People Share The Time They Got Revenge By Playing By The Rules

As a kid, I was always a fan of following the rules. I was shy, quiet, and in general, a peacemaker. Refusing the follow the rules to me not only felt wrong, but it made me feel like a bad child. Getting punished for my wrongdoings left me feeling angry with myself because I always aimed to be perfect and wanted to always look good in the guys of authority.

As an adult now, though, I’m fully aware that there are exceptions to every rule, as do many of you. For instance, if there’s a certain rule in place at work, but if an employee feels that following it will cause more harm in the midst of an emergency situation, then, by all means, break that rule; breaking it might just save a life, even if your higher-ups do end up scolding you.

Speaking of which, below are stories of the time that people wanted to break a rule or command but instead decided to follow it to prove a point to the rule maker or enforcer. And, boy, did they make their point loud and clear!

18. I Suck At Taekwondo? Sure, I’ll Accept A Match With You

This story is proof that egos have no place in martial arts.

“I’m a student of many different martial arts, but my favorite is Taekwondo. This story takes place a few years ago back when I was a 24-year-old second-degree black belt.

Background for the uninitiated: Taekwondo has fighting competitions (known as sparring) where participants put on protective gear and kick each other for points. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was not terrible at sparring; when I came back from college to my original Taekwondo school, I immediately won all tournaments I signed up for and was internally promoted to assistant sparring instructor.

Most of the time, I’d help the lower belts by giving them a mobile target to kick and help them work on their attacks. I’d also occasionally throw a kick at quarter power/quarter speed to help them work on evading and counter-attacking. Many of my students started winning their competitions as well. I typically worked with new black belts.

Right after a recent black belt promotion test, we had several newly-promoted black belt students begin taking our sparring class.

Most started out a bit cocky, challenged a higher-ranking belt to a match, lost, and realized that a black belt doesn’t automatically confer additional talent to beat the folks who have been doing this literally their entire lives and humbly requested additional instruction. These students were directed to me, and I’d help them out. One eighteen-year-old–let’s call him Sparky–never came over to ask for assistance, though, which I thought was odd; but hey, maybe he liked learning the hard way.

Nope. One of my fellow second-degrees, Kay, came up to me between my teaching matches and tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, um…you should spar Sparky. As soon as possible.”

“Why’s that?” (It’s worth noting that I almost never picked lower belts as partners. Boring matches. I liked fighting people who could take what I dished out, and that was exclusively upper belts.)

She made a face. “Well, I guess we’ve been going a little too easy on him in practice.

He’s going around bragging that he’s the best.”

Sparky was listening in, apparently, and piped up. “Yeah, ’cause I am the best!”

I chuckled a little. “Look, just because the other upper belts are letting you walk away doesn’t mean you’re the best–it just means our master instructor asked us to be nice to you today. Just be careful who you say that too, okay? Some black belts would take offense–”

“That’s just because you’re all pansies.”

WHOO boy, did he just step in it.

Taekwondo has a lot of discipline as part of its curriculum, and a shot like that at higher ranks would have a guy doing penitential pushups for the rest of class. I decided to let that pass, figuring that he was just on an adrenaline high or something. “Hey, that’s not very respectful–”

“If you’re that good, why don’t you spar?” Kay asked, pointing to me (clearly thinking about using me to impart some valuable life lessons via brute-force trauma).

He flipped his hand dismissively. “Please. I want a challenge. He’s no good.”

Okay, now I want to kick this cocky little **** into another plane of existence. I kept my cool, though. “Never know unless you try.”

“I won’t go easy on you!” he warned me. “Full-out! Think you can handle that?”

Dude clearly didn’t know that I fought master instructors on the regular. I looked at Kay. “You’re my witness. Full out, both sides.” I looked back at Sparky.

“Are you sure about this? I’m the assistant sparring instructor for a reason.”

“Yeah, ’cause you’re slow!”

Okay, that did it. I told Sparky to pick me for his next opponent and took a water fountain break to keep myself from taking him out early. Sparky immediately spread the word that he was “gonna kick my butt.” To the other students’ credit, none of them laughed in his face, but there was a massive crowd by his ring when he called me to the mat to be his opponent.

Our master instructor noticed and gave me a weird look. I just shrugged.

We bowed in and got in fighting stance. I decided to give him one last chance. “Look, I don’t think going full-out is a good idea for either of us. Why don’t we go light contact, and I’ll show you some moves–”

“No way. I’m not backing down because you’re scared!”

Everyone around the ring heard that comment. This time, they cracked up. Very audibly. I let him dig his own grave a little deeper.

“You really want full contact?”

“Bring it!”

Okay, I gave him every opportunity to change his fate. Malicious compliance time.

Ref shook his head and got out of the way. Sparky started throwing kicks like a freaking tornado. The kid was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. I managed to evade all of them, slowly maneuvering to get into a corner of the ring and setting him up for my counter. He probably thought I was backing up to avoid him and charged with a sliding round kick.

He slammed straight into my back kick.

Now, the chest padding that we wear has a little plastic in it for additional protection. However, a proper back kick can still break ribs right through it–and I know because I’d both received and given broken ribs at tournaments. However, as annoyed as I was at Sparky, I decided to let him keep his ribs intact; instead of hitting him with my heel, I hit him with the entire bottom of my foot to distribute the impact.

I did hit him right in the solar plexus, though, and with enough force to a) stop his attack and b) take him completely off his feet and throw him into the opposite corner of the ring. Poor kid promptly curled into a ball and started doing that sobbing thing folks do when their lungs abruptly stop working. (Solar plexus hits suuuck. Don’t believe me? Get someone to whack you in that soft spot in the center of your chest where your ribs meet and report back.

I’ve seen people puke after a hard enough hit.)

Ref stopped the match immediately, of course. My master instructor rushed over, all set to ream me out. “Logic? What the heck–you were supposed to go light contact–”

Every single bystander blurted out, “Sparky asked for it!” at almost the same time.

Kay stepped up, bless her, and gave him the quick version–Sparky was being cocky, trash-talked the older ranks, called me out, etc. The master instructor’s mouth started twitching.

He looked down at Sparky, who was still gasping and sobbing on the mat. “Is that true?”

He nodded. The master instructor grabbed my hand and held it up. “Winner!” He turned to Sparky as the other black belts started clapping. “Walk it off–and next time, be careful what you say. Just because a black belt lets you walk away from a match doesn’t mean you’re better than they are. Also, most of them will be more than happy to give you exactly what you ask for.” He paused.

“Oh, and fifty pushups for the disrespect. Catch your breath first.”

Sparky later apologized and asked for tips. I gave him some, as well as some private lessons, and he went on to become one of the best fighters in our school. He was always really skittish about sparring me, though…” themysteryoflogic

17. I Have To Work On Vacation Unless I’m In The Middle Of Nowhere? Hello Remote Vacation Destination!

If your employer keeps pestering you while you’re vacationing, is it really even a vacation?

“I work for a small company in the trades as head of the IT department (aka the only IT person).

Truthfully, the gig is pretty great. Good pay, benefits and I can come and go as I please within reason.

The two people I have to answer to are the VP and CEO and as is par for the course they know nothing about anything to do with technology and generally leave me be as I’m good at my job and everything runs smoothly.
Being a small company a lot of us don’t take vacations due to A) building the company and B) not having replacements for the time we’re gone but after two years vacations (we’re in the US) my wife convinces me to use the time I’m given to decompress and take a small, one week, getaway.

I talk to VP and he gives me the thumbs up to take the time barring I get everything in order and do some minor teaching to other staff in case of an emergency.

Cool, easy.

Enter FOD (Field Operations Director) a man who is an attack dog for the VP for no reason as the VP is nothing but polite and reasonable. FOD loves giving everyone a hard time, adding steps to tasks to make himself look like he’s part of the process, reminding everyone how much of a ‘boss’ he is to the rest of us in management and calling me a nerd any chance he gets.

Fair to say, I dislike FOD immensely.

After making my rounds with other staff it’s FODs time to do some scary computer-related learning. FOD refuses to look weak under any circumstances and gets very aggressive when learning new things because ‘I’m the boss, I already know.’ In the midst of learning, it dawns on him to ask why he has to learn this stuff anyway, I’m the nerd and it’s my job to do this.

I clue him in on the week I’m taking off and this stuff is just precautionary.

This worries FOD as he’ll have to retain information, answer questions and do some minor troubleshooting.
The conversation went something like this, and I wish I could tell you that this guy isn’t this much of a jerk, but he is.

Boss: ‘Who approved your vacation?’

Me: ‘VP did as long as I could get you guys comfortable with some small maintenance.’

Boss: ‘I only approve vacation time, I’m your boss.’

(Side note: he does THIS so much that VP actually wrote out the hierarchy in chart form and we all carry a digital copy with us to remind him who he’s actually in charge of)

Me: ‘You’re not.’ (shows chart)

Boss: ‘Well fine! But you’re salary so you have to work during your vacation.

You’ll bring your laptop and work phone with you.’

Me: ‘When YOU vacation you make it very clear you’re unreachable and can’t be bothered even if it’s an emergency.’

Boss: ‘That’s because I go to places without service and unless you’re going to the mountains you have to work! You’re salary!’

Malicious Compliance initiated.

Me: ‘Just to be clear; if I go to a place without service I won’t be expected to work, yeah?’

Boss: ‘That’s right, but you’re a nerd you don’t do anything outdoorsy.’

Me: ‘Great, thanks for clearing that up.’

Fast forward 3 weeks later and it’s vacation time.

All my ducks are in a row, people are comfortable with me being gone for the week and are all encouraging me to just disconnect.

