People Share Their Most Appetizing Malicious Compliance Revenge Story

Usually when we think of revenge, we think of doing something that our victim doesn’t want. For example, one might pour hot sauce in their enemy’s soup knowing how much they despise spicy food or perhaps hide their sibling’s game controller after an argument as a way to inconvenience them. I think most of us are guilty of taking revenge on someone in some shape or form.

But when it comes to malicious compliance, it’s a completely different type of revenge. It’s still revenge in the sense that the outcome isn’t what the victim enjoys or expects. However, instead of doing something the victim doesn’t want, you do exactly what they tell you to.

You only want a male employee to help you, even though I’m the most competent employee here? You want me to seriously slow down my work pace to make sure I never make a mistake? Tell me to let you do things your way, despite that it’s going to cost thousands of dollars if you do? Sure, but you won’t like what will happen if I comply with what you say (and the crappy outcome will be all your fault)!

21. Want Me To Contemplate If I Still Want To Work Here? Okay, The Answer Is No

“Nearly two years ago, I started work at Company as their digital marketing person.

After I started, it turned out that I was brought in to put out the fires left by my predecessor, the VP Marketing, who had a team of 4 plus himself, spent over $1 million in one year, and brought in 5 deals — 2 of them for under $10K.

As you can well imagine, after a performance like that, I had lots of work to do, and very little to do it with. Aside from 1 or 2 paid tools, everything else was to be done using free tools only. I’m gonna do some bragging here: I beat the previous year’s figures in all categories with 10% of the budget.

When I started, I thought Bossman (Founder/CEO) had a really good management style, saying things like: “Your successes are yours; your mistakes are mine,” and “The enemy of good is great.

I don’t expect perfection; I want you to make sure things work and get them done.” In essence, I was allowed to run my own (one-man) department and outsourced freelancers, and as long as I was getting results, he left me alone. Since I was the only person on the marketing team, I also had to learn a large number of skills and platforms that weren’t directly related to digital marketing.

Not to say everything was perfect, but things were pretty good. One of the main things that weren’t perfect was that Bossman had serious anger management issues. As I said before, he left me alone, but I saw him blow up at and fire other people for stupid ***.* He lost it at me too once or twice, but he’d calm down after a couple of hours, and things would be back to normal.

If it looks like an abusive relationship, that’s because looking back, that’s exactly what it was.

As the year came to an end, I approached Boss and initiated a performance review. I ran him through everything I had done in the past year, and he was pretty surprised at how much I had done with so little. I asked him for a raise, pointing out that I was currently making 8,000/month in local currency (average is 4,500/month) when people with my (now augmented) skillset were making between 13-14,000/month. I asked him for 12,000. He said he’d get back to me, and never did. Every time I asked him about my raise, he had another excuse. After the last excuse, I began looking for something else.

The other day, we had a meeting, and it turns out that two months ago, I made a mistake. It wasn’t a critical mistake, and it was rectified within a few hours of discovering the mistake. No harm or damage was caused whatsoever to Company, but Bossman flipping LOST IT. I mean slamming on tables, yelling for the whole office to hear, what have you. Then he said the magic words: “Pack your things up and go home. Think about whether you want to keep working here.” So, that’s what I did, and 10 seconds later I said, “No, I don’t.”

I started packing my **** up while he turned an even deeper shade of red and got even louder. I didn’t answer him at all, just kept on packing up my things and saying goodbye to my colleagues.

It turns out that being ignored really pushed his buttons to the point where he started threatening to call security to have me removed while I was actively removing my self and my things from the office.

Here’s the part where it gets beautiful: My country is very strict on employee’s rights. (Sorry, Americans, I feel your pain.) His words and behavior are considered an improper dismissal. By law, he’s required to give me 30 days notice of dismissal, which he didn’t. When he realized his mistake, he convened a pre-dismissal hearing, but it was already too late; he opened himself up to a lawsuit, which I’m already talking with lawyers about.

By law, he has to give me those 30 days’ notice even though he already fired me, and for the next 30 days, I’m eligible for ALL the benefits and social rights in my salary, but I can do jack **** for him, and there’s nothing he can do to me without making the incoming lawsuit 10 times worse.

I’ve already got 4 interviews lined up for next week, paying almost double what Boss was paying me, and best of all, I’ll be interviewing for other places on his dime. The cherry on top is that because I’m the only marketing person, and without me, nothing happens in the marketing department for the next month, and if he doesn’t hire someone on in time, I won’t be around to answer any questions the new person might have.” beerbellybegone

20. Boss Wouldn’t Listen To Me, So I Let Him Make A $100,000 Mistake

“So, I work at an outdoor bar and grill. I work as a busboy but have some responsibilities outside of that. One of the responsibilities is stocking the walk-in freezer when beer shipments come in.

The restaurant that I work at is VERY popular in my town, which means it takes a very long time to stock the mammoth shipments. It takes most of a day as there are usually 100-200 cases of beer.

