People Distribute Their Most Warranted Revenge On A Loser

“I worked at a popular, high-end clothing store while I was in graduate school (I’m an engineer).

I won’t name the brand, but it’s the sort that charges $50 for a pair of male boxer briefs, $200 for a lady’s fancy bra, $400 or more for a pair of jeans, $1,000 or more for those skinny suits that hip guys wear to their job, where the hems of their pants reveal that they’re wearing loafers without socks.

The clothes there weren’t really my style but the starting pay was two dollars higher than minimum wage and higher than most of the other, surrounding stores. This was at a rich people shopping center, where lots of people who shop there are wannabe celebrities and constant selfie-takers.

I was surprised to get hired there but was relieved that I wouldn’t have to really do customer service, as I worked only in the stock room.

I’d put out clothes on the shelves and racks before and after closing, and also arrange everything in the back to make it organized. I was also trained so that in emergency situations I could cover register if we were short-handed so that the regular associates could go on break.

I was hardly seen by customers, but I still had to wear the clothes the store sold, to promote the image of the company.

I didn’t, thankfully, have to wear the dainty little suits, but I did sport the jeans and other casual things we sold.

It was a job. I didn’t love it and I didn’t hate it. I just worked, took my pay, went to school, and went home. At least that’s the way it was for two months.

After those two months, “Jessica” began to work during the same hours as me.

She was about my age (I was 22), no more than maybe twenty-five, tops. She didn’t work in the stock room (it was just me back there, with one or two other college guys), but worked the front. She wasn’t the manager or even a supervisor, but she SWORE she was in charge of me.

She made it known to everyone, even customers, that she graduated with an associate’s degree in fashion marketing from FIDM.

I suppose it’s a big deal but I was thinking girl if you’re a college graduate why are you bragging about it as if it has something to do with you folding jeans and ringing people up at the register? She talked like she was a fashion expert and in the ‘fashion industry,’ and would talk about the New York or Paris fashion weeks in a familiar way that implied that she just got off the plane after attending these events personally.

You know the type, the kind that talks about famous fashion designers by their first name as if they knew them.

Well, she always criticized the way I wore the jeans because I didn’t tuck in my T-shirt like the mannequin, or that I work Chuck Taylors on my feet instead of the little leather Sperry Topsiders knockoffs we sold for $300.

We were given a clothing allowance as employees.

As a stock person, I was allowed three complete outfits for free, everything from tops to underwear, to socks, and pants (but no shoes). If I wanted more and it was specifically for wearing at the store, I could mark it as a ‘uniform purchase’ and have the price deducted from my check a little at a time. This was advantageous because they wouldn’t charge you tax for them, and charge you only a third of the retail price.

Uniform Purchase was distinctly separate from ‘Store Discount,’ for which we also received a percentage off, but it wasn’t the incredible 66% discount we got for uniform purchases.

Jessica would snicker at me when I took over register for someone, shake her head or roll her eyes at me as if I looked really ugly. I’m always thinking, whatever girl, you wannabe model you aren’t even hot and you’re not the boss, who are you? But I held my tongue.

She’d also complain if I was supposedly not fast enough in grabbing a size medium from the back because a customer is requesting the dress and all we have on the floor are smalls and larges. She’d trash me to the customer and when I showed up would sarcastically say ‘finally!’ and turn to the customer with a ‘see what I have to put up with?’ expression.

She was especially mean if any customers got chatty with me and treated me with respect. And if those customers were female and were getting flirty with me, Jessica would be a total jerk.

The real manager, Paula (about thirty-five), had their own issues to deal with beyond petty bickering between a stockboy and an entry-level sales associate with delusions of ‘Project Runway’ grandeur. The assistant manager, another fashion industry wannabe named ‘Heather,’ was just like Jessica, but thankfully I hardly interacted with her.

According to my coworkers, Heather was just as bad as Jessica. Except, Heather had keyholder privileges which meant she was one step above being just as worthless as the rest of us. She looked to be in her late twenties.