A close coworker of mine knows of the conversation FOD and I had and asks what I plan to do to about it so I shared my easy but effective plan.
The wife and I rented a cabin in the woods, 2 hours from the nearest town and it doesn’t have service. I set up automatic email replies that have all IT questions and concerns forwarded the Boss since ‘he’s the boss, he knows.’ I leave work phone on the charger in my office with the ringer on, door locked so he has to hear it and voicemail changed to have FOD become IT for the week.

Coworker loves the idea of flooding FOD with questions he can’t answer so much that he gets other coworkers in on it.

Midway through the week, I get a call from a coworker with an update: FOD loses it. He can’t keep up with any requests for help and didn’t bother to memorize the simple tasks I showed him so he does what any good ‘boss’ does and puts in a request to take a vacation until I get back.

A retreat is always an option. Nothing screams leader more than retreat. It’s not weakness and failure if he’s not there!

My coworkers were able to manage and FOD got his 3-day vacation, unfortunately.

After the week off I’m called to VP’s office to catch up and get things back on track. VP obviously heard of the hardships FOD faced in my absence and laughed at my MC surprisingly. VP struck a deal with me moving forward since it was made clear to him no one else knew how to do my job: I can go on vacation wherever I’d like as long as I bring my laptop and phone and check it once a week.

They’ll refund my vacation time for that day even if I only work for 5 minutes.

I took that but with the caveat of making FOD actually learn some of my duties just in case.

VP agreed. Now I do an hour of teaching a week to a very surly FOD. After all, he’s ‘the boss’ he’s gotta know.” out_run_radio

16. Hair Too Long? I’ll Shave It, But You Won’t Enjoy It

“A few years ago, I was a department manager for a large conference center.

I ran the top-performing department (as determined by guest feedback surveys) by a LARGE margin. Like…no other department out of 1,200 employees was even close. And my dress style was always nice and professional. Dress code didn’t say we needed to have on button-up shirts and ties, but I did it anyway ’cause I looked great and professional, and I met with the leaders of large conferences multiple times per day. I dressed to impress. They were my clients, and whatever their problem was, I was going to fix it.

My demeanor and professional attire did great things to alleviate their concerns.

My bosses got on a dress code kick for some reason. They made me and my small department (6 people total) start wearing lame colorful standardized shirts with a logo on the front. (The rationale was that the clients should be able to identify me as a staff member – I get the logic, but that was what my lanyard and name badge were for.) Plus, the bright/colorful dress-code shirt was actually detrimental to my work as I often worked backstage as a tech during band performances (industry standard color for techs is black.

But they wanted me to wear bright yellow…okay…) I tell them my concerns about my shirt’s bright colors being a distraction for the audience as I do work backstage. My bosses don’t care; they made up a new dress code and want me to follow it. Fine.

So, I wear the shirt. But then I also wear a nice sweater vest (or just a vest) on top of it. Still got my tie on. I like ties.

But, to make it explicitly clear I’m staff, I get my own hat made (at my own expense too) that shows the company’s name on it. Again, my badge and lanyard are always visible. But now I can do my backstage work without being a distraction to the audience that might glimpse my movement as I go about doing scene changes, etc.

But then my bosses tell me that the company’s logo has to be visible on my shirt, and I, therefore, can’t wear a vest.

So then I get the company’s logo embroidered on my shirt’s sleeve, also at personal expense. Problem solved, right? I’m wearing the shirt they gave me, and the company’s logo is visible.

At this point, my boss is p*ssed at me and is trying to write me up for any possible infringement of company policies. I know how to read a room, and I immediately start going to the HR director to approve of my new and evolving malicious compliance of this ever-changing dress code policy.

My boss says that we can’t wear hats. Okay, fine. My hair is visible for all to see…and I quickly become aware of the next thing my bosses are going to tell me to fix. My hair. They’re going to cite some vague language in the employee handbook about hair length. So, I go to the HR director preemptively and ask for clarification for hair length. After a 10 minute conversation, we both agree that I am perfectly fine with nothing to worry about.

My hair is nice, in a bun, and looks good. It’s well kept and stylish, and my specific clientele actually really like it because they’re mostly hipsters anyway.

But my bosses don’t see it that way. They say that my hair is too long and needs to be cut. I ask them how long is too long. (I am, after all, a rule-follower and will obey the rules.) One of my bosses (a woman with long hair, hair that is actually against dress code because it’s not put up into a bun) says that my hair should be less than shoulder length (my hair was in a “man bun”).

I ask her if that policy extends to women as well. She says no, obviously, and that this dress code only applies to men. Apologetically and feigning ignorance, I ask her to show me where it says that in the employee handbook. She shows me the section…the section where it says that if the hair is longer than shoulder length (regardless of the gender), it should be kept in a bun. I tell her that my hair is in a bun, as opposed to hers.

Oh man…now it’s getting real. I just called them out. They’re not happy. My other boss (a guy with super short hair, less than a quarter of an inch long) tells me that as a guy, my hair shouldn’t touch my shirt’s collar. He tells me that a few stray hairs of mine are touching my collar. I pull out my phone and take a picture of him. I show him that even his 1/4″ hair is touching the collar (his head was leaned back and his hair was touching his collar.) I ask them again to clarify how long is too long because his 1/4″ hair is too long for their standards.

Side note: I love my thick hair. Someone telling me to cut it arbitrarily speaks fighting words.

Then they tell me that I just need to do what I’m told because it’s company policy, and if I don’t do it, they’ll get HR involved. I tell them I already got HR involved, and the HR director explicitly told me that my hair was perfectly fine.

But these two bosses of mine just wouldn’t let it go. They had to go after my hair.

They told me that since I’m a manager and meet with group leaders, I have to go above and beyond what the dress code says, and I have to act professionally in order for us to receive good guest feedback regarding professionalism. I tell them that my department and I are already the most professional and highest-rated department according to guest feedback surveys. I take the printout of the survey results out from my bag (because I anticipated my “lack” of professionalism was going to be questioned and had it printed in advance), and I show them the survey.

They read it, toss the paper aside, and tell me to cut my hair or be written up.

Fine.

The next day, I come into work with a shaved head.

They never told me to cut my hair again because I look FAR WORSE with no hair. Coincidentally, they also let me wear my hat again, haha. But only because my shaved head was a sore sight.

As a point of interest when I resigned from my position a year later, I submitted to HR my 80-point paper why my two bosses caused me to leave the organization, how they stifled me and my department from doing legitimately good and quality work, and how I felt that under their “leadership,” I was incapable of ever winning.

A month after I left, I heard from a friend and previous co-worker who was still at the company that my direct boss was forced to retire, and my other boss was fired. My friend told me that they were privy to a conversation held between the CEO and my female boss (the one who was fired), and my friend overheard the CEO say, “Your time here at this company is over. And I want you to know that when you’re gone, your position will not be filled.

Consider you and your position eliminated.”

Lastly, I haven’t cut my hair since I left (apart from occasional trims). It’s now almost 3 feet long, and I plan on giving my gorgeous lion’s mane away to some charity that deals with making wigs for kids.” NoGoodDM

Another User Comments:

“Great story! Just want to throw it out there, my husband and I both donate our hair to Children With Hair Loss. It’s a great company, and they give the wigs to the children at no cost.” HeatherBS

15. Make Me Take A Physical I Don’t Need? I’ll Take It But Fail On Purpose

“Some background: In high school, I went to an academic magnet school.

Essentially, it was a public school that was run like a private school. You had to have certain test scores to get, no bus transportation (since it was for the whole county), way stricter dress code than all the other schools on the district, and they were able to have a ton of extra rules because it was a “choice school.”

Now I was the first graduating class; I was there the first year it opened. At that time, it was 5th-9th grade, and I started as a freshman.

The second year, they had completed the elementary wing, and so it was K-10. They added grades until my senior year when it was finally K-12.

As the school grew, it continued to add more policies. My sophomore year (the school’s second year of being open), they began a new policy where ALL students 7th grade and above had to be on a sports team everywhere.

I thought this was really, really stupid. I hated it. I’m not an athlete; I was in other clubs, and I was getting increasingly involved with my church.

Being the mature 16-year-old I was, my initial plan was to join a team and have a bad attitude, like an awful, evangelistically bad attitude so that no one would have any fun, and this would prove to the school how awful this rule was.

Instead, for all the lazy kids like me, they started a school walking team. It wasn’t power walking – just regular walking. We just had to walk around the neighborhood for about 45 minutes 3x a week after school.

I was fine with this; I didn’t mind walking around. Of course, there was an adult ‘coach,’ since the whole thing was ridiculous anyway. My friend and I declared ourselves co-captains. This mostly consisted of telling the middle schoolers to walk faster. No one else considered us co-captains, but we did, and that’s all that mattered to us since it was all a joke anyway.

I did that my sophomore and junior years but fast forward to my senior year.

I was 18, working part-time about 15-20 hours a week, I was super involved in my church, and my family was a chaotic mess of dysfunction that traumatized me in numerous ways.

They finally enforced the state law that everyone on a sports team has to have an annual physical on file. I didn’t really bother with this since it wasn’t a real sport anyway. Eventually, they came to me and said that it was so late in the season that even if I got a physical, I would need to pick a different sport in the winter or spring (walking team was a fall sport).

I was essentially just “screw this;” I had enough other things in my life to deal with, and I didn’t want to put up with this crap anymore. I decided to do exactly what they say and get the physical. I also decided I would do my best to fail it.

So, eventually, I went and saw a doctor. It’s important to note that I didn’t have a primary care doctor at the time; that’s why I didn’t get a physical before then.

So I just went to some little walk-in clinic, and I tell them I need a sports physical. I didn’t tell them what the sport was.

