake.
I use two sizes: 9″ diameter base for my small cakes (500 grams) and 12″ diameter base for the big cakes (1 kilgoram).
When the lady’s friend ordered, I had run out of the smaller base, so I used the 12″ base for the 500-gram cake.)
After I took the order and quoted the price to her, she started giving me more instructions – the birthday girl is 16, so decorate it according to a 16-year-old girl (I know, super vague), add XYZ stuff to it, write 4 different things on the cake.
I explained to her that all this is not included in the base price, and the kind of toppings she wanted would make it a lot heavier and pricier.
She said, make it a one-pound cake for the one-pound cake price.
Okay. I get the hint. You want a one-pound cake with those specific customizations. So I made it just that – removed some of the ganache, made thinner layers, so I could incorporate her additions and still keep it at exactly 454 grams, no more, no less.
The lady came to pick it up, and she went ballistic because I was trying to rob her in the name of charity, and the cake I made was in no way one pound because her friend’s cake was ‘bigger.’ I tried explaining to her why her friend’s cake might have looked bigger and that this cake was exactly 1 pound as she wanted.
She refused to listen and was starting to create a huge scene, said she wanted a refund.
So I brought my weighing scale-out and weighed the cake out in front of her. 454 grams exactly. The lady saw and went, “Aha! I was right. You are trying to cheat me. It’s 50 grams less.”
I said, no; it’s exactly one pound, like you wanted. I opened up Google converter and showed her that one pound is, in fact, 454 grams, not 500.
I opened WhatsApp and showed her the message where I told her I make 500 grams standard cakes and she said she doesn’t care and that she wants one pound.
She was a bit gobsmacked and said I should have had some professional courtesy and made it 500 grams, and I am trying to cheat her. I had it with her. I told her, “Ma’am, you wanted exactly one-pound of cake.
You said it to me 4 times. So you can take this exactly one-pound cake, or you can take your refund and leave. I can find other people who would want to buy a one-pound cake.”
She took her one-pound cake and left, saying she will never buy anything from me again and make sure to let others know too.
Later, her niece followed my page on Instagram and dropped me a message apologizing for her aunt, said it was the best cake she had ever had, and she will surely tell everyone about my bakery.”
3. Boss Interrupts While I Tell Him About A Big Sales Deal, So I Honor His Decision
Boss man means what he says.
“I work in a highly competitive B2B sales role with a consulting firm. The services and products I’m responsible for are complex with many layers of detail that can make it challenging to navigate through each deal. We are highly regulated and have some legal compliance requirements on what source of funding a client is permitted to use towards certain services being purchased.
In short, there are things our clients need that have to be paid for on a fee basis instead of commission offsets.
I’m a 15 year veteran of this industry; I know the rules well and have never violated our legal compliance regulations. My team knows this, and in fact, none of my deals last year were commission-based by design.
I’m the kind of person who believes in doing good work, contributing effectively, and being a constructive team member.
It’s not in my nature to ride the wave and just collect a paycheck.
Last year (only my 2nd year on this team), I ended up more than doubling my sales goal for my region and actually hit the overall national goal for the team. My counterparts had a rough year and so I was proud to have contributed so that we as a team made our numbers.
Unfortunately, when it came down to it, even though leadership said they value my efforts and appreciate my results, I got paid LESS than I did the year prior when I just barely hit my goal.
Long story short, when I questioned my bonus/incentive pay being short, I was told, “That’s just the way it is.” In doing some research and pulling records, I found that my deals over the last 2.5 years of being on this team are the most profitable and have some of the highest client satisfaction ratings this team has ever had.
I’m proud of that, but I don’t flaunt it to the team or to leadership.
I like for my work to speak for itself rather than me parading it around.
Our team is small with only 8 of us, yet we have 2 national leaders assigned to us, one of which is painful to work with at best. Larry was given this position by his best friend who sits at a higher level in the company, and unfortunately, Larry isn’t very capable of being a good leader.
He is quick to spout off, is rude to the team, tightly wound, and all-around just not a pleasant person.
