I’m usually not this catty, and I wouldn’t do this in most other situations.

From late 2018 to early 2019, I worked for a grocery store to make money for rent. I was working thirty hours a week while attending school, so I pretty much had no life, but I didn’t have a choice because I had to pay $700 a month and other living expenses.

On the second day, I “violated” the dress code by wearing dark blue jeans instead of black jeans. I had no clue this was a thing because during training they told us that they’re not strict on dress code. The manager (who made $52,000 a year) let me off with a warning.

About four months later, I had an incident where I was walking to work in the winter. It was drizzling, but there had been freezing rain the night before, so the ground was a weird combination of muddy and slippery. As careful as I was, I slipped and got my black jeans all muddy and freezing wet. I couldn’t wear these for eight hours, so I decided to spend $40 on a rideshare back home and to work again so I could change. Unfortunately, I only had those dark blue jeans, so as soon as I got to work, I went to my manager and explained the situation and let him know that this wouldn’t happen again.

Instead of understanding me, he told me he couldn’t trust a “kid” who couldn’t uphold a simple dress code, and he told me to leave the store and never come back. On the way out, he told me to come back in five years so he could “assess” if I had amounted to anything.

The next few months were tough as I struggled to pay rent and expenses while searching for a job in a city with high density.

Fast forward to now. I’m a Product Analyst (a mix of software development and sales) and make $82,000 at the age of twenty-six.

I’m visiting my alma mater because I was invited by an old professor to give a speech to the upper-year class. I’m wearing a $500 cashmere sweater — irresponsible spending, but it feels like all is right in the world when I put it on.

On my way back home, I decide to stop at the infamous grocery to grab some snacks. Lo and behold, I see Mr. “You Won’t Amount To Anything” stacking boxes onto shelves half a decade later. I go up to the shelf to grab a full box of chips.

Me: “Hey, [Former Manager], don’t mind me. I’m just going to grab a box or two of these. I make almost double what you make now, so don’t even worry about it.”

Lowkey, I sort of mess the boxes up, as well. He looks at me, shocked, like he’s never seen me before. Then, he recognizes me. He looks at his watch. I roll up my sleeve and point to my smartwatch.

Me: “It’s 4:10. You should get back to work.”

He stands there without saying a word, and I pat his back.

Me: “I’ll be back next year to check up on you.”

Man, I felt like a b****, but that felt so necessary. Flexing on poorer people is awful and you should never do it — unless it’s your b*** boss who fired you for the worst reason, taunted you, and made you suffer financially as a result.

Many years ago, I worked for a branch of [Store] in [Town]. When that store closed, I transferred to the branch in [City], where I still am today. We have recently gotten a new manager, who transferred to the store from [Other Town].

One day, I walk into work and hear [Manager] talking to [Colleague].

Colleague: “I really didn’t like him. He was horrible!”

Manager: “No one at my store liked him, either. Quite a few people accused him of bullying. Just mentioning the name ‘[Old Manager]’ would upset some people I worked with.”

Me: “Hang on, [Old Manager]?”

Colleague: “You know [Old Manager]?”

Me: “Yes! He used to be my manager at my old store.”

Colleague: “He was at my old store, too!”

Manager: *To me* “And what did you think of him?”

Me: “Horrid, horrid man!”

[Manager] bursts out laughing.

Manager: *To [Colleague]* “See? That’s two other, completely separate people who really did not like the man!”

Me: “He was really rude to everyone at my old store. He reduced a couple of people to tears, and all he ever said to me was, ‘Go faster! Go faster!’ Then, a few years back, just before Christmas, they suspended him! It turns out he had been reducing sandwiches that still had a couple of days left on them and then using his staff discount card to buy them! Sadly, they couldn’t fire him, because apparently, some process wasn’t followed properly, and he was able to argue that because they didn’t do that, he could keep his job.”

Colleague: “Wow.”

Me: “They didn’t send him back to our store; I think if they had, half the staff would have quit. I certainly would have. Instead, they transferred him to [Other Town], which was as far as they could transfer him from [Town] and still be within the region.” *To [Manager]* “That must be where you met him.”

Manager: “Yep! And he had accusations of bullying there, too. Eventually, they transferred him to another store, and then I heard he left the company and went to [Rival Supermarket #1], where he got sacked, and then went to [Rival Supermarket #2] before getting sacked from there, too, and eventually moving to [County 300 miles away].”

Colleague: “Where he’s now probably bullying the good workers of some supermarket in [County 300 miles away].” *Shudders*

Me: “Well, good riddance to him, at the very least.”