So, I got to work on a shipment day, and there’s more than I thought. I’m taking a lot longer than I usually would. I look up at the sky, and the clouds are looking pretty rough. I look at my phone, and low and behold, it’s gonna thunderstorm. So, I take the hand truck and start moving the beer under a canopy.

My boss sees this and doesn’t like that I’m taking another 30 minutes to move the beer for a second time.

(She was a police officer for 20 years, and as she puts it, “I aLwAYs kNOw BeST.”)

So, she just starts chucking the beer in the freezer way too high with no regard for how it’s stacked. I know she is gonna mess up royally and try and explain that that’s not how you do it.

This is how the following conversation ensued:

Me: “That’s not how you do it. You’re stacking them the wrong way, and the towers are way too high.”

Boss: “I’ve been in this game for 3 years. I know what I’m doing.”

Me: “You put me here to do this job and to do it right, and I was trained properly. That’s the wrong way to do it.”

Boss: “Either help me, or the door’s that way.

-points at door-”

Cue malicious compliance

So, I go home for the day because I know it’s gonna go wrong, and I don’t wanna be responsible.

Not 30 minutes later, I get a call from a coworker FURIOUSLY screaming at me, saying need to get back and fix “my” mistake.

So, I ride my bike back and walk right to the freezer and see a mess. The entire right wall fell down ruining around $4,000 worth of beer, $2,000 worth of food, and the entire wall is soaked.

They had to close down the restaurant for 2 weeks to fix the freezer from the damage. (The beer got under the floor and started mucking up the walls and floor.)

Moral of the story: listen to your employees.

UPDATE: my boss tried to lie to upper management to get me fired saying that I was the one that told her how to stack the beer. THANK GOD my coworker Jack saw what happened and vouched for me.

That hoe fired.” kramer361

19. Sure, You Can Speak To Our English-Speaking Manager

“Some years ago, I moved to London from a non-English speaking country. During my first year, I worked on the cinema of a huge shopping center, probably the worst job I’ve ever had: low pay, bad conditions, long and late hours, physically demanding, and terrible customers in general, but my colleagues were great, and being new to the country, it’s not that there was a wide variety of jobs for me to choose from, so I stayed there for a while.

One of the days I was working on the tills, I got to tend this “difficult” lady. (I’ll call her Karen; she definitely matched the profile, including the haircut.)

In the foyer area of the cinema, there were trailers and loud music playing constantly in the background to the point that during peak hours, we often had to lean over the registers to hear our customers properly over all the noise. This day, our Karen arrives at the register talking on the phone and starts ordering without even looking at me or hanging up. I try to follow her the best I can, but she keeps ignoring my questions and looking around while talking to the phone, so I can barely hear her.

Plus, I keep interrupting her conversation with all the necessary questions like you know, if you want a combo, you need to tell me the size, choice of drinks, any snacks or extras, and so on. Otherwise, I will have to ask you one by one!

The lady seemed p*ssed off by me trying to do my job. Maybe she wanted me to guess her choice of popcorn? God knows. The thing is that after my second or third question (and still being on the phone), she starts shouting at me: “God, they put immigrants like you on at the registers. What do they expect to happen? I want to speak to someone who speaks English. Bring me the manager!”

Now I am not going to say that my English is flawless, and I definitely have a foreign accent, but having spent most of my life studying English, I have achieved an advanced and fluent level for years, and I definitely never had a problem with any customer before that day.

Anyway, judging by the looks of the rest of the customers, I understood that Karen’s behavior was speaking by itself, and I let her rant instead of answering her. Big smile: “Karen, I speak English perfectly, but I will bring you the manager anyway. I’ll be back in a moment.”

I leave the register as it is (she didn’t let me finish asking her about her order, so the register was including by default some expensive extras in the combo), and I leave her waiting. I ignore the fact that the closest manager is around the corner and take a loooong walk to the office.

I have to mention here that she was late for her movie from the beginning because some people know that there are around 20-30 minutes of ads before the movie begins, and they arrive at the venue right on time, not considering the fact that at peak hours, there are ALWAYS queues.

So, I took my time.

I walk to the office, have a little break from the noisy foyer, say hi to a couple of colleagues on my way… And, finally, find my manager, who happens to be from the same country as I am.

By the time we are back, Karen is FUMING (already around 5-10 minutes late to the movie). My manager serves her politely, and while she is still paying, he starts talking to me in our language, something that he NEVER did in front of any customer before or after Karen.

She ended up being served by two immigrants, spending around $50 on some overpriced combo, and arriving 15 minutes late to her movie.” moderate_enthusiast

18. Want To Be Helped By A Male Employee? I’ll Get You The Most Annoying Guy I Know

“I used to work at a retail tropical fish store, and weird as it is, we were very well known.

We used to provide the aquarium with rare fish, and people used to drive from 2-3 states over if they were true “fish people” to come buy from us.

I (at the time, 17F) was an expert in tropical fish and koi. In fact, it was my job that summer to be the koi and outdoor pond point person, and my job was not only stocking the ponds, but managing all the plants, caring for them, and knowing every bit of information and all the prices of the various koi and goldfish we had. Unlike other employees who would just stare at their shoes, I knew diets, temperature ranges, places of origin, special breeds, I knew it all. They even would call me with questions on my days off.