Being in a sales role, it’s my job to close deals and drive revenue. Larry doesn’t seem to understand that and at times has said things to me like, “You just want to do this for the sale, don’t you?” and when I say yes because that’s my job, he says, “Well, I’m looking for every possible reason to tell you no.” This isn’t the best way to deal with sales execs and motivate new production.
Just the opposite. Instead of helping think through possibilities and creative solutions, Larry likes to shut things down and puff his chest to prove he knows best. And it’s not that I am afraid of being told no. It’s the way he does it before even taking a moment to understand the scenario before interrupting and spouting off. It is a fight with Larry every single time, and it’s exhausting.
On top of that, he is always asking me to do more and take on more tasks/responsibilities because the others on this team are either already overwhelmed or aren’t capable. I feel like Larry tries to exploit my work ethic and results. It’s deflating to be treated like this, and combined with the terrible way pay has been managed, I’m at the point where I’m done being an over-achiever.
By the end of Q1 this year, I was already hitting 40% of our overall revenue goal and over 70% of my personal goal. I’ve decided to go on cruise control for the remainder of the year. After all, “That’s just the way it is.” There is a lot more that has built me up to this point, but it would take a novel to spell it all out.
It’s been a rough couple of years working with Larry, and I’m over it. Enter the malicious compliance story…
I’ve been working a deal for about a year now, and the client has some complex requirements we are trying to solve. I have a solution, but it’s just slightly outside of the revenue parameters that I’m authorized to approve on my own. We have a standing weekly meeting with Larry and the others where we talk about strategy and any deal where we need special approval.
Prior to the meeting, I put together a very thorough financial analysis, everything Larry would need to evaluate the request and make an informed decision.
It’s a 6 figure annual deal on a multi-year year contract that will generate some nice revenue for our team. My ask is for a one-time concession of less than $3k outside my permission limits and is the difference between closing the deal or losing it to the competition.
The math is simple, and it’s in the best interests of my company and for my team for us to win this one.
Effectively it’s $1k per year for us to gain $120k per year (rather, $119k after the concession). Should be an easy decision.
So comes the day of the weekly meeting with Larry and the team. When it’s my turn, I start outlining my deal and setting the financial foundation for my request and all of the services included (this is important per the legal compliance rules noted above).
Before I can even finish, Larry decides to spout off, interrupt me mid-sentence, and just says, “No, you can’t do that!” with a tone that echoed throughout the rest of the team.
I let things go silent for a few seconds. At this point, I’m so done with Larry’s garbage that I just said, “Ok. That’s all I have for today.” and then I hand the meeting over to the next presenter, Paul.
Larry chimes back in: “You can’t use commissions to cover that expense.
That’s against compliance rules.”
Me: “I know. If you would have let me finish, you would understand this is not a commission deal.
I have structured this on a fee basis specifically to avoid that. No worries though. I understand and I’ll tell the client they will have to find the extra $3k because we aren’t willing to work with them.”
L: [some rambling onto a sidetrack about compliance that isn’t relevant to my request and the financial decision]
M: “Thanks for sharing that.
My point isn’t to question compliance. I’m well aware and uphold those requirements on all of my deals.
This is in compliance. My ask is for a $3k concession to close this deal. That’s the long and short of it and is what I’m asking you to either approve or deny. I’ve discussed with the client all of the other considerations from a legal perspective and they understand.
This is about beating out a competing offer. Nothing more.”
L: “Well, you have to decide if you want to write the business bad enough or not.”
At this point, I have no motivation to sell this deal, and since Larry said it’s my decision, I say…
M: “Ok, I’ve pretty well decided it’s not worth it, so I’ll let them know we couldn’t get it approved.
I wouldn’t want to cut our profits on the deal.
I’m already a year into this negotiation, so I’m going to let it ride out.”
M: “Ok, Paul, over to you now. Thanks, Larry.”
The meeting continues, and when we wrap up, I hear from Larry again.
L: Hey, where is the financial analysis on [Client]? I want to look it over and see what margin we will make.
M: It’s in the [folder] where we always save them, and it’s filed according to procedure as always.
No need for any further analysis though; I’ve already told [Client] and waiting to hear their response.
I’ll keep you posted. Thanks.
L: Wow, I just pulled up the files. These numbers look great. Plenty of margin in the deal. How’d you get to those figures?