Now as I was filling out the patient history form, I answered truthfully; I did not lie, but I didn’t provide any context. So I checked yes to a history of asthma (mostly from when I was a kid), severe seasonal allergies, AND a history of seizures.

See, when I was 13, I had a couple of dozen seizures in a day or two; no one knew what was going on, and eventually, I was diagnosed with epilepsy, specifically having ‘absence seizures.’ Since then, I had been taking anti-convulsants every day.

As far as I am aware – even 20 years after that initial episode, I’m not sure I’ve had a full-blown seizure since then. It’s literally the mildest case of epilepsy I’ve ever heard of.

The doctor does a quick physical exam – mostly vitals and similar things. As she looks at my patient history form, she asks about the seizures, I explain that I was diagnosed with epilepsy, I take anti-convulsants, and I have a neurologist I see about once or twice a year.

She says, “Well, I can’t pass you until I hear from your neurologist.”

I basically hopped out of the chair, happily said “thank you,” and walked out. I never did contact the neurologist; instead, I just gave the paperwork to the school.

And that’s how I (a relatively healthy 18-year-old) got medically disqualified from the school walking team.” PilotLights

14. No Cell Phones? Okay, But Books Can’t Be Banned Too

“I have been babysitting this little girl who is living the dream I wish my childhood was.

The parents asked me one day if I could start picking her up from school since she gets out at 2:50, and they’re still working. I said no problem and got all the details for the pick-up process.

Now for some background, she goes to a very expensive private school. Like, her elementary school tuition is more than most people pay to go to college. They’re strict with parents, students, and the pick-up process. My name and car had to be added to a list, so I could pick her up.

You also have to display a paper with the child’s names on the dashboard of your car. I’m pretty sure they also did a background check on me, but who knows?

The first day I go to pick her up, I get in the car line around 2:35. I thought I would be early and wanted to give myself time in case there were any issues. There were already around 10 cars waiting, so I pulled up behind them and put my car in park.

So much for being early. Anyway, as you’re pulling in there is a sign that says no cellphones. I was like, that makes sense; they don’t want people staring at their phones when the line starts moving, and God forbid it’s not the most efficient process the school can organize.

I am waiting patiently listening to music and admiring the Olympic-sized pool when I get a text from the mom. It’s probably been 5 minutes since I pulled into the line, and I look down to read her text.

She asked if I was there and if everything was ok. I replied with ya and looked up to find a woman besides my window with a bullhorn. She said (more liked yelled through her mask) that no cellphones were allowed and to put it away and respect the rules. I was shocked and kind of terrified that she was going to use the bullhorn to announce my infraction to the rest of the line. The whole texting took less than a minute to read and reply.

I apologized, and at 2:50, the line started moving, and the pick-up went fine.

I was going to be picking this girl up from school every day for the foreseeable future, and if I wanted to get a good spot in line, I had to get there around 2:20. I thought there is no way I’m going to sit twiddling my thumbs for 30 minutes. I thought of listening to a podcast, and then I had a better idea.

The next day, I went to pick up the little girl, and I saw the woman perched like a hawk at the top of the building stairs scanning the cars. I got in my bag and started maliciously complying. The woman who could have been mistaken for an Olympic sprinter was at my window ready to attack. NO cellphones… And her voice dropped as she looked down at my book. I asked if there was an issue because I hadn’t seen a sign that said no books.

She was frozen. How could she, an educator at a prestigious private school, tell someone not to read?

I’m still bringing my book (Dune), and I hope to finish it before I see any unexpected spoilers about the movie. Or before bullhorn sprinter hawk lady petitions to change the sign.” Philosopheraven

Another User Comments:

“Every day, bring something different.

A Gameboy (or similar), a small puzzle thing, a piece of paper that says, “Are you going to fall for this EVERY time?”” bahcodad

13. Tell Me To Solve My Own Problems? I Will, With A Better Job That Pays More

“A little over a decade ago, I worked for the local hardware outfit as the storeman/store manager.

I took the job because it was local, paid ok, and was supposed to be relatively stress-free.

Unfortunately, the reality of it was that the assistant manager, Collin, was a d*ckhead with an inferiority complex who had it in for me because I was more qualified than he was (although I had absolutely no interest in climbing the corporate ladder or taking his job). The job itself was overtasked and understaffed, and things were only getting busier as there was a building boom happening in the area at the time.

As a result, I quickly ended up being run off my feet every day trying to keep up with the constant influx of goods and outgoing orders. To make matters worse, the overall manager, John, decided to reassign my two offsiders as delivery staff leaving me on my own. When I protested, I was told to “solve my own problems.”

I somehow kept up with the workload, just barely, but knowing this was not going to work in the long run, I continued in my attempts to get more staff in my area.

Even just one offsider would have made a huge difference. I tried reasoning with John saying, “What if I get sick or injured? How will you get the orders done then?” His solution was that he would have some of the casual staff from the front retail area fill in if that happened. I laughed in his face and suggested that they could not find their own ***** using both hands. Probably not the best way to handle things.

Once again, I was told to “solve my own problems.”

Ok then, fine. I will do just that. The situation continued to become more difficult each week. The incoming goods were increasing in volume to keep up with demand (think two semi-trailers per day), and as outgoing orders were to take priority, the incoming goods began piling up. Collin decided to rear his ugly head and make a fuss about stock not being checked in and stored on time, and in one of our more robust discussions, I seriously considered rearranging his face and told him so.

He decided to go on an early lunch (run away) and hid from me in his office for the rest of the week. That was the day I realized I need to get out of this place.

As for solving my problems, well, obviously I was looking for a new job. I answered an ad for correctional officers and attended a meeting for applicants, then sat the psych tests, interviews, and was finally accepted for the training to begin in one month.

Perfect timing.

The next Monday I walked into John’s office and gave two weeks’ notice. John was absolutely appalled that I would consider leaving such a “good job.” He tried offering me a raise of $1,000 per year. I laughed and said my starting pay was already $15,000 more than I was getting here and walked out.

Now you would think a smart manager would immediately take steps to cover my position and begin training a replacement. Nope.

Nothing happened for the next week and a half until on my last Thursday, John finally showed up with a replacement, some entirely forgettable teenager who plainly had no chance of keeping up. I trained him as best I could and the next day said my goodbyes.

Two months later, I walked in as a customer, flush with my new job money. The place was an utter mess! There was **** everywhere, unprocessed goods still in sealed boxes, pallets of sheeting just dumped in the truck yard, and no one could find anything.

The original guy I trained was nowhere to be seen, and four new young guys with haunted-looking faces were madly scrambling about trying to sort their **** out. No one knew where anything was, where anything goes, or even how to do a basic invoice check. A total disaster that brought a warm glow to my evil black “told you so” heart.

Upon seeing me, John quickly pulled me aside and asked if I can help out and show the new guys what to do.

I took great pleasure in reminding him that I had repeatedly warned him this could happen and then not only did I no longer work here, but that he will have to, and I quote, “solve your own problems.”” Kookabanus

12. Want Me To Call You Before I Call In An Employee On Their Day Off? I Can Do that

“I have worked for the same company for nearly 30 years. It is a small beverage company that is filled with salesmen and weekend merchandisers to work the grocery stores.

The sales team was 12 account managers who have either Friday/Saturday or Sunday/Monday off. This required a team of 6 merchandisers to cover this time off and one lead position to help and cover time off for the team of 6. I was in the role of that lead position at the time this story happened.

My boss (let’s call him Ray) was one of the most difficult people in the world to deal with. The merchandisers were paid minimum wage for a very physical job that required a start time of 4:30 AM, so it was difficult to keep good people.

We had people call in sick or not show up all the time. On top of this, everyone that worked there would get yelled at on a daily basis. It really was a harsh work environment.

One of the issues I faced in covering for the 6 merchandisers was when more than one person would call in sick. Our territory is large, so it was impossible to cover more than one route because of travel time. Some grocery stores were an hour away from each other, so not only did you need to start early, but you were never going to be able to work more than one route in a day.

When 2 or more merchandisers called in, we would ask one of the account managers to work one of their days off to cover the routes. The account managers were paid salary/commission, so they were paid a flat dollar amount when they had to work a day off. My boss, Ray, would always yell at me when I would tell him that I needed to call someone in. His response always boiled down to, “Why are you bothering me with this? Just take care of it.”

One Sunday, I had 3 merchandisers call in.

Remembering my most recent scream session with Ray, I decided on my own to call in two account managers and cover the third route myself. The following day, Ray approached me and asked me to come into his office. He then, with spittle coming out of his mouth, yelled at me for over a minute about how I did not have the authority to authorize account managers to work, that I had overstepped my authority, and that going forward, I was to call him asap when someone needed to come in.

All of this was just some strange power trip because he was NEVER not going to approve the extra time.

So this is what happened the very next weekend. That Saturday, I had two people call in. It was 4:45 AM, and I called Ray’s house. The phone ringed for a while, and a lady answered the phone. It was Ray’s wife. I asked her to speak with Ray. She then proceeded to yell at me on the phone for calling her that early in the morning.

It was almost as rough a chewing as I had received from Ray. She then handed the phone to Ray. “Yeah?” …”Uh, I need to call someone in to cover a route…” “Ok” and then he hung up the phone.

That following Monday, I figured I was going to get another chewing. Ray called me over to him by the coffee and very calmly whispered in my ear, almost shy like, “Uh, yeah…you can make that call going forward bringing people in.

No need to call me anymore.” I realized that Ray had got one of his own scream sessions from his wife.” foxdvd

11. Can’t Remember Your Own Phone Number? Okay, Let Me Verify it For You

“Alright, so first-ever malicious compliance post, and there’s a good few paragraphs of background before the malicious compliance:

I’m a bank teller, full-time, M-F. Background info on tellers, and really all bank employees, is that we get paid fairly well and get great benefits to encourage us not to steal.