That clearly did not matter to one customer, though. He came inside the store and asked for some help with koi outside. I happily agreed as I was the only person not on my lunch break.

Now this guy frankly seemed put off by me offering to help. So, instead of buying anything, he decided to quiz me for 20 minutes about the koi, goldfish, and pond plants to try to get me to admit I didn’t know something. I answered every single one of his stupid questions (some really were stupid), and at the end of the 20 minutes, he had the nerve to say, “Can I talk to someone who KNOWS THINGS? Like a MAN?” There was a full emphasis in tone on those words too.

“Sure you can,” I say with a fake smile. “Let me get ‘John’ for ya.”

Here’s the malicious compliance. “John” was 75, retired, annoying as ****, and batsh*t crazy. My boss didn’t even want him to be hired, but he owed John a favor. Now John is an expert in goldfish, but he hates koi and outside ponds. John, also like I said, is really annoying and crazy, but he had a soft spot for me, so we would always chat.

I went inside to find John and explained to him that this customer wanted a man to talk to. John asked me why he wanted to speak to a man when I was the pond point person, and I told him that he clearly just didn’t like that he was speaking to a girl.

John nods knowingly, gets this EVIL grin on his face, and goes to help the customer.

5 minutes later, I hear a man yelling in the parking lot. I run outside and find the customer screaming at John and cursing him out.

“What is WRONG with you? Does nobody ******* know anything around here? I WILL NEVER COME BACK! You’re all horrible and know nothing about fish, and you’re a terrible employee” (or something to that effect).

I watch the guy hop into his car, slam the door, and drive off.

I ask John what happened. He said, “Oh, yeah, no, every time he asked me a question I said, ‘Hm, not sure… Good question, though. I could go get OP and ask. She’s really our pond expert,’ and apparently he DID NOT like that.”

Customer, if you read and remember this, **** you.” slmpickings

Another User Comments:

“When I was 21, I had a summer job driving a bus around Banff for a group of hotels.

It was free for the guests staying at any of our 5 hotels in Banff.

I had my class 4 license, which is required to drive those 24 passenger shuttle busses. I looked like a young, fun-loving guy because I was.

I pulled up to a group of people that were flagging me down. This happens when guests see me, but they aren’t at a stop. No worries, I pull over.

I open the door and Karen looks right at me with that open mouth gasp that is so signature of Karens.

“Well! You are most certainly not old enough to be driving this bus.”

We kinda just stared at each other through the open door. I didn’t know what to say. Someone else pushed past her and said, “Looks fine to me” and sat down.

She stood there in the doorway and pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the hotel to be sure that you should be driving.” All the other guests on the bus sigh.

She wasn’t finished finding the phone number when someone on the sidewalk outside said, “Wow look! An eagle!” She stepped off the bus for a second to get a look, I closed the door and left her there. The next bus is in an hour. Don’t know if there was even an eagle.” grantbwilson

17. Fine, We Won’t Park On Your Driveway While Making A Delivery

Make things inconvenient for them, and they’ll make things inconvenient for you.

“To explain, I work for a national wine retailer mainly as a delivery driver. We offer free delivery straight to your door when you order from our store.

In the before times, this meant maybe 10 deliveries every few days to our local catchment as most people purchase in-store; however, because we have been shut to customers for the last few months, it means between 30-40 deliveries per day, 6 days a week.

Onto the customer; let’s call her Susan. Susan orders regularly (a bit too regularly) and has made it abundantly clear to both our drivers, our store manager, our customer service team, and HQ that we are unequivocally not allowed to maneuver onto her driveway during deliveries. Her house is at the end of a cul-de-sac with a driveway technically shared between 5 houses as a sort of branching design, so it’s quite a way from the main road.

I had the pleasure of delivering during a particularly stormy day. The wind was driving the rain sideways, instant flash flooding across the county. I was p*ss wet through after the first stop, and this was now only number 24 of 39. I was already not a happy bunny when reading the next address. My heart sank as I realized I would be carrying large crates of beer and boxes of wine by hand roughly 100 feet to Susan’s front door (about 7 relays in total).

Rolling up to said address, my head went “**** it,” and I reversed the van all the way to Susan’s house. I braced myself against the seat to open my door into what I can only imagine being a lonely sock feels like inside a washing machine.

My glasses were instantly blown from my face, and as I scrambled to find them in the rising inches of water, I hear a scream from above. Terrified that some poor person had been gusted into the upper atmosphere, I whip around to see Susan, protected by an umbrella, leaning out of her bedroom window shrieking at me to get my van off her property. I shout back that I have a delivery for her. My words snatched away by the wind, and I point to the logo on the van, but to no avail, Susan continues her harpy like a crescendo.

Fine, I think to myself, if I can’t park on your driveway, you can come and pick up your booze from the road.