M: That’s what I was hoping to explain earlier. I’m sure you saw my deals from last year too, and I’m just doing the same thing again this year.
All good. I’m on to the next one now. Have a good afternoon.
L: Ok. Let me know if I can help.
Admittedly, this last interaction with Larry, I was feeling salty. I’m over his behavior, and quite frankly, I don’t care if I sell another deal this year or not. It has been proven that I am not going to get rewarded for going above and beyond, so why put in any more effort than I have to? At my current pace, I’ll manage to hit goal for the year without having to work too hard at it. Meanwhile, the rest of the team is struggling, and for the most part, aren’t tracking to hit the goal. I’m not going to be the pack-mule this year. Someone else can carry that torch. My time is better spent shopping my resume out to see what else is out there.”
2. Refuse The Groceries I Picked Up For You? I'll Keep Them Myself
“I lost my job due to pretty annoying circumstances we all are aware of, and I’ve been struggling since it started, eating less and less every day to make food last.
I happened to find my old bike and decided that I could maybe start working doing delivery services. Business was slow at first, but my contact managed to land on some nice people who thought they could help me out, and I don’t charge a lot, just the exact amount of money I need to buy whatever they want plus the delivery fee, which is basically nothing in my country.
Normally, I charge the delivery fee after I’ve delivered the food.
Today, a new lady called me asking if could buy her groceries, like 2 weeks’ worth of groceries for a family of 4. This is a lot of money. At first, she refused me to pay me the amount for the groceries, but after I explained to her that my only income was going to be the delivery fee and her calling me an “untrustable witch” a few times, she finally figured out how my system works and how I will not be able to steal from her.
She agreed. In other circumstances, I wouldn’t have argued and just let her go the moment she became rude, but I needed the money.
So, off I went to buy her items.
My bike doesn’t have a place for me to put a basket or something, so I have to carry all of my deliveries in a backpack. It normally isn’t a problem, but today, I had to carry around maybe 110 pounds (maybe more – not sure; it was heavy as heck) worth of food in my backpack and on the bike’s handles for 2 hours while biking around the city.
When I finally make it to this lady’s house (which was not in an easy route), I took some minutes to just lay down on the sidewalk in front of the building and texted the lady. When she came down, she expected me to carry her stuff up to her apartment too.
I said sorry and that I was too tired, and it was too much weight.
Also, unless they really need me to help, I do not carry the stuff up to their apartments; it makes me uncomfortable, especially if they have a family that can help, but I was unable to answer her fully because I was still trying to catch my breath.
“If you can’t deal with it, then don’t work as a delivery worker. Ugh, whatever. I’ll call my husband.
Is it going to be five?” She said
“I need to sort that out with you. I normally charge 5, but due to this delivery being particularly hard for me, is 7 okay for you? This was a 2-hour trip biking with around 11o pounds of stuff.”
I am not paying you that. You charged my friends 5.”
“Yes, I charged them 5 because they asked for less stuff, and the trip was shorter.
It was easier. In reality, I should’ve charged double for this, but I think 7 is a good com…” and as I was talking, I sneezed. Oh no.
I have allergies. I am supposedly allergic to dust, but honestly, my allergies trigger with everything. Today was a cold morning, so I already had a runny nose, and the mask wasn’t helping a lot with keeping stuff out of my nose.
“WHAT? YOU HAVE THE V? I SHOULD’VE KNOWN SINCE YOU GO AROUND WITH THAT BIKE. NOW YOU’VE CONTAMINATED MY FOOD AND WANT TO OVERCHARGE ME? OH NO, YOU LITTLE WITCH! I’M CALLING THE COPS ON YOU. GIVE ME MY MONEY BACK.”
“No no no, wait, I’m just allergic to…”
“IM PROBABLY INFECTED TOO NOW. YOU SHOULD’VE TOLD ME, AND NOW YOU ARE GOING TO BRING IT INTO MY HOME! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” She was also wearing a mask and had a bottle of hand sanitizer which she was now rubbing frantically in her hands while still rambling about how I was a horrible person and a witch and a scammer and a thief and a threat to her and her children….