This is important to note because it’s a facet to the malicious compliance of the story.

Now, we have a client who we’ll call J. J is a problematic client as they have accused us of stealing from them multiple times. They’ve even accused us of stealing from them when they were holding the cash they had just withdrawn in their hand. Suffice to say: none of us like J, and we take extra steps to make sure that J’s transactions have all been properly documented to the umpteenth degree: we have them fill out a withdrawal slip even if they have their card, we write their name on our cash counter tickets whenever we run their transaction, and we staple the white copy of the ticket to the withdrawal slips.

Now, as said, J has been accusing all of us of stealing from them – despite them regularly having their debit card lost and/or stolen from them around town. They have even accused our branch manager of stealing from them – our branch manager only touches cash when closing or opening an account; otherwise, they stay in their office and make calls. And they also have none of the systems in their office that would make stealing possible – not that they would because, once again, the pay is good.

With that backstory out of the way, onto the malicious compliance. We’re having a slow morning, so there’s time to answer the phones (even with lobbies closed and being drive-thru only, we get slammed regularly where we don’t have time to answer). I pick up when it rings, and it’s none other than J! What follows is a paraphrased conversation:

Me: “Thank you for calling (BANK NAME) on (STREET NAME). This is Thehallow1. How can I help you today?”

Caller: …

Me: “Hello?”

Caller: …

Me: “… Hello?”

J: “Yeah, it’s J, can you hear me now?”

Me: “Oh, hey J! Yeah, I can hear you now.

How can I help you?”

J, heatedly: “I’m missing money from my account! I had over $100 in there on Friday, and now I have less than $50!”

Me: “Oh no, I’ll look into that for you. One sec-.”

J, still heated: “Could you please? Thank you!”

Me – brushes off the anger, I understand client frustrations, and I’m having a pretty okay day all around. I check their account, and they are the only one who has done anything with their account.

“Alright, so I see here where you had those funds on Friday. Then you made a withdrawal-.”

J: “Yeah, yeah. That was the last withdrawal I made.”

Me: “Uh, no J, you made a withdrawal Monday and yesterday as well.”

J, ignoring me: “I’ve told you all a hundred times. I don’t want anything coming out of that account. I have my cards shipped to you because they get stolen all the time. I don’t want anything coming out of that account that I’m not authorizing.”

Me: “And you authorized these two withdrawals, I have your sli-”

J: “I need that money to live off of! Nothing else! I don’t buy anything else! I use that money to live! I told Branch Manager to take $300 from my check each month and put it into savings! And I don’t see that!”

Me, as they’re ranting, checking their accounts and seeing that they have no savings account.

My teller coordinator slips me a piece of paper, ‘If J thinks they’re being stolen from, get them over to fraud.’ Me, after J takes a break in their ranting: “J, do you think you’re being stolen from?”

J: “Of course I am! I’m losing money! I’m trying to keep my account stable, and it keeps going up and down!”

Me: “Well, do you want me to get you over to fraud?”

J: “What you can do- do you even know how to add and subtract?!”

Me, taking a deep breath: “Yes.

I do. And all your transactions add up to what you had Friday and what you have now.”

J: “Well, what you can do is transfer me to Branch Manager. Are they available?”

Me, not missing a beat knowing they are: “No, J, they’re with a client right now.”

J: “Well, have them call me back. My number is- you have my number in your computer.”

Me, sad for my manager, goes to check the number: “Is it (PHONE NUMBER)?”

J: “Lemme check.

I don’t know. I don’t call myself. Can you call me? See if that’s the number? See if my phone’s working?”

Me, smiling: “I can do that for you! I’ll have to hang up first, though. Is that okay?”

J: “Yeah, sure.”

Me, hangs up.

Now, our systems are usually up to date because we do service a number of older clients who don’t really move at all. But there are times where the account is so old, and they haven’t checked with a banker in a while that the information is wrong.

J also left no callback number in case this was wrong.

So I call. And it rings.

And rings.

And rings.

RoboVoice: “THE NUMBER YOU ARE TRYING TO REACH IS NO LONGER IN SERVICE.”

Me, smiling as I hang the phone up: “Guess that wasn’t the right number. Oops.”” thehallow1

Another User Comments:

“Is J older? I wonder if he’s getting Dementia or Alzheimer’s? With this type of short-term memory loss, it could be possible.” Punkin8tor

Reply:

“They are an older client; it’s possible. They also drink quite a lot.” thehallow1

10. Refuse To Approve My Overtime? I’ll Work Exactly 40 Hours A Week

Some employers don’t realize that paying employees overtime can actually be better for them too.

“When I was in my 20’s, I worked at a tiny coffee/wine bar establishment. It sold coffee in the mornings and had a wine/beer license for the evening crowd. Its selling point was that it had food pairings for all of its drinks, both coffee and booze. It was a fairly new business, only a year old. It had a bare-bones staff, and the owner herself tended bar in the evenings, usually solo because the tips were better, and she could keep them all for herself.

I was one of two baker/chef/line cooks, making all the food to be paired with the drinks. We always worked opposite each other and split the day and night shifts, so we each had some evenings free. The owner was a 40-something single lady with no foodservice background or experience. She very proudly stated that she invented every recipe on the menu, but her inexperience was obvious. For example, her cupcake icing was 50% Crisco, stuff like that.

She came from the corporate world and had turned her hobby into a business as a middle finger to her old bosses. She was always complaining: about being single, about money troubles, about how hard the work was, and about her life in general; it was just so much negativity. My boyfriend at the time would sometimes come in towards the end of my evening shifts, buy an over-priced beer at the bar, and we’d leave together.

I could see the jealousy on her face every d*mn time.

The owner hated paying overtime and got on my case any week I had any overtime, even if it was 15 minutes. I had been in kitchens since I was 15, so by now, I was a seasoned chef who could easily do 12 hours without even looking at the clock. This was the first place I had worked at where I had such an inexperienced boss and wasn’t expected to do 60+ hours/week.

I finally had enough of her nitpicking, and here’s where the malicious compliance kicks in. I started noting the exact time I clocked in and, on a big piece of masking tape, I would write the exact time 8 hours later than I would clock out at. I would put that piece of tape right in front of my station where everyone could see and so would she. If I clocked in at 12:58 pm, you bet your buns I was clocking out at 8:58 pm, evening rush be ******.

If someone ordered food after I left, she either had to make it herself or tell them the kitchen was closed, which defeated the purpose of having food pairings in the first place. She was the one who made the schedules, so it’s not like I made things more difficult for her on purpose. Her lack of experience led to her being severely understaffed at crucial times and, by that point, I didn’t care enough to enlighten her.

She wouldn’t pay us overtime, but she also wouldn’t hire more people, so stuff just didn’t get done.

After a few months of this, I was just done working there and quickly found a new job. I told them I could start in two weeks, so I could give notice to my old job as a professional courtesy. I typed up a generic resignation letter that had my end date two weeks later. I gave it to the owner when she came in near the end of my shift.

When I clocked out, she said not to bother coming in the next day; I was fired. I shrugged and left.

I decided to take the two weeks as a stay-cation of sorts. At a friend’s suggestion, I applied for unemployment since I was technically fired and actually got benefits for one week before starting my new job, so it was like a paid vacation, which is unheard of in the food world.

Last I heard, the place closed after 10 years because she wasn’t making money, and she went back to the corporate world.

She did get married, so yay for that. I wish her nothing but the best. She wasn’t a bad person, just bad at being a boss.” Mycatsitslikehesppl

9. Want My Programming? Okay, But You’ll Have To Pay A Price

“I was working as a machinist in a small machine shop at a big manufacturing company. We were a small team that worked on small highly customized projects away from the main production line and had a good selection of older manual machines and a couple of modern CNC machines.

Due to the nature of the work and the rate it came in, we set our own priorities as needed and would frequently have quiet spells where we could work on ‘homework’ projects.

Most of the team were apprentices on secondment from the main production area with only me and one other fully time-served and skilled machinist on the department’s payroll through an outside agency; the apprentices were paid by the main company. As our department didn’t really generate its own income, the apprentices were a much-preferred source of labor.

Their only cost to the department was in material loss and tool breakage, which were very common occurrences. It was either from lack of experience in the 3 newer apprentices or by the sole final year apprentice, Liam, who thought that because he was nearing the end of his training that he knew it all, much as me and my skilled colleague tried to advise otherwise.

As a result of the minimal department income and the regular apprentice mistakes, good lathe tooling was few and far between.

My colleague who’d been at the company most of his working life kept all the tools he needed to use locked away for only his use and mine if I needed to borrow something obscure, as he could trust me to take care of them. As I’d only been there a couple of years but had my own lathe at home, I brought a lot of my own tooling in or bought it myself rather than go through the battle with the purchasing department and as such being for -everyone- to use.

(IMPORTANT LATER)

After about 2.5 years, a new head of development (HoD) was employed who took on several departments including ours. Within 6 months of him starting, a new manager was assigned to our department. The old guy was great and ran the department to the best of his ability, but the HoD didn’t like that we appeared to be a money pit, so off he went. My colleague had a bad feeling about things as soon as HoD took over and somehow knew that we wouldn’t be too far down the list.

I was more optimistic as we could be depended on to get things done in a clinch, and we had experience the apprentices didn’t, and our contracts were pretty solid in that they’d have to find a really good and legitimate reason to get rid of us.

My colleague didn’t like all the changes, was already well past retirement age, and decided to call it a day. As the company had gone through several ownerships over his time with them, and his tools weren’t documented, he gave a few to me and took the rest with him.