I give Susan a sarcastic salute, jump in the van and park back on the main road. Content, Susan meanders her substantial mass down to her front door and opens the porch in anticipation.

While staring dead at her, I open the back doors of the van and begin neatly stacking her boxes on the road in the biggest puddle I could reach.

Susan EXPLODES at me. Though, through the gale-force wind, I can’t hear the particular words of abuse she’s screeching. I give a cheery wave, hop back in the van, and wheel spin-off, heart pounding like my bungee cord had just snapped mid-jump.

The rest of the day is going wetly, and I get a phone call from my manager. Susan has called in to file a complaint against me, ordered that I be fired, and called me a bunch of highly offensive and derogatory names, as well as insulting the wider company and questioning the effectiveness of female delivery drivers, to my female manager.

She was SO offensive that my manager couldn’t get out of her what the actual problem was and ended the rage dial by calmly explaining to Susan that she is no longer a customer with us and to never contact us again.

Just to clear up a few things, Susan’s house had a free parking space opposite her front door, so I would not have blocked anyone else in. I left the delivery on the pavement, not in front of potential traffic. This was in the UK so no HOA. The engine would have been off during the delivery. It’s also a small van, the size of a normal car. Susan has never given a reason for not allowing us on her driveway, and no one else ever has.” Spamjunkthrowaway

16. Won’t Let Me Save The Company Money? Your Problem, Not Mine

“Several years ago, I worked for a government contractor and traveled extensively.

Usually, it was for meetings in godforsaken places, but sometimes it was somewhere cool or to spend time on a ship (sometimes both). For one such ship ride, I was to board an aircraft carrier in Japan, sail to Guam, and get a flight from the ship to the island before flying home.

If you’ve never been a non-essential passenger on an aircraft carrier, you don’t get a departure time when you’re planning your trip. You get a departure window of several days, and you only get to know for sure the day before your flight. So, I knew a range of dates that I might arrive on Guam. The plan was to book a hotel for all four nights, and until we knew we were flying the next day, to just push the reservation back before the deadline.

Once we had the date, we would move our flights home to the next day to only spend one night in a hotel.

My boss made his reservation at a Day’s Inn while we discussed this plan in his office. He said it was the only hotel on our travel site that was within the per diem limit, so I should book soon. By the time I was at my desk, the last room was gone, and the only hotel available through our corporate travel site was a junior presidential suite at a pricey beach resort that ran somewhere around a luxurious $1,400 per night.

I looked around budget travel sites and direct booking with a few hotels, but there was a major fleet exercise happening around the island and hotels were packed.

There were even rumors that they would set up tents on unused airstrips to house all the marines coming in. I told our travel department all of this and proposed that I book an AirBnB with the caveat that I would have to pay for all four nights, even if I only stayed for one, but that it would still be a thousand dollars cheaper than one night at the only hotel available.

My proposal was raised to the head of the travel department who wrote back rather aggressively that if I booked an AirBnB, I would only be reimbursed for the night I actually stayed there and that I would not be reimbursed at all if I booked the expensive hotel.

My instructions were to call our travel office when I landed, and they would find whatever was available and that a room within the per diem rate would surely become available.

Fast forward to landing in Guam. The first call I made was to change to the next possible flight home, but I had missed the last one of the day, so I called the travel office. Of course with my luck, the person who answered was new (and by new, I mean she had started while I was on the ship). She looks it up and says there are no rooms available. I told her I was pretty sure there was one room available, and she replied, “Well, yes, but it’s way over the per diem rate.” I explained everything and told her to ask the head of her department and that he knew the situation.

After a long hold, she came back and said that I had a couple of options. I could search around by myself for an AirBnB that was within per diem, see if my boss would let me stay in his room on a cot, or she could book the suite, and I would be reimbursed in full, so…

On my expense report, I made a special note that I had no transportation expenses to get to the airport in Guam because my hotel room came with a private car.

The only fallout was that they got very picky about my expense reports for a while. I was pretty by the book business traveler, so it usually wasn’t an issue, but one time, a hotel I booked was one cent per night over the per diem limit, so they rejected my entire expense report.

I filled out a new one (it was a terrible online system, so I couldn’t just edit the old one), explaining that I would pay the excess out of pocket (in line with policy). I also forwarded the rejection email to my boss, CCing the head of travel and asking which budget code I should charge for the half-hour it took to rectify this $0.04 mistake. (You don’t need to know my hourly rate to know that it cost the company substantially more than 4 cents.) He gave me his managerial budget, and funny enough, they stopped questioning my expenses after that.” TobogganJoe

Another User Comments:

“I work for the state government. I was traveling for a conference that was at a ritzy resort in-state but over the “stay at home” distance (about 3 hours drive without traffic, and there’s always traffic).

The conference resort was $400 per night over my travel budget. But I found that a state campsite was 10 minutes drive away, and I love camping.

The first time I put the request through, it was denied, and I was told to stay in the conference resort.

When I put the resort request in, I was told to drive from home.

When I put the request in for the costs for driving the 200ish miles both ways 4 days, I was rejected and told to find a cheaper hotel in the area.