The insults were growing more and more. She even demanded that I go to my house, disinfect her food, and then deliver it back because “it’s the least I could do.” (My house is an hour away.)
“Ma’am, I can’t do that. I assure you it’s fine. I’ve been isolated the full 4 months; I’ve only been working on this for around 2 weeks and…”
“THAT IS ENOUGH TIME TO GET IT.
YOU ARE GOING TO LEAVE MY CHILDREN WITHOUT A MOTHER! OH GOD.”
I tried to argue but it got extremely ridiculous. I couldn’t give her back the money for her groceries; I couldn’t disinfect them either (too broke to buy my own hand sanitizer, lmao). She wouldn’t take the food nor pay me the delivery fee, and I wasn’t going to leave without giving her the food and without being paid.
But she wasn’t even arguing or finding a solution; she just wanted me to “take this v away from her and her house.” Dang, she screamed so much that other neighbors started to come down, and she wouldn’t even let me explain and accused me of coming to infect them all.
Her husband even came down and ended up threatening me with the police too. I asked them if they wanted the food or not, and at this point being fed up with the whole situation, and they said they didn’t want anything from me and to just leave.
Now I’m home with a backpack full of 2 weeks worth of food for 4 people. It’s too much for me, but I’ll probably gift half of it to my partner who also needs it.
I am sad all of this happened, and I feel like I stole from those people, but in the moment, it was so ridiculous. I tried to give them the food many times. At one point, I just didn’t care about being paid even though I needed it, but they were just so rude to me.
I still got more food than what I could’ve bought with the delivery fee, so I guess it was worth it.”
1. If I'm Unwanted In This Apartment, I Will Just Leave
“So, I just moved apartments because my previous landlady/roommate/leaser was absolutely crazy and broke a TON of laws. I could have escalated this situation and most likely gotten my landlady (40+F) in trouble, but I’m pretty young (21F), so I decided to go the malicious compliance route.
Where to begin… From the moment I moved into the apartment, things were going awry. The landlady hadn’t moved her stuff out of my unit yet, so I had to help her do that before moving my stuff in.
(Of course, she didn’t help me move my stuff in, just wanted help moving her stuff.) Now I’m a pretty laid back person, arguably to the point of me being a borderline doormat, so whatever, cool, cool; I’ll help you move your stuff. Then after helping her, she decided to then tell me AFTER I’ve moved in and AFTER the lease is signed that my cat might not be able to stay because of her daughter’s (30F) alleged allergy that she apparently didn’t know about when she agreed to allow my cat in the unit.
The landlady had three very aggressive and loud chihuahuas as well as constantly babysitting her 9-month-old grandson who stomped and screamed the entirety of his visits.
Once again, it’s ya girl the doormat, and I just kind of ignored the annoyance I had towards the loud dogs and child because I’m renting, so like, what did I expect. I notified her that if the cat hair became a problem, then I would temporarily house him until I could find a pet-friendly new place, and the landlady agreed this was the best route.
Upon later conversations with her daughter; the allergy was super low grade, and her daughter would routinely pet and loved my cat without issue when she came down to do laundry, so I don’t know why her mother made a huge deal of it.
So, now that I’ve painted a picture of my move-in, let me just add that I had three dealbreakers: 1. the unit had to be pet friendly, 2.
the unit had to have a separate entrance, and 3. if shared laundry, the washer and dryer were to be separated from my unit. It’s totally my fault for choosing this place as the entrance was shared, and my unit had NO lock, and I couldn’t install one. The washer and dryer were in my unit, which meant if the landlady or her daughter wanted to do laundry, they would have to walk through my ENTIRE apartment, and now with the daughter’s new allergy, things were looking grim.
But whatever, I chose this as a favor to my landlady because she couldn’t find anyone else (big red flag retrospectively, lol), and I worked with her, so I figured it would be okay since we could carpool.
Spoiler alert: it wasn’t okay, lol. So, shortly after my turbulent move-in day, things were tense as my landlady lost her father the previous year, and this was her first holiday season without him.
I suppose that during my holiday to my parents, my landlady entered my unit without permission (she wrote a laundry schedule, so I knew when she was supposed to be down there; this was not one of those times) and took a disliking to my cat’s litterbox.