With him gone, I thought there’d be little chance of them getting rid of me as there’d be no-one to supervise the younger apprentices or to do the work that was beyond their abilities. Liam had officially finished his apprenticeship in the summer and was now, at least by title, a fully-fledged machinist. Anyone who’s worked in the job should know that this doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things; there’s always more to learn and more experience to gain, but he was so full of himself that he felt he no longer needed any advice from me, and much to my amusement, the mistakes kept happening, and, if anything, they were more frequent by him trying -and failing- to prove a point.

It was quite obvious; he really didn’t appreciate my input, so I stopped offering guidance and just let him get on with it, giving him the rope to hang himself so to speak. Unfortunately, Liam was quite friendly with the new boss and that would ultimately be my demise. The new boss was also health and safety mad, which I don’t have a problem within the slightest; I know and fully appreciate the importance when implemented reasonably, and that gave Liam an opportunity to do away with the only other person above him, me.

In my collection of tools, I had 2 shop-made mallets, which the previous boss had absolutely no issue with, but they mysteriously made their way out of my locked toolbox onto my new bosses desk. The boss wasn’t hands-on and wouldn’t want to get his suit dirty coming onto the shop floor, so it was fairly obvious that the ex-apprentice was the one to break into my toolbox. There was nothing unsafe about the mallets; the brass faces were shrunk fit into a solid steel head with a welded steel handle attached.

You could beat on them for days and not separate the brass faces. But they weren’t ‘proper’ equipment (in other words bought from a tool supplier), so I was sacked pretty much on the spot.

I had to gather all my belongings and leave, but I knew this would cause issues as the CNC programs were all written for my tools, and as angry as I was that Liam had broken into my toolbox and ratted me out, I still didn’t want everything to go to **** without me.

My boss was aware most of the CNC programs were backed up to my personal USB storage and asked me to transfer everything before leaving. I complied with the request, transferred all the programs even though I wasn’t legally contracted to do so, but I knew he’d need more than that.

Throwing him a bone, I advised that the programs were written for my tooling. In his eyes, that immediately meant that I should leave everything required for use, which I begrudgingly agreed to for a token payment towards their value.

He scoffed, told me to take my tools, and get off the site.

It took a lot longer than I expected for them to realize that their very expensive CNC lathe was now next to useless without spending over $3,800 on new tooling, but my $1,000 offer was now incredibly appealing after 3 weeks of it sitting idle. But of course, my boss was still trying to make the books look better and phoned me up offering $500.

I reciprocated the scoff he gave me 3 weeks prior and hung up.” SpadgeFox

8. The Only Way You’d Let A Pregnant Woman Sit down Is If They Go To Medical? Okay I’ll Go Then

“Back story: This happened when I was pregnant while in the Navy and got sent to a limited duty station. I essentially worked in an office full of pregnant/injured sailors with a couple of supervisors who were absolute d*ckwads to the pregnant women (because we all got pregnant on purpose to avoid sea duty, of course).

I happened to be the most senior pregnant woman there at that time, senior enough to know my rights and to call out bs.

One of the things we were still required to do is PT (work out, for you civilians) 3 times a week within the bounds of our physical limitations. For pregnant women, this typically meant no sit-ups, push-ups or jumping jacks, no standing/walking for more than 15 minutes, and running at our own discretion.

Typically, we were allowed to do our own thing as long as we did some kind of work out (stretching and yoga balls counted) for the 30-45 minute duration. We had requested to be allowed to attend the gym’s pregnancy yoga class but were denied as it started at 10 am (“middle” of the workday, leaving us 30 unproductive minutes before lunch).

For the most part, we women were left alone. There were some instances of d*ck-waving where the men in charge would decide that all of us, including the women that were 7-8 months pregnant, were able to do whatever hare-brained activity they thought up (like running in the rain).

I am typically able to shut those down pretty quickly. Needless to say, I wasn’t very popular with our supervisors, but I always had documentation to back me up.

As I entered my third trimester, and my anemia kicked in full gear and I started getting super light headed and having tunnel vision. Regardless, I never called in late, always made it to work on time and did my yoga ball exercises during PT. One morning, I started having tunnel vision and slipped off my yoga ball.

As I was sitting there trying to put my head between my legs, someone grabbed my shoulder and started yelling at me to “get off my a** and ******* PT,” along with some other **** about how being pregnant was not an excuse to sit down. Once my vision cleared, I stood up and faced D*ckwad, my direct supervisor (LPO), who was still giving me ***.* I told him that I couldn’t continue PT and would need to sit out the rest of the time, even producing my medical chit that stated that I was to be allowed to “rest as needed.” D*ckwad wasn’t having it, and told me I wasn’t allowed to sit down during PT and that if I wanted to sit, I should go to medical.

Cool.

I asked one of the girls to take me to medical, and he started yelling about how I needed to get myself there. I looked him in the eye and said, “I am about to pass out. I am in no condition to drive. If you will not let someone else take me to medical, I am calling the ambulance now.” This would launch an investigation (workplace injury and whatnot) of course and also involve paperwork for D*ckwad to do, so he relented but told me I had to find my own ride back to work.

So I get driven to medical. I tell the ob-gyn desk that I had been having dizzy spells, and my supervisor wants me to PT. Yes, despite what is said on my medical chit. I get seen by a nurse, get some ***** sucked out of me, and get ushered into the ob-gyn department head’s office. Apparently, he had overheard me. I tell him what happened and the past attempts to force the pregnant women to do more than they are allowed to.

Doc asks where we PT. I tell him. He raises his eyebrow. And proceeds to inform me that he is VERY familiar with the particular gym that we PT in, and that it was considered a ‘hazard zone’ for pregnant women as there are a couple of basketball courts next to the yoga balls (too close to contact sports) and also that it is in the manual that any command that requires their pregnant women to be involved in any kind of organized PT (making us show up at a certain location at a certain time counts as organized) were required to submit a PT plan for us through the chain of command (this involves going through 3 senior/master chiefs and 4 officers, including our captain) to be approved by the closest affiliated ob-gyn department head (him) before they were allowed to subject us to any kind of PT.

He then proceeded to print out the specific pages of the instruction manual, highlight the pertinent parts, stamp, sign, and attach his business card to it and told me to take that to my LPO (D*ckwad) and have him call him if he had any questions or would like to show proof of such a PT plan for our command. He then wrote down his private extension on the back of another business card and told me to call him if I have any more problems.

He also personally writes me a new medical chit that says that I should be allowed to “rest at member’s discretion and only perform work that member feels that she can safely perform.” (They were having me do things like move heavy boxes of paperwork and test live equipment.)

While all this was happening, my bloodwork had come back showing stupidly low iron levels, so he had me increase my iron dosage and gave me a week off of work “just to make sure that that solves that problem.” I get taken back to work by medical’s duty driver.

I walk into my office and immediately called into the chief’s office to get reamed out for “being late and missing PT.” Apparently, D*ckwad had failed to inform him that HE had ordered me to go to medical. D*ckwad stood in the corner with a sh*t-eating grin on his face. As chief is giving me the knife hand, I pull out my paperwork from medical and place it on his desk. I then calmly proceeded to explain how Captain OB-GYN Department Head would like to see our command PT plan for pregnant women and that he had kindly attached his business card if they had any questions for him.

D*ckwad read the highlighted portions and went, “You would actually go this far?”

Me: I don’t know what you mean. You told me to go to medical if I needed to sit down, so I did. This is what I was given at medical. Looks like there is Naval instruction related to this that we should be following. Oh, by the way, here is a copy of my new physical limitations signed by Captain OBGYN Department Head and a medical leave for a week.

If you don’t have any more questions, I’ll see you next Wednesday.

From that day onwards, the pregnant women in my office were allowed to PT any time during the workday that they wished to as long as they did it 3x/week. This meant that we were all now able to attend the 10 am pregnancy yoga classes. Amazingly, work production did not go down because we are (surprise!) effective at getting our work done regardless of what time we started.

Except now, D*ckwad had to do all the heavy lifting and live electrical work until we got someone who did not have such limitations showed up because the women were all suddenly issued new medical chits signed by Captain OBGYN Department Head, specifically preventing them from doing such things, with relevant Naval instruction highlighted and stapled to their chits.” CabaiBurung

7. Need All Your Accounts Closed? Not A Problem

“I used to work for a bank at their contact center.

I literally have hundreds of stories about that place and its customers, but today I’d like to share a story that has always bought a smile to many a suffering customer service co-worker’s faces about the time we got one back for the good guys.

Backstory: I was employed as a Customer Service Officer. I’d been with the bank for about 18 months at this point, mostly working afternoon shifts, but recently the bank had moved to a 24-hour customer service model, so while most of the bank would be closed (Head office, Complaints, Credit, etc) – we were still open.

Cast: Me, Night Manager, Customer, Head of Customer Relations and Retentions

Let me set the scene: ~10 pm, midweek, fluorescent lights flicker overhead, the call board empty and I’m literally counting the seconds left in my shift, ready to go home.

Phone call pops onto my screen

I think ‘***!* I always get a call just before I finish…’

Me (mustering my best customer service voice): ‘Hi, thanks for calling (bank), you’re speaking with u/Absurd-n-Nihilistic, how can I help you?’

I hear nothing but dead air, so I start to repeat myself.

‘Hi, you’re speaking wi-‘

When I hear the tone of voice and words every contact center worker has heard at some point.

It just lets you know you’re in for a great call (not!).
Customer: [loud sigh] ‘Yes! I’m here! God, what takes YOU people so long to answer?! What are you doing?’

As noted before, there were no calls on the board, this customer didn’t wait in a queue. He would have dialed, gone through to the IVR to enter his customer number and pin before being put through to me.

Max 60 seconds.