Even though I didn’t plan on making this store my career, and even though Jessica didn’t bother me THAT much, I thought it won’t hurt to get this witch fired.

To her face, I’d just smile and act like I was following her orders happily, or didn’t mind when she would point at me rudely, or snap her fingers at me like she was calling a dog. Jessica would always hear a directive from one of the managers, and then go around telling the other employees what to do, as if they didn’t have ears. She’d try to act as if it was HER directive.

LOL.

Her coworkers who were the same ‘rank’ as her would sometimes vent to me about how Jessica acted like she was in charge when in some cases she had even less time in the company than other employees on the floor. I noticed that when I arranged clothes in the back especially big-ticket, desirable clothes that were seen in magazines in our company’s advertisement campaigns, she’d ‘order’ me to set aside things in her size.

I’d do it because it’s my job to set aside things if employees want to buy them outright at a discount or put it as a uniform purchase. Whenever an employee was on the register (really, a big Ipad with a drawer beneath), you could tap in a code and the register would show a rundown of every non-customer transaction that employees performed that day, and with a few more keystrokes, their transactions over MANY days.

The managers knew this code, of course, and I’ll assume Jessica knew the code too because Heather shared the code with her. The code pretty much unlocked all the register’s managerial functions. I WASN’T supposed to know the code, but I did, because there’s a mirror on the wall behind the register, and I was re-stocking paper handbags behind Heather when I saw her tap in her four-digit code.

She assumed I was stupid and didn’t understand the incredibly complex wizardry that is a two-year-old, low-end spec Ipad.

I knew Jessica was getting rung up for ‘uniform purchases’ when she should have been getting rung up for the regular employee discount. She assumed that when I set aside all those expensive items for her, that I was too dumb to know what she was doing, just because I might have something of a mouth breather countenance, unfortunately.

Even if I look on the surface like a fugitive from the trailer park, something told me Jessica wasn’t going to be using $800 heels, a $500 dress, and a $1200 motorcycle jacket while working at the store.

And anyway, I asked around. No one saw Jessica wearing any of the truly fancy clothes she bought at our store at what the other employees assumed was simply a regular employee discount.

I thought maybe she was being honest, too. It WAS possible, after all, because I didn’t always work with her. Maybe she wore evening dresses to work on her other shifts? Whatever, I decided to make sure.

One time when everyone was busy doing other stuff and the store had to resort to putting me on the register, I typed in Heather’s code and pulled up Jessica’s purchases.

As I suspected, she had bought thousands of dollars worth of our store’s best items but put them all as ‘uniform purchases’ and not at her regular discount. So I swiped ‘print’ and the register switches from the regular tape to the 8.5″x11″ printer beneath the counter, and a complete rundown of all of Jessica’s purchases come out. I highlight all the most expensive items that she was charged for ‘uniform purchase’ (such as her $1200 jacket would only be $300, and even that was tax-free and she got to pay it little by little).

I knew that my manager, Paula, wasn’t exactly a nuclear physicist and she was more interested in moving up the chain of command so that she could have a job higher than store manager in the company. So as long as her store’s sales numbers looked good, she didn’t care what her assistant Heather did. Except, if it was a violation of company policy that might reflect badly on her.

I knew Heather was in on Jessica’s scam because you’re not allowed to ring yourself up at the store, you have to have someone else do it, and none of the other associates would want to conspire with her for fear of getting fired or worse.

To make sure, I printed HEATHER’s purchase history too. I didn’t see Heather as often as I saw Jessica, but I could also see really glaring red flags on her purchase report.

Like, she bought a $900 nightclub dress as a uniform purchase, which I’m quite sure she never wore to work. I did the same highlighting on suspicious items as I did with Jessica’s.

Then, because none of this was REALLY my business, I was just a part-time butthole who worked in the stockroom, after all, I waited for the most fun opportunity to lower the boom. Jessica got on the little Bluetooth earpiece that she wears on the sales floor that she thinks makes her look like a VIP, and says, ‘OP, I’m going to need XXX in a size small, customer waiting, get the lead out.’ So I bring the item, and Jessica says I’m ‘not passing muster.’ I thought wow Jessica you sounded really 1940s there, you wannabe pinup girl LOL.