Now I have one adult, male tabby cat that MAYBE poops/pees once a day, so I would clean the litterbox 2-3 times a week which had never been an issue before.
Upon my return home, my landlady screamed at me in her car about my lack of hygiene for my animal and accused me of neglecting him while also claiming her son said he smelled dirty litter in her unit when he was over for Christmas.
She demanded that I clean the litter box every day/every other day (which I was basically doing already as it was cleaned every 2-3 days), or she would move, and thus, terminate her lease and furthermore result in mine being terminated because I was leasing from her.
Okay, cool, cool, cool. I totally thought she was out of line, but I’m a broke college student, so moving again after only being there for a few months was not ideal. Whatever, I apologize for the issue and any smell they smelled and let her know that I would handle it. My partner was in charge of that chore, so he abides by her demands just to keep the peace as well as taking it further by adding deodorizers to the litter.
Some more backstory is that both she and her daughter are smokers and would smoke in the house and right by the entrance. All of my guests have verified that they do not smell any litter even if they are standing right next to the box. The only thing they could smell was smoke. (This was after I would slyly prompt them by saying, “I think I smell cat litter; do you? I think I may be desensitized.”)
A month later, she sends a text stating that the litter is still an issue and that if it happens again, she is going to evict us as we are “endangering the health” of her grandson.
At this point, she had begun terrorizing me at work and at home due to this issue; she was my HR rep, so I was kind of SOL when it came to working because she would be the one that would handle that kind of situation.
(She’s terrible at her job mostly because she’s crazy and can’t understand that her personal feelings have no place in the professional sphere.)
At this point, I’m like, screw it.
I give up; I have jumped through fiery hoops for this woman, and she still isn’t happy. So, we respond to her eviction threat with our 60-day notice of termination of our lease. The landlady did not take it well at all, and the atmosphere became tenser because now she had to move as well as she couldn’t afford the place on her own and could not get any other roommate, hence me moving in.
During this period before I moved to my new unit, she repeatedly entered my unit to do laundry despite it not being her day on the schedule she wrote, and after I gave explicit notification that she is to wait until I get home to enter my unit to do laundry.
(I never said no, just not while I’m not home because my cat can get skittish if I’m not there and strangers enter his space.) She ignored my request citing that it “didn’t work for her” and would enter my unit.
She would also enter my unit early in the morning after I had left for work and would enter my unit to do laundry when I WAS SLEEPING. Y’all. Y’ALL.
Anyways, my leaving the lease early really screwed her up because she wasn’t prepared to move; she was making baseless threats, and I called her bluff. She couldn’t find a new roommate, she couldn’t afford the place on her own, and she was struggling to find a place to live because she’s crazy and had super weird stipulations like there cannot be a speck of green in her unit and stuff like that.
She wanted her niece to move in, but that would require kicking us out a night before we could move into our new place, which she tried to do, but I informed her of the law and said it wasn’t happening unless we got a refund for the nights we left early.
Ultimately, my parents are amazing and were able to loan me some extra cash, so I could move into my new place sooner than the first of the month, so I did that.
My landlady’s niece had already found other accommodations, so she got screwed there because she was going to have to front rent entirely on her own now since she didn’t want to refund us for the nights we would have had to forfeit for her niece.
Her terribly mannered dogs had done plenty of damage to the unit before we moved in that the owner of the property charged her $400, which she promptly tried to blame on us even though it was her dogs who chewed the baseboards and her own negligence that resulted in her dogs peeing and saturating a wooden door in their urine.
I switched companies due to her harassment, and as of late, my replacement is messing up the job so badly that the company can’t even function day-to-day operations. My replacement was my landlady/HR rep’s best friend, so it looks terrible on her. They had to hire an additional person to cover the work that I was doing.
I, on the other hand, got a new job in the field in which I’m studying.
A bonus was that this new job had better hours, double the pay, less work, and was full time with benefits NONE of which I was getting from my previous employer. My new unit is amazing, and my new landlords are so incredible. My unit is separated from the laundry and is pet friendly, AND it has a separate entrance. I’m allowed to burn incense and candles again, which is super nice.”