Me (trying to not provoke any further and get this customer off the phone as quickly as I can so I can go home) ‘Oh, I’m sorry about that. Our system doesn’t show a queue, but I’m sorry that you had to wait.

What can I do for you this evening?’
The customer seems to settle down and starts explaining that the reason for the call was the interest charges on the most recent credit card bill.

He was sure they were a mistake because ‘I always pay my bills on time’ and ‘I don’t like paying you bloodsuckers anymore than I have to.’ Charming, I know. So I place him on hold to look at his account. I started looking at the payment history, when payments were due/received, what the balances were etc. Then, I quickly looked at the customer’s interaction notes. This is where the bank records any contact with the customer as well as, any fee waivers, special interest rates, etc.

and I see an interesting series of notes from colleagues of mine stating things like’customer advised interest was charged due to full payment not received by the due date. Customer threatened to close all accounts with the bank. The manager approved the interest waiver.’ Notes like this went on for months until there was a note from the head of customer relations and retentions stating ‘if customer threatens to close accounts to seek a waiver of fees, interest or other charges, please process immediately.

No retention authorized.’
I was a bit shocked because usually, the bank would do a lot to keep existing customers like they told us in training, ‘it’s cheaper to keep a customer than it’s to gain a new one’.

So I call over my night manager to read the notes and give him a heads up I’ve got a feeling the customer is going to be demanding another interest waiver. My cool night manager said, ‘well if he does, do what the note says.’

Total hold time: maybe 2 minutes.

I take the customer off hold and thank him for waiting.

Customer: ‘About time! My time is very valuable, you know. So have you fixed it yet?’
I start explaining that the interest charges are valid because he didn’t pay off his balance before the due date.

He goes ballistic!

He starts calling me every conceivable name under the sun and mid-sentence stops, he plays it like he’s just had an idea ‘Fine.

If the interest charges are valid, I’m going to close my accounts.

I want to close my accounts with you now!’

At this point, I’m excited about putting him in his place but I also want to cover my ***, so I ask:

Me: ‘So, just to be certain. You are instructing me to close all of your accounts with us, including your credit card, savings account, and transactional account?’
Customer: ‘Are you stupid? That’s what I said!’

Lady’s and Gentlemen: We got him!

Me (Grinning my a*s off): ‘Okay no problems. I’ll just place you on hold to do that for you.’

I hit the hold button fast just as I heard him say, ‘No I-…’

With my night manager’s help, we close his accounts.

His savings account was a term deposit so by breaking the term early he had to pay an early access fee of 10% of the balance. We used the money in his transactional account to cover the outstanding balance in his credit card (including the interest) and sent a request for a cheque to be issued for the remaining money.
I took the customer off hold.

Me: ‘Again thank you for your patience. As requested your accounts are now closed.

Was there anything else I can help with tonight?’

If I thought the customer went ballistic before, oh boy! There was talk of suing the bank, suing me, suing my night manager, suing the head of customer relations and retentions.

That we were guilty of discrimination. That I didn’t have the authority to do what I did. He’s going to call the police. We’re thieves. Some other ways of telling me how useless I am and how I can kill myself.

You get the picture.
Me (still smiling because I know I nor anyone else at my bank will have to deal with this ***** *****again): ‘Sir I understand you are upset. However, on a recorded phone call, you instructed me to close your accounts. I’ve complied with your wishes. As there is nothing else for us to speak about tonight. Thank you for calling (bank) have a good night!’ And hung up on him before he could say another word.

My night manager created an incident report and sent it to the head of customer relations and retentions with an attached a copy of the call recording. I later found out head of customer relations and retentions sent the customer a letter telling him he was banned from our bank for life due to the ‘vile and disgusting’ way he had spoken to me! We would never do business with him ever again and if he called or visited a branch, we would be the ones calling the police.

Do you want to know what the total interest charges were that started all this? ~$30.

His term deposit had $20,000 in it. He cost himself $2,000 in early exit fees because he thought he could bully his way out of ~$30 in interest.” Absurb-n-Nihilistic

6. Hate My Jokes? I’ll Go From Silly To Serious Server

“When I first started serving, I figured that the best way for me to approach it was with humor. The way I saw it, most people were out there to have a decent meal and enjoy it.

And because I have an odd sense of humor, this meant I came up with some pretty weird, but ultimately harmless jokes. For example, if anyone ordered coffee, I’d bring them their ‘scalded bean juice and bovine drippings.’ When they paid, I’d tell them we accepted ‘cash, card, or your immortal soul,’ or some other lines.

Because I’ve been doing it for a while, I kept the delivery easy, so people knew I was joking and I had a BUNCH of material.

Some didn’t really pay attention (especially when paying,) so it went over their heads. Few didn’t really care one way or another, but most times, I’d get a laugh.
Because of this, I rarely got complaints. Some people didn’t like my sense of humor, and I understood that, but at best, they just wouldn’t tip. No biggie. Except for this one customer, Entitled Dad.

Entitled Dad was seated at my table with his wife and two kids.

One kid looked a little sad when I first approached their table, so I thought that it’d be a perfect opportunity.

When I brought them their drinks, I made sure to be as humourous as I could.

Me: ‘Here’s the cow juice, both from a white cow and brown one. Sorry for the delay, we had an udder disaster milking them!’

K1 and K2 giggle.

Me: ‘And then the caustic aqua to burn your dried leaves. As well as some dismembered citrus.’

Wife looks confused for a moment, but then I see the ‘oh!’ moment and a smile.

Me: ‘Lastly, your dihydrogen monoxide, in its solid and liquid forms.’

Entitled Dad, however, looks a sour as the lemon slices.

Entitled Dad: ‘Excuse me, what did you say this was?’

Wife: ‘Really?’

Me: ‘Why it’s the essence of life itself. And something that came out of the dinosaurs years ago. Just filtered super well.’

Cue more giggles from the kids, but Entitled Dad looked really annoyed. Thankfully, Wife stopped him from doing anything by saying, ‘Honey, it’s water. You know, H2O?’ After that, the meal went relatively quietly. I got their food orders, brought them it when it came out hot and fresh (no clever lines there; the menu was too big to come up with something for everything, though I did try for the kids.) I checked on them twice to make sure the food was good, even got to chatting with the wife and kids for a bit.

Entitled Dad was silent the whole time, only really nodding when I asked if his food was good or holding out his glass for more water. I didn’t mind him too much, though, because I thought that it was the end of it. I brought them the bill, with the usual joke of ‘Cash, card, and firstborn children up at the front whenever you’re ready.’And even Wife joked back,’Guess Kid One is doing the dishes!’
Next time I had stopped by the table, Entitled Dad was up at the front paying, while the kids drew on the kid’s menus and Wife watched them.

Wife thanked me for my great attitude, handing me a seven-dollar tip for cheering up her kids. Turns out the family dog had a vet visit and the kids were worried. I just told her that I was more than happy to help take their mind off it, and I hoped they came back soon.

That should’ve been the end of it. Except that it wasn’t.

Because while Wife was thanking me, it turns out Entitled Dad was complaining to the shift manager.

Saying stuff like (and I’m paraphrasing because I heard this after from my manager.) ‘OP is obnoxious, makes stuff up (important for later), and won’t stop talking.

I just want to get my meal, not have to deal with a brat annoying my family. She even suggested I pay with my kids!’ The general gist of his complaint was that he just wanted a server who was bland, made no jokes, handed them their food, and walked away.

What made him a real Entitled Dad was that he demanded a discount AND free dessert for his kids for his trouble. This being the Food Service industry, where Customer is King, my manager caved like wet tissue paper and personally brought the dessert. This being a place I’ve worked for years and I had a good relationship with my manager, we both just chatted about how much of a *** this guy was after he was gone.

Fast forward to about a month later. I’m working the afternoon shift on a Wednesday. It’s in the dead period, and there are a couple of hours at the start of my shift where I’m the only one in the front of the house, and my manager is in the back counting last shift’s cash. I’m basically alone, save for the cook, who isn’t allowed up at the front, so when Entitled Dad and his family come in, I can’t immediately seat them because I’m taking food out.

Still, Wife and kids were excited to see me, while behind them, Entitled Dad stares at me like I’m a ********* on a napkin.

I can tell he remembers me, and more importantly, I remember him and his complaint.
His mistake is going to the washroom while I sat his family. It was the start of my shift, so I was still in a really good mood. I asked how they were, Kid One said that the dog was doing much better, and Kid Two asked if he could have some brown udder juice.

Wife ordered herself a peppermint tea and a coffee for Entitled Dad. As I sat them, I told them that I was going to do something different today. I told the kids I wasn’t mad at them, I promise.

Wife was confused, but I just smiled and winked before I left to get their drinks.
By the time that I had the drinks, Entitled Dad was there and waiting. Perfect. I slowed my pace from my usual speed into a slow march.

The kids look up at me, clearly expecting.

Entitled Dad: ‘We’re not ready to order yet.’

Me: (completely emotionless) ‘Very well, sir. Here is your: coffee. Tea, Peppermint. Milk, chocolate. Juice, orange. Three waters. One water, no ice. Four Creamers. Sugar is in the caddy on your wife’s right. Is there anything else you require of me?’

Entitled Dad: ‘No.’

The kids and Wife were confused.

I had done a total 180 from peppy jokester to monotonous robot, and I was only gone for a couple of minutes.

But I just turned 90 degrees to the right and went to another table, where I dropped the act and went back to being me. This went on for a little while, as Entitled Dad wasn’t ready to order the next two times I stopped, even though his kids already knew what they wanted. I was neutral every time I stopped by their table, then went right back to being fun around the other two. I chatted with one regular about some of the games he was playing, and an older couple about their kids.