After the customer leaves, Jessica says, ‘I’m going to need you to go on a trash run and sweep out the receiving bay. And I need you to cover Annie’s lunch.’ I laugh and tell her, ‘Who died and made you supervisor, you freaking burnout?’ She looks like she was the goddamned Crypt Keeper for a second and that she wanted to punch me, before she remembered that I’m 6’2″ and outweigh her by a hundred pounds.

She hisses, ‘You are SO fired, you freaking geek. Heather’s going to hear about this.’

I tell her, ‘Screw you, I’m going to lunch.’ And I clock out and leave.

When I come back, I see Jessica immediately get on her little earpiece. Before I even reach the stock room, Heather is there, and the manager Paula intercepts me.

Paula says to a nearby worker, ‘Annie, can you cover register? We have an urgent matter to deal with.’

I know I’m supposed to be fired.

Which is why, during my lunch, I went to the copy place and made PDF scans of the printouts I made for Jessica and Heather. I had all the corporate bigshots’ emails. They were in the new hire handbook all of us get when we start working. I saved a draft to each but didn’t hit SEND yet.

I had the printouts as attachments. In the BODY of my email, I described exactly what had been going on.

I did send ONE email. And that was to Paula the manager, herself. But I didn’t press SEND until we were on our way to the employee break room.

Paula tells me, ‘OP, Heather sent me a text that says you were verbally abusive to Jessica. Heather herself says that Jessica has complained to her on numerous occasions that you are a substandard employee, and only Heather’s own, personal kindness has prevented her, as your supervisor, from presenting your name to me for termination.

I came in myself, on my day off I might add, to see if you have anything to say in order to save your job.’

It’s been a couple of years so, of course, that can’t be exactly what she said, but it was something typical and rehearsed and faux-professional that any low-level boss would say when trying to sound important. I said I didn’t have anything to say in my defense, and that in fact, I quit.

Jessica and Heather looked surprised, but then Jessica started smiling. She had won, she thought.

Paula looked disappointed, and said, ‘I’m very sorry to hear you say that. At least for me, you’ve always done your job well. You may collect your last–‘

‘Oh, but before I go, I think you should look at these printouts. I know you don’t spend a lot of time studying this stuff, but I thought you might find it interesting.

It’s the last three months of Jessica’s and Heather’s employee purchases. Notice how they always ring each other up and notice all that stuff they’re claiming to use as uniforms. Thousand dollar evening dresses? Stiletto heels? Fascinating… Anyway, if you have any trouble understanding it, I explained it in an email I sent to your cellphone. You should have it already if you check. I have the same email ready to go to Dan and Pam and Kimberly and Victor and Kevin because I thought they’d get a kick out of it, too, but I haven’t sent it in yet.

I was hoping you could look it over and email me back when you’re ready, I mean if you want me to edit anything. After all, you ARE the manager, and I assumed you had your suspicions about these two disgusting THIEVES already since it’s your job to keep on top of things.’ I turned to Heather. ‘I borrowed your code. You know, the same one you loaned to Jessica.

Hope you don’t mind. Later!’ Then I got up and left.

I had the pleasure of seeing Jessica’s and Heather’s smug expressions melt instantly to one of ‘ooooohhhhhhhh, crap…’ Later that afternoon, my phone was ringing. It was Paula. She was practically crying, she at least sounds like she’s sobbing while she pleads, ‘OP, please, please don’t send those emails, I’ve fired Heather and Jessica. They’re DONE.

And please don’t quit. What can I do to make this right? Please, OP, remember I was always nice to you, please don’t tell anyone about–‘ She’s right. I have no beef with her. She HAS always been nice to me. I’m kind of embarrassed. I tell Paula to relax, I’m not a snitch (against cool people, anyway) and not a blackmailer and I’m not out for her blood.

‘I already quit. And I’m keeping my mouth shut.’