By this time, everything was booked. (It was an expensive area during peak season.) So, I suggested that “hey, there’s a state campsite 10 minutes away, and it costs $20 per night.”

They decided to bend the rules and let me stay (after signing the standard form for when people do those types of overnights).

And yes, the time it cost them to have me fill out the paperwork 4 times, have secretary deal with it 4 times, and have multiple.” Olthar6

15. Nothing Moves Without Your Permission? Running The Store Is Going To Be Problematic

“4 years ago, I worked in a store for a large, well known, and well-hated telecom in Canada. I started out as a sales rep, then was quickly promoted to assistant manager because I’m a fast learner. I constantly crushed sales targets and always offered to train staff for new store openings. Joe, the regional manager, seemed to like me and was nice, which I thought was because I’m the only woman in a store with all men. But tenured sales reps warned me that he was always nice to sales reps and rude to managers.

One day, our store manager (SM) Rick gets fired for skipping work to watch a hockey game. He was actually seen on TV in the front row stands cheering after calling in “too sick to move,” and a few coworkers went out with him afterward where he drunkenly bragged about calling in sick to see said hockey game. Joe didn’t hire a new SM because of the cost, so he asked me to run the store but without the title or pay. No problem; I love my job and the staff. I even come in on my days off to make sure the staff are okay and check on supplies. I’m also the first black ASM in the region in ages, so I felt like I had something to prove.

A few months go by, and a customer comes in wanting to open up a small business account with 6 lines. I verify the company is real, credit check, HST number, etc. and process the sale for her: 4 black iPhone 7s, a rose gold iPhone 7 Plus, and a Blackberry. It’s a massive commission for me and an even bigger commission for Joe.

Joe comes to the store the next day wanting to talk about the sale. I thought I messed up along the way, or it got flagged for fraud. Nope. He was p*ssed that I sold the stores last rose gold iPhone 7 Plus instead of holding onto it because he wanted to take it out of inventory to give it to his daughter.

For free. Which is against company policy. And the rose gold iPhone 7 Plus was on backorder. I tell him that it’s better for us to sell the phone, and I didn’t know he wanted to take it out of inventory to give away and it’s against company policy anyway.

What happens next is this grown a**, 6’5″ man throws a tantrum. I’m talking fists balled up at the sides, shrieking, “YOU DON’T RUN ANYTHING HERE. THIS IS MY STORE. YOU’RE NOT THE STORE MANAGER. MY NAME IS ON FILE AS STORE MANAGER AND REGIONAL MANAGER. NOTHING HAPPENS IN THIS STORE WITHOUT MY SAY SO. NOBODY BREATHES UNLESS I SAY SO.”

I calmly straighten out my uniform and nod, thinking, you run ***,* and I just work here.

Got it. Alright, Denzel, you gon’ learn today.

Cue malicious compliance. He leaves, and the other staff ask what the **** that yelling was about. I say, “Well, boys, I don’t run ***.* I just work here. If you need anything, and I literally mean anything at any time, call Joe.” I stopped ordering, scheduling, etc. and did nothing for the next 2 days before my previously scheduled upcoming 4 days off.

Day 1 of my day off, and one of the staff call me in a panic “Thicclikegrits, I noticed there’s only 1 roll of toilet paper left… Can you stop by and order more?” I said, “Nope, sorry. Call Joe if you need anything, and don’t call me on my days off anymore.” Click.

My staff support me and ring Joe’s phone nonstop for those 4 days with the most mundane ***.

“Hey* Joe, we’re out of toilet paper. Can you get us some?”

“Hi Joe, ummm, the windows are dirty. What should I do?”

“Yo, Joe, what’s the schedule for next week? Thicclikegrits didn’t make one.”

“Yeah, Joe? We’re trying to process a bring your own device (COAM) monthly plan, but I don’t remember what the dummy IMEI is, and I can’t continue in the system without it. What is it?”

“Hey Joe, we’re out of SIM cards, so we can’t process any more sales involving phones at all.”

“Hey Joe, we’re on our last few sheets of printing paper, so we can’t print contracts.”

“Hey Joe, I came in early to set up the new marketing, but I noticed there’s a lightbulb out in one of the fixtures.

What do I do?”

“Joe? Andy left roast chicken bones and cake in the break area out overnight, and now the store is overrun by ants. Please send help.”

Joe calls and texts me non stop, but I’m off for the next 4 days, so I ignore everything, sit at home, bake some cookies, spend time with my boyfriend (now husband), hit another mall and go shopping, get my nails done, get my hair done, and relish in the thought of Joe’s stupid face stressed the **** out at an ant infestation and his stupid eyes bulging out of his head every time my staff call asking for toilet paper.

I come in for my next shift, relaxed, fresh silk pressed hair, and killer nails, and Joe is already waiting for me in the back.

“Thicclikegrits, why is the staff calling and asking me ridiculous questions the last few days? Why are we running out of critical supplies that halt sales?” Me: “Well, Joe, you told me that nothing moves without your say so and that I don’t run anything in the store, you do. So, I told them if they need anything, to call you, the person who runs the store.”