But with Entitled Dad’s table? Nada. Wife asked me to put the order for appetizers and I complied. Funnily enough, it was the same appetizer the older couple had. So they could hear me say to them. ‘Six hush puppies to a good home in warm stomach acids!’ only to bring theirs and say, ‘Hush puppy. Six.’

Naturally, by the time I stopped at Entitled Dad’s table with the appetizer, no one was happy. The kids wanted to hear the jokes from me to them, not overheard.

Even Entitled Dad was annoyed because I was way nicer and warmer to other tables.

But Wife asked the question I was waiting for.

Wife: ‘OP, how come you’re joking with everyone but us? Last time, we got the best service I’ve ever had in Chain Diner.’

Entitled Dad: ‘Get me your manager, now. I refuse to be ignored when I’m just here to eat with my family.’

I, in fact, made no move to get my manager, but carefully schooled my expression to something neutral and kept my tone as calm as can be.

“But sir. Last time, you insisted to my manager while was paying that I am factual, concise, and as non-intrusive. As I recall, you found my behavior’ annoying to you and your family.’
Instantly, Wife and his kids looked right at him.

He immediately went red.

Entitled Dad: ‘That’s not what I said! I said that the service was great!’

Me: ‘Actually, sir, and allow me to remind you that you insisted I ‘not make stuff up,’ you complained that I wouldn’t stop talking, and found my humor offensive, particularly the part where you claimed I suggested you pay with your children.

And my manager offered you 25% off as well as a free dessert as recompense.’

Wife: ‘What? Entitled Dad said that you offered it because you felt bad about our dog!’

Me: ‘While I would’ve liked to, I did not. So my behavior today is in alignment with his previous complaint.’
At this point, the kids were upset and Wife was furious.

She asked me to give them a couple of minutes with their order, and I just nodded and left.

I did see Wife and Entitled Dad head out of the restaurant for a bit, and Wife returned after a bit alone. As it turns out, Entitled Dad is a serial complainer to try and get discounts and free food from restaurants, and Wife was very upset that not only he pulled it again, but on their new favorite server. So he was off to eat alone at the golden arches and I was back to joking and cheering the kids up.

I apologized for my behavior, and the meal went on like normal.
I got another complaint from this guy from our customer surveys, and this time the manager said that I was out of line, but I thought it was worth it. Besides, Wife and the kids came in every now and then after that, asking if I was serving.

Personally, I think the guy was just mad that he didn’t know that H2O is water.” JustServerisms

5. Beg For Your Delivery In Dangerous Conditions? You’ll Be Liable If Anything Happens

And, boy, something DID happen!

“This story is from a buddy of mine who works as a deliveryman for large loads of construction supplies.

He’s a Truck Driver (TD) and he works for Do What the Customer Says Inc. (DWtCS Inc.) which distributes contractor supplies. He drives the trucks that deliver different loads of materials.
About a month ago, he was on a job for Strict General Contractor to deliver lumber for a housing development being built on marshy land. At the point of his delivery, Strict General Contractor had not drained a lot of the area for some reason except for a few large, deep isolated puddles.

This wood TD delivered was being used to frame up some sidewalks and foundations for some other things.

The access road was just packed soil with gravel on top of it. The previous day to TD’s delivery, it had rained a lot.

When TD pulled the eighteen-wheeler with a nearly full trailer of lumber (that’s about 30 tons just for the wood) to the entrance of the access road, he noticed it had fallen into mud sludge with rocks in it.

To test the sludge for driving, TD took a paint stick and stuck it into the mess that was the access road. The stick sank on its own. The housing development was a good 1/2 mile into the marsh, so he called up Strict General Contractor.

Strict General Contractor: ‘Hello?’

TD: ‘Yes, Strict General Contractor, this is TD from DWtCS Inc. and your access road is too wet and dilapidated for me to deliver the lumber in, your guys have to come out and get it in either separate trailers or by hand.’

Strict General Contractor:’ I can’t do that, we’re on a tight schedule.

It’d take hours to unload it and take it to the site.’

TD: ‘I can’t do that, I’d get fired, wreck the truck and cargo and probably a ticket for reckless driving.’

Strict General Contractor: ‘I’m filing a complaint about this.’

Strict General Contractor hangs the phone up.

TD is left waiting there for a solid 1 and a half hours and other supply trucks and contractors back up on the road. He gets another call from Strict General Contractor
Strict General Contractor: (Screeching) ‘Where’s the lumber I expected over an hour ago!?!’

TD: ‘I told you, the road is too dangerous for me to drive over.’

Strict General Contractor: ‘JUST GET THE GOD D*MN LUMBER HERE!!!!’

Strict General Contractoronce again hangs up.

TD calls his supervisor, Big H.

Big H: ‘Hello? TD?’

TD: ‘Yeah it’s me. The service road for project X is dilapidated, and if I crossed it, it would bury me and the truck in.

Strict General Contractor insists I drive over it.’

Big H: ‘I’ll drive over there.’

Big H was the supervisor for the multiple drivers for the development, so he worked nearby. It took 30 mins for him to get there, with two more angry phone calls from Strict General Contractor and the line of contractors getting longer.

Big H gets to the scene. Strict General Contractor is called out to meet with Big H.
Big H: ‘Big H, Supervisor of the drivers servicing this area for DWtCS Inc. I hear we have a problem with the service road?’

Strict General Contractor: ‘There is no problem with the god d*mn road.

Your driver just refuses to go across anything other than perfected asphalt.’

Be aware, the service road had dried a little, so it looked a bit better than in the morning, but still dangerous driving territory.

The packed soil had fallen apart, so it was just semi-wet dirt piles and gravel drying in the 10:30 am sun.

Big H: ‘The road seems fine to me, let’s test it.’
Big H borrows concrete boots from another contractor waiting in line and walks onto the ground. Surely enough, he starts sinking.

Big H: ‘Yeah, we can’t drive over this. The truck would sink real bad in this stuff, it’s quicksand without the sand.’

Strict General Contractor: ‘ DON’T ****** CARE I NEED THIS LUMBER NOW!!!’

Strict General Contractor storms off, leaving all the viewing contractors, including Big H and TD dumbfounded.

The trucks are DWtCS’s property, however, the trailers and their cargo are often rented or borrowed in the name of the contractor that subcontracts us. The trucks are owned by DWtCS and they can detach cargo from in the cab. Per company policy, in an emergency, discard cargo and prioritize the safety of yourself and the truck.
Strict General Contractor contacted Big H’s Supervisor. He was told to tell TD to just drive across it. Big H told his supervisor he’ll only accept if Strict General Contractor signs a liability contract.

He handwrites a contract in his truck saying any and all damage will be the liability of Strict General Contractor and must be paid to DWtCS.

Strict General Contractor comes back and signs the contract with a smug grin on his face.

TD jumps in his truck and gathers everything important while Big H takes pictures near an oblivious Strict General Contractor. TD drives the truck into the road, makes it so that the trailer is 3 feet away from the edge of the road before the truck starts sinking past the point of no return.

TD detaches the cargo, and tried to get the truck to escape, but is unable to. Remember, multiple ton truck, this *** is heavy. The truck is already about 1/5 the way submerged when TD releases the trailer.

As the mud surrounds to about 1/3 of the way up the trailer. The engine is sputtering as it overtakes the truck and gives up.
TD panics and abandons ship. He shoves the door. Nothing, the mud is too deep.

The window makes it 2/3 the way before the battery gives way to a rising mud flood. TD has his GI Joe instincts kick in and smashes the rest of the window out and claws his way out of the truck. There, a mildly concerned Big H and livid Strict General Contractor stare at TD as he makes his way across the top of the sinking lumber, where it stops sinking about halfway into the quicksandy mud.

Big H turns to Strict General Contractor and says the most triumphant words ever.
Big H: ‘Lumber delivered. Since you signed the liability contract, I’ll send you the invoice for everything.’

$80,000 went to the company plus taxes and fees and the price of the actual lumber delivery. Strict General Contractor tried to argue against it in court but failed miserably. Don’t make holes in your sinking ship kids, jump out of it.” TheSoloGamer

4. Be More Professional, You Say? Here’s The Paperwork

“I am a small-time Landlord, with just four tenants.

Earlier this year, I had two sisters that didn’t respond to my requests to add one of the gal’s husband to the lease, though he was living with them.
Not a BIG deal, but did I mention the pit bull they also brought home, without permission? I DO allow pets and had previously approved their other dog. I asked nicely in person and by email in the months leading up to the malicious compliance…

They also did not respond when I asked if they were happy there and wanted to renew their lease for the following year.

I asked again, then I emailed them notice that I would start showing the unit 2 days later.

I try to be a nice landlord, I do. They had a newborn, as well, so I scheduled all of the showings within a 2-hour window on the same night so I could be in their space as little as possible.
Also, because they had not responded, and it was now serious ‘crunch time’ for getting another tenant and my spouse worked all the following two weeks during the evening showing hours, I had the delightful inconvenience of bringing my 2 and 6-year-old children with me to the showings.

Because I’m not a corporation – I’m a small-time family landlord with kids.

Try to imagine how difficult it is to conduct business meetings with 2 kids, right? Then imagine staggering showings every fifteen minutes, with prospective tenants who are also bringing their own kids.

Just to further clutter your imagination, this is an 800 square foot 2 bedroom apartment with a cozy entryway.
So I arrive with my two kids, to find that my tenants are still at home, along with the husband, the newborn, and the other sister’s boyfriend.

So that’s 7 people in a small kitchen already. Then the first prospective tenants start arriving. Husbands, wives, with kids, and some showing up early so there are two sets of them. That’s 14 people in a small kitchen…
And I’m a mom. I have magical powers. So I’m holding my toddler, my daughter is safely under the dining table coloring, and I’m chatting with the prospective tenants and directing traffic while my actual tenants prepare to depart.