A few days later, I showed up for my final check. I learned from one of the sales associates that corporate Loss Prevention was called in (our corporate office is only a few miles from the retail location) to interview both Heather and Jessica about their fraud. Paula had used all her political and managerial dexterity to frame the situation in such a way that made it look as if she, as a responsible and observant manager, had discovered the employee dishonesty.

The narrative worked.

In lieu of arrest and heavy fines for what amounted to outright grand larceny, Jessica and Heather were simply fired, blacklisted from the store, and due to the store’s prominence, to say nothing of the cross-company word of mouth, blacklisted from working at any other prestigious fashion brands. They were, of course, unable to use the company as a reference, and due to being fired for cause, could not file for unemployment.

Jessica’s fantasy of being a major player for ANY fashion label in any capacity is deader than Lenin. Paula was actually in the store that day and practically ran to me, hugging me to thank me for ‘keeping this scandal at a store level. It’s been handled, I SWEAR.’ I told her no problem. What I didn’t tell her was that I never did delete those drafts.

She offered me a reward of free merchandise and again asked me to reconsider coming back as a stock person, even a sales associate.

No thanks. I’m going to look awfully silly in those dainty little suits at my super cool new job of working at Sizzler. Same salary. Lateral career move LOL. It all ended okay. Paula ended up rising in the company so that she later found a desk at their head office.

A year after the whole debacle I finished my degree, had a short stint as the night manager of Sizzler, but now I’m doing what I really want to do.

Except now at my job, guess what we have to wear. Yeah. Dainty little suits. I wear socks, though.

The need for something nice to wear to work led me back to my old store where Paula was once manager.

She didn’t work there anymore, but one phone call from a sales associate to her office (because I said I knew her) led to a nice chat and three suits at a generous discount. I refused to take at least one absolutely free, even though she offered. That’s how I found out about her rise in the company.

She also told me that it came to light that Jessica and Heather had actually been reselling a lot of the clothes on eBay, at a markdown from the store but still at a huge profit for themselves.

The store found out because they offered to prosecute the two women less if they could return the items. But too late, they admitted the items were resold at an online auction. Both Jessica and Heather were slapped with huge fines to avoid big girl jail. Paula and I are now social media friends. Those old email drafts? Deleted. I would have never torpedoed Heather and Jessica if they just left me alone to do my job in peace, and didn’t try to feel big and important at my expense.

I would have left them to live in their self-medicating lies, live and let live.

Other than some difficult customers, people like Heather and Jessica are what make working retail such a nightmare for so many. And that’s why I feel no guilt about destroying them. I’m sure Jessica had lots to talk about at that year’s Milan Fashion Week.”

Another User Comments:

“I enjoyed this THOROUGHLY. It hit close to home.

I used to work retail, not anywhere high-end. Contempo Casuals, Claires. Crap like that. At Claire’s, we had this stuck-up FIDM grad who was hired as an assistant manager and would treat her underlings like crap. She reminded me of the type of white trash who comes into wealth and suddenly treats service people like trash. She referred to me as the help, instead of calling me by my name.

She would hide my paychecks and then tell our manager that she gave them to me. She would brag about her degree like it was a Ph.D. from Harvard, not an associate’s degree in visual displays (no really, her parents paid 20,000 USD a year so she could learn to decorate a store window) from a for-profit diploma mill. She would make fun of my crappy beater, while she had a new Mercedes with her stupid personalized plates – MY T MAUS – with a frame that said, ‘Daddy Bought It, But Princess Got It!’

Of course, twenty years later I look her up on social media.

She’s still full of herself, takes nothing but duck-faced selfies which is kind of pathetic in itself, but even more so when you’re forty-four years old. They’re at MySpace angles because she’s gained so much weight. Not an infinifat, but still hammy. She posts lots of ‘inspirational’ posts, too and a few other ones that indicate she is still some entitled piece of crap. And she still has FIDM listed under education.

Turns out she’s also an addict in recovery who works as ‘the help’ at CVS in a crap neighborhood. I would feel bad for her, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.

HI STEPHANIE. Muaaaah. Terrible how your life turned out.” AyeYoDisRon