Cue the confused Pikachu look on his face. “Uhh…not like that, I mean like…just please…please run the store as you see fit. There are ants everywhere, and the floors are sticky. And I brought you guys some SIM cards.” He scurries out of the store.

I graduated from university that year and applied for a role at head office.

Joe got upset and said he didn’t want to lose me at the store and dangled the thought of making me store manager if I stayed. Oh well, at that point, I just wanted out. I aced the interviews and got hired. I’ve been here ever since, and I never have to interact with Joe. **** you and the ants, Joe.” thicclikegrits

14. You Want To Speak To The Manager? Here She Is

See ya, Karen.

“So, many years ago, I worked at CVS Pharmacy, and after a few months, they had me working the 1-hour photo lab in addition to my regular cashier duties.

In the photo lab, there were two main photo development services offered – 1-hour development on-site and 1-week development via mail into a professional Kodak photo lab in the area.

The on-site 1-hour photos were sorted into red CVS labeled envelopes, and the off-site Kodak developments were put in yellow Kodak-branded envelopes. The envelopes of developed photos were sorted in bins with letters for the owner’s last name. This will be important later.

One evening, a lady comes in, digs around in her purse, and hands me a beat-up red claim ticket for a 1-hour photo envelope. I look in the bin for her last name and can’t find her photo envelope, so I check every single one of the red envelopes on site, and none of them are hers.

I explain to her I can’t find it and ask her to confirm it was this CVS and not another one she dropped it off at.

She confirms it was this CVS and starts getting a bit antsy as I can’t find her photos right away, but I haven’t given up just yet. We keep a logbook of all the photos we developed onsite, so I start digging through the logbook and have to flip back to many months earlier to find her entry.

It turns out that was an old ticket, and she actually was looking for another set of photos that she happened to drop off for off-site processing by the Kodak lab. I immediately look in the bin for her last name and find the photos in the yellow envelope and start ringing her up for them.

She’s getting an attitude with me while checking out and complaining about me taking a while to find them.

I apologize and explain she gave me the wrong ticket, and I was looking through the wrong color envelopes based on that.

She kept complaining even after she was rung up, and I just ignored her and continued to do my job to finish the last photos and shut down the machine. While I was sitting here trying to refill the chemicals in the machine, I had enough and told her, “You come in here with an attitude and expect me to kiss your a** – I’m not going to do it.”

This set her off, and she immediately asked to speak with the manager. Cue malicious compliance.

I smile and grab the phone to page the manager on duty, a 90+ year old Chinese man who barely speaks English and wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.

She immediately asks him what my name is because I wasn’t wearing a name tag, and I wouldn’t tell her when she asked me. He replies back, “I don’t know.”

And he was totally telling the truth. Bless him, but Chen didn’t even know my name despite me working with him for months at this point.

She eventually got frustrated with him enough and just left the store. Chen left to go into the manager’s office and didn’t even bother scolding me about anything.” brp

13. Won’t Let Me Stay Past My Clock Out Time? I’ll Leave During A Rush

“This is a story from about 6 years ago back when I worked as a waitress.

The summer between grades 11 and 12, I worked at a small family-owned restaurant about a 20-minute drive from my house.

I lived fairly middle of nowhere, so this restaurant and 2 others served basically the whole county. So, even during the dead time of winter, we were often busy. But, we’re also directly on a path from a big city to a large lake, so we’re especially busy in summer.

The people that ran the restaurant were a married couple. The wife, Sandra, was generally lovely, but the husband, Marvin, had a very short temper. I think I can count the number of times he talked to me without yelling on one hand.

I picked up on the job easily enough. I’m very extroverted and friendly, so a lot of the customers loved me. Sandra decided to train me to do the opening shift at the restaurant.

She would stay in the back and help me with prep and other things as I got used to the setting. Marvin was against this from the onset, saying I wasn’t there long enough to be taking on this commitment.

This malicious compliance took place about midway through June. After two weeks with Sandra helping me out, she stops coming by, so I was there with a singular cook until lunch when I got relieved by another staff member.

It just so happens that the next few weeks were going to be gorgeous weather, so my first week without Sandra, we get slammed. The waitress that relieves me, Bonnie, is my senior. So, as Sandra and Marvin have told me, Bonnie can ask me to stay to help out, and it’s like them asking me to stay.

Bonnie asks me to stay and help out every day that week.

Marvin sees my time clocked in and out and freaks out, saying he knew I wasn’t trained enough and that I was using that excuse to get more hours (even though I was getting 25+ every week and had a second job). I knew better to say anything back, and then he told me I wasn’t allowed to stay past my time anymore. I confirm with him that, no matter what, I shouldn’t stay past my time. He yells that, unless he or Sandra specifically tell me to stay, I can’t stay past my time. I smile and tell him no problem.

So, I’m opening all of next week, and like the week before we’re slammed.