In 2008, I moved to a different country and had to register with the foreign police. At that time, they had this huge facility where they handled everything — EU, non-EU, visas, special permits and requirements, all of it. Different windows handled different issues, and you started by selecting your issue on a machine that would print you a number. And then you would wait for six-plus hours.

I’m guessing a lot of people didn’t quite get it right, picked the wrong issue, and — much like the customer in this story — were turned away after hours and hours of waiting.

The solution? They posted a guy at the ticket machine. You told him what you needed, so he could hit the correct button and give you a number for the right queue. Of course, this meant a short conversation with each new arrival, so a line formed before him. So, you’d arrive and wait in a queue, just so you could get a number and wait in a queue.

Related:

Next Time, Use The Appliance Of Research

[Colleague #1] finishes work at 4:00 pm.

Colleague #2: *Pissed* “Is she sleeping with the boss or something? She’s always leaving early!”

Assistant Manager: “Yeah, I keep bringing it up with [Manager], but he tells me to drop it.”

Me: “No, she always gets here before 8:00 am. We just don’t see her working until we get here.”

In fact, most of them casually stroll in sometime after 9:00 am.

The manager (for whom [Colleague #1] works directly) goes away for a trip, leaving [Assistant Manager] in charge.

Assistant Manager: *To [Colleague #1] with a sneer* “You can’t leave before 5:00 pm. You’re not getting away with that with me.”

Colleague #1: “Okay, let me go and talk to our CFO and see about overtime rates. I work from 8:00 am until 4:00 pm. I manage my time well and get all my work done.”

Assistant Manager: “You’re salaried! No overtime rates apply!”

With perfect timing, the manager calls from overseas, and I gleefully transfer the call to her. The best thing about a fairly open-plan office is that you can hear everything from the reception desk.

Colleague #1: “I’m so glad you called. [Assistant Manager] is insisting that I stay until 5:00 pm, with no overtime pay or reason mentioned. Have you got a particular task requiring me to stay?”

She pauses and then hands the phone to [Assistant Manager].

Colleague #1: “He wants to talk to you.”

She kept to her eight-to-four!

I booked and pre-paid for a tire installation at my local superstore. I arrived fifteen minutes before my appointment and waited while the elderly woman behind the counter split papers into various piles, put them all back into one pile, and then did it again. After the fourth round, I spoke up. 

Me: “Um, excuse me. Can—”

Woman: “Hold on.”

She did her shuffle two more times before putting them all in one pile and turning to me. 

Woman: “Yes?”

Me: “I have an appointment for—”

Woman: “What’s your name?”

Me: “Jane Smith.”

Woman: “Spell that.”

Me: “J-A-N—”

Woman: “Hold on, not so fast. J…”

Me: “…A.”

Woman: “Okay.”

Me: “…N. E. Smith. S—”

Woman: “Your tires aren’t here.”

Me: “Oh. The app says they are, and I have an appointment for—”

Woman: “Okay, well, our system says they’re not.”

Me: “Okay, what—”

Woman: “Okay, I found them. It’s under Jane Smith, not John Smith.”

Me: “Yes, that’s what I—”

Woman: “Oh, the tires you ordered were wrong. You need [Other Brand] [size I ordered], and they’re $40 more per tire.”

Me: “That’s the same size I ordered. What—”

Woman: “Look, it happens a lot. People think they—”

Me: “Stop interrupting me.”

She turned away.

Me: “Okay, I want a re—”

Woman: “No refunds.”

Me: “Stop interrupting me!”

Woman: “No. Refunds.”

Me: “Okay. I want to hear your manager say that.”

She glared at me for a moment before picking up the phone to page for a manager over the loudspeaker.

Manager: “Hi, how can I—”

Woman: “She wants a refund because she ordered the wrong tires. I told her we have the right ones in stock, but she insists.”

Manager: *To me* “Okay, we can do an exchange or a refund. That’s up to you, miss.”

Me: “A refund, please.”

Manager: “Okay, if you’ll follow me to customer service, I can get that squared away.” *As we are walking* “You’re just getting your money back because they’re the wrong tires, right?”

Me: “Actually, it’s because the woman back there ignored me when I arrived, asked me questions and then cut me off when I tried to answer, and tried to say I ordered the wrong tires but offered the same size.”

Manager: *Sigh* “I’m sorry. I will address that with her.”

I got my money back and went to a different company. My tires were more expensive, but they confirmed I had ordered the right size and did the entire swap in under half an hour.

I went online later and found many reviews about [Woman] treating customers exactly the way she treated me.