If you didn’t know this already, it’s common practice in the US to leave the premises during the real estate or apartment showings. This was their first apartment, so I actually emailed them ahead of time to let them know what is generally expected at showings (e.g. a relatively tidy apartment, and that they can leave, for their own convenience).

They do eventually leave after the boyfriend tells a prospective tenant that he, in fact, ALSO lives there.

And I carry on with the exhausting scheduling of showings. And have my new tenants all picked out and lease signed by the next day. Awesome, right?

The next night, I get a voicemail from the husband (who is NOT my tenant).

I saved it, and just listened to it again because it still gives me that same delightful shiver of malicious compliance. In his voicemail, he told me how awful it was that MY children touched HIS infant’s things (they didn’t, because I keep my kids entertained with magical mommy toys, but prospective tenants also brought children), and how they had to sterilize everything to keep their infant from being sick, and how inconvenient it was to have showings with only 2 days notice, and how very unprofessional I was to bring my children, and asked if I could just be more professional in the future.

You can hear it, can’t you? The deep shiver of malicious compliance vibrating through my offending being.

The next morning, I started issuing professional Lease Violation Notices. One for the extra residents of the unit (hubby and boyfriend). One for the extra dog. And a few additional ones for building concerns I noted during the showings.

They ignored the violation notice, which I sent by certified mail and, thoughtfully, also by email. I decided to be even more professional 30 days later, and issue a 5-day notice to vacate.

And I called their mom, who is their emergency contact, as an eviction notice IS an emergency.
Did I mention that their lease was due to end just a few weeks later? But it would be unprofessional of me to let these violations slide until then…

Three days later, they’d magically sent me all the information I’d requested, removed the other dog, licensed the first dog, gotten the required pet insurance…

They moved out on their lease termination date.

And skipped out on their last electric bill, and left the unit in damaged condition. Despite my professional security deposit disposition statement and request for payment, they ignored those notices, until I stated I would proceed to small claims court by X date for the total due BEYOND their security deposit.
On X date, they replied stating they ‘didn’t think it was fair’ that they should have to cover damages to the unit, or ‘pay any more money’ toward their utility bill.

Yep. Two months later, there we were in the lobby of the courthouse, sitting across from each other on uncomfortable waiting-room benches. They’re laughing among themselves about how they’re going to get their full security deposit back.

And I’m quietly reviewing my presentation notes to the judge and my sizable stack of evidence, photographs, videos…. this was my first time in court, but I wasn’t laughing. I was preparing.

One hour later, we’re back in the lobby and their mom is trying to write me a check for the full amount of the judgment.

She doesn’t have a pen. Her kids don’t have a pen. I, however, have a pen. I cheerfully offer my pen. She writes the check and hands it to me, and… wait… I hold out my hand again. Got my pen back too.

I was so proud of myself for not saying any of the sassy things in my head at that moment.

You know why? Because I was being professional, as I’d been from the moment he’d left that voicemail.

As a last note, I do acknowledge that it would have been better if I hadn’t brought my children. However, if you have kids, you’ll understand that sometimes, they simply have to go where you go.” nygibs

3. Force Highschoolers To Sing At Graduation? They’ll Pick A Ridiculous Song

“We were the first-ever high school graduating class at the district’s flagship school, a new K-12 academic magnet school. This was a public school for gifted students, actually named after the district superintendent himself.

Now, this school had a penchant for trying a little too hard to emulate an elite private school with strict dress codes, fancy educational philosophies, required sports…you know the type.

As the commencement of the first graduating class approached, the school administration wanted to make sure our graduation ceremony was extra special. They wished to add even more pomp to the circumstance. Some higher-ups had the idea to have the seniors sing a song at graduation, choir-style.

Out of 60 nerds, probably only 15 could carry a tune, but, well, it wasn’t my idea.

The senior class was less than enthused and balked heavily when we were told we were required to sing, which the administration had predicted. The deal was this: we were allowed to pick the song.

Cue malicious compliance…

A nomination and voting process was held later that week. A few predictable, even halfway decent songs were nominated. Vitamin C’s “Graduation” and John Lennon’s “Imagine” both seemed promising.

Then…one of us nominated “Be a Man” from Disney’s Mulan. We thought this especially clever considering the academic gauntlet our school fancied itself it to be.

As I’m sure you predicted, “Be a Man” won in a landslide. To our merciless glee, we were going to be singing about being “a spineless, pale, pathetic lot,” “as swift as a coursing river,” and “defeating the Huns” in front of our grandparents, the mayor, a few state senators, and our school’s illustrious namesake himself.

The administration realized they had been beaten. Alas, the chorus was quickly and quietly scrapped. We never got to see the town’s faces staring back at us in confusion as we proclaimed how important it was to be “mysterious as the dark side of the moon.”” wasloan21

2. Go Ahead And Call The Cops? Will Do

And you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with the consequences.

“I work as a security supervisor for a property management company here.

This happened yesterday where I was covering for an associate who booked off at the last minute. The building I was at is a high-end condominium.

This is one of the sites that falls under the area I was assigned to and had to cover the person’s duties until dispatch could find someone to fill the shift for the rest of the night. I got there at around 3 PM in the afternoon and was expecting to be out by 6.

Now due to the ongoing pandemic, a lot of condominiums have their amenities (gym, pool, games rooms, screening rooms, etc.) closed because it costs too much for buildings to sanitize these areas every hour, and it’s hard to limit the number of people in at once.

In comes a real estate agent to show a few units that are up for sale. A potential buyer following closely. They both go to the units that are for sale and spend a considerable amount of time in each.

I see them through the cameras in one of the elevators trying to press the floor where all the amenities are. No luck since it’s locked down to everyone.

Well, after trying for a few minutes, they give up and return to the main floor. Now I’m expecting that the viewing is done, and they were going to leave. WRONG.

The agent walks up to me and tells me to unlock that floor. Not asks, tells, in probably one of the most demeaning tones I’ve ever heard.

This p*sses me off a little bit, but I keep my calm and politely explain to him that the amenities are locked down, and no one is allowed to be on that floor.

Apparently, he was offended by my explanation and started swearing at me, literally ordering me to unlock the amenities or else he would go to a random floor and take the stairs to the amenities’ floor, break the lock, and enter the amenities.

At this point, my politeness jumped off a roof.

Told him that doing such will be considered trespassing, and I would be forced to call the police (our company has a “No Hands-On Policy”) since I cannot physically throw them out without losing my job.

Then I hear the client say, “Go ahead and call the cops.” Not even 5 seconds after he said it, I had dialed 911 and explained to the operator that I was being verbally abused, threatened, and the people doing so were just about to damage property while trying to trespass to a locked-down part of the building.

Approximately 5 minutes after I hung up on the operator, I see two officers walking in. They talk to me first since I placed the call and tell them everything that has happened up until their arrival. The other officer then talks to the agent and the client who tell them that it was me who threatened them and was being racist.

Okay, I pull up all the video footage of the last 20 minutes or so and show it to the cops.

The footage that includes audio. One of the officers smiles while watching the footage, and I also have a grin.

Officer asks for the real estate agent’s broker license, clicks pictures of it, gets his information, and tells him that this footage and report will be sent to the real estate board in my city.

Then he turns to the client and tells him that he should not buy the condo in this building. The client asks why and is told that he is banned from this property and would not be able to return.

All I did was call the police like the client asked!” off–white-

1. Quit On The Spot? Of Course, Ma’am

“This happened 20 years ago after I had just turned 18 and during my first adult job as a cook in a franchise that has a very creepy clown as a mascot.

After working there for 6 months, I decided that I preferred to work as a bartender, so it was known that I was looking to find some other job in a bar.

This is a bit relevant with what happened.

So, I was supposed to clock out at 4 pm. As soon as my shift ended, I punched my card (yes, we used to punch cards back then), and I was on my way to change clothes, so I can leave. As I was leaving the kitchen, a big group of customers (like 10 or 12) walk in the store, so one of the managers demanded me stay to help.

Note, she did not ask me if I can help; she demanded that I help even though I had already clocked out. Being 18 and nice, I agreed to stay to help.

Around 20 minutes later, and I was still in the kitchen with several orders still to do, so I was complaining to the second manager who is also working the kitchen at the time that I really needed to go.

For some reason, the other manager (the one that demanded that I stayed to help) overheard my complaint and starts yelling at me that I am useless and that I should be grateful that I have a job and that I shouldn’t say these things as she knows I am searching for another job, and she could fire me on the spot.

Mind you, she was not working the kitchen; she just entered the kitchen to grab some stuff. So I told her that I had already finished my shift, and I was not getting paid for the extra time I was there and that I was already late for the plans I had. So she yelled at me that if I want to leave now, I might as well quit.

Cue malicious compliance. I followed her instruction to the letter.

I told her:

“Yes, I want to leave now, so I quit!”

I took off my shirt and pants (as they were company-issued) and went to pick up my stuff wearing only my underwear. Even after picking up my clothes, I didn’t bother to get dressed just walked out of the front door in my underwear. My shoes were also mine, so I was not barefoot. I walked to my car where I put on the rest of my clothes.

This happened in full view of the customers as the kitchen is in direct view of the whole store. She was dumbfounded, and some customers even clapped and cheered because they heard how nasty she was being with me.

Later I found out that she was reprimanded by the owner (probably because everything happened in view of customers), and I even got a small bonus on my last paycheck. Within the next couple of weeks, I found a bartending job that I kept for a few years.

So in the end, everything was for the best.” Samae3l

Who knew that simply following an order could speak such volumes? Sometimes doing what you’re told is the best thing you can do to communicate the need for change.