It looks like there’s going to be no reprieve as my time to clock out comes. I tell Bonnie I’m leaving, and, like usual, she asks me to stay. I shrug and said Marvin told me explicitly I couldn’t take her word for asking me to stay. Bonnie is p*ssed. She agrees that I can leave, and she phones Sandra and Marvin. Sandra phones me and asks me if I can come back, but I’m already at home at this point, and I refuse. So, she and Marvin have to leave their house to go help out.

I come into work the next morning to open, and both Sandra and Marvin are there. Marvin starts yelling at me about how I just left when it was so busy.

And I calmly remind him I was told to leave unless he or Sandra specifically requested it. He’s grumpy and says I should know what he meant. So, I ask if I can take the relieving waitstaff’s word for asking me to stay. He disagrees, and instead, I have to phone him before I leave. Sandra starts arguing with him, saying that’s ridiculous and to just let us make the judgment call as we’re the ones out there and know what’s happening. But Marvin is sticking to his guns, and Sandra just rolls her eyes and walks away.

So, obviously, here comes malicious compliance part two. I phone him at the end of every one of my shifts, even when I have to close, or it’s dead.

I always said I just wanted to be sure this time since he was so upset last time.

This lasts for a little over a week before he finally gives up and says it’s fine if I or another waitstaff make a judgment call to stay past the time if it’s busy.” NellySpitzig

12. Get Lost Until I Fix My “Attitude?” See Ya

“Math…has never been my strong suit. But being the eldest and so given the “must-have all As unless there’s a good reason,” I really tried. Lots of studying practice problems (my dad’s solution to my struggles were constant worksheets every day). I was to sit down at the table until my math was done and completely correct with my dad’s method of tutoring being:

*Exclaim, “Oh, this is easy”

*Give me the answer (hated this; I wanted to know how to do it, not just get the end result)

*Explain his method in what I swear was short-hand plus complicated as it could get

*If I didn’t understand, he’d repeat previous steps but do so louder.

I explain this to show how easily stressed I’d get about math, not to rag on my dad. He’s human like the rest of us, and teaching/communicating was never his strong suit. He did hardwire into me for every problem I had to painstakingly show my work all the way through and then explain how I got there by proofing/writing my thought process behind it. My math homework was always at least 4-5 pages front and back, but at least there was no way for teachers to say I didn’t show my work, right?

Then I meet my 7th-grade teacher. (Let’s call her Mrs. Shrill.) I had her for math and science in a block/back to back periods, which 95% of that time was used for math/study time, and we hardly learned any science, but that’s another point.

We…didn’t get along. She hated my constant questions after she’d explain something, usually saying I should pay better attention when she teaches. I understood her methods less than I did my dad’s, so I would almost always want help during study time. After a while, she explained that I was taking time away from other students who needed help and to hold my questions until after class. Okay…so I’d try just that only to be waved away as she’d say she has to prep for her next class.

Could I have told this to my parents or to another teacher? Yes, but I saw this as whining and so just kept trying to figure things out. My math grade slipped (she always gave everyone an A in science, probably to cover that we rarely did anything for that subject; I wasn’t about to rock that boat), given more tutoring time at home, and told to pay better attention in class.

Fun times. This went on for 3-4 months with me desperately trying to hold onto a C.

Then, life said let’s take a break on the lemons. My parents wanted to take a road trip to see some family friends almost all the way across the US. It would take a month and a half. I was friends with their kids, so yay, and I saw this as a break from that dreaded woman, so double yay. Now cue the storm clouds: my teachers assigned me homework packets to do while on vacation, which wasn’t surprising. The part that made my soul shrivel inside was how much Mrs. Shrill had given me, just under half the d*mn math book I was to complete before coming back.

Much of the road trip there consisted of my nose in my homework trying to get it all done before we got there, so I could relax and have fun – or having to take care of my toddler sibling who, of course, hated being fed while in the car but can’t not feed the baby, so those were glorious moments of screams and trying to keep the mess to a minimum. (To all eldest kids, isn’t it fun being the substitute parent?)

I had no problems doing the other classwork, so of course, I went through that first. I always loved history English, and reading in almost any genre was a stress reliever, so those subjects have always been easy A’s for me.

I was thankful Mrs. Shrill hadn’t given any science homework, but even then, I struggled to get through even 3 chapters before we got to Michigan. Still not sure if it was good or bad that dad couldn’t help me at all what with a cranky toddler being louder than a jet, but at least I didn’t have him timing my progress by thumping his fist, so I’ll take that.

We then arrive at the family friend’s house; I’ll call them the Lemon family. Amazing people, they used to live nearby, but a job crisis made them move a couple of years prior. Of course, I want to spend time with the kids, relatively my age, and just relax have some fun.

I got a day before I was told to finish the homework, so it’d be all done for the ride home. Of course, dad tries to help, but as usual, this resulted in many frustrating hours wishing I was anywhere else but at the table.

This went on for a couple of days before Mrs. Lemon (to this day, I still say thank you) saved me by sending my dad off to hang out with her husband saying, “Enough is enough; she needs a break.” She made me tea, gave me a cool book to read for an hour, before she took it upon herself to try helping me. She homeschools her kids, and I quickly found out I had no problem understanding her.

It still took me time, but after maybe 3-4 days of homework sessions (every time she’d send dad off with her husband) with her, I finished everything.

Years later, I found out she wanted to step in and help earlier, but dad had been firm in that I was his kid and his responsibility to teach. She let it be until she had enough and convinced mom to help her get him out of the house. To this day, I’m still grateful. We only could stay for so long, but at least I had the last 3 days to just play and hang out before we started driving back home.

Aside from more screaming and a couple of side trips the return home was uneventful.

Dad looked over the homework to confirm I had done everything correctly, and thankfully that was that. I think he was perturbed still someone else had an easier time teaching me but didn’t say anything to me about it. I was mainly relieved I had somehow finished all that math and so my grade was sure to go up.

The first day back, I’m almost giddy to turn in 10 chapters worth of homework to Mrs. Shrill. She even (surprisingly) said that I had done well, and it was good to see I was finally taking the time to learn. That irked, but whatever, you horrid woman; I completed it. Then, as a further….reward for my “sudden learning curve,” I could help her help the other students during study time as they went through the chapters.

Apparently, they only made it through 3 chapters after I had left, so helping with the next 7 should be a good experience for me.

Fairly certain my face went “error…reloading” when she told me this. Until I was able to respond that I’d really rather not help out, to which she was so lovely to point out, “This would show I really learned something instead of probably cheating my way through the homework. Otherwise, I would’ve shown my work” Excuse me? I lost it and profusely maintained that all of what she held was my work alone and how much more work needs to be shown before that’s to be believed. Her face now curdling like spoiled milk told me to “Get lost until I found myself a better attitude.” Still fuming, I did just that.

For the next week, come periods 6-7, I’d head over to the library and read to my heart’s content until the bell rang signaling buses. Now, of course, my parents eventually were called and informed I was skipping and so they were peeved and demanded an explanation. As well as being very interested to know what happened to my math homework, as online, it showed it was missing, 0%.

Now very nervous, certain I had an F for the first time and wasn’t sure what punishment that’d warrant, I explained, yes, I did turn it in and how that unfolded. At this point, I’m getting basilisk stares when asked why I didn’t go to class after this, and I explained that she basically told me to.

Since I hadn’t found the attitude she was looking for, I didn’t have the urge to attend class.

After what seemed an eternity of silence, my dad busted up laughing then they both hugged me and told me, “With balls like that, you’ll do fine in life,” then admitted maybe he wasn’t the best person to help me with math. (Mom had been wearing him down that she should try instead after I did so well with Mrs. Lemon, showing it was more likely communication issues that were preventing me from learning quicker, but I didn’t find this out for a long while.)

While I might be a tad scarred from his math teaching methods, my dad is a loving father, and when the need calls, has no problem being our advocate at school even if it requires roaring.

He’s always been…a vibrantly emotional person. He told me I could keep going to the library until he said, otherwise, he’d take care of things. I was extremely happy to follow this.

Think I got two more library days before things were handled, and I had to attend Mrs. Shrill’s class again. Dad had verbally berated her in front of the principal, how I should be credited for all the work I did, and not require me to help teach in any way and that until the class had caught up to where she had assigned me in the book, I should only have to take tests and be left alone, to make up for pulling so much homework on me when it was a gross overestimate of where she thought the class would be when I returned.

She had tried to defend herself saying she gave so much with the hope of maybe I’d learn without taking up too much of her time. After all, parents or tutor are supposed to help with homework. She wanted someone else to teach me. The reason she didn’t credit me for my homework as I’ve always been slow and never really showed my work, and so she thought I had cheated.

Dad ALWAYS checked my math homework and made sure I showed my work up to his standards. This did not help her in the slightest, and to appease my dad, the principal said I could essentially be left alone in class till they had caught up to the last chapter I worked on.

As well as getting credit for my vacation homework, aside from whatever questions I’d gotten wrong. (Ha! Already knew everything was correct.)

Suddenly I loved her class for a decent while as it meant I could just read aside from taking tests. Once the class caught up, that ended, but with my mom helping me with studying math, it wasn’t so bad to learn.

It was the first time I had really stood up to a teacher like that, and it ended up changing life for the better. I still say math isn’t my favorite; give me music theory any day, but I ended up not being too bad at it.” SilvieraRose

Never heard anything about it.” grantbwilson

11. Sure, I’ll Be More Thorough, But Customers Are Going To Get Angry

Don’t managers know that employees are bound to make mistakes?

“So, the situation I’m about to describe is from a food service job that I no longer work at.

I absolutely loved it at the time and was pretty d*mn good at it (since I got promoted from regular crew to HR manager and 3rd in charge of the store within like a year). I ended up quitting due to some issues with the GM, but that’s neither here nor there.

At the time of this story, I was a manager in training and knew my way around the store very well. I had the respect of my coworkers and of customers and got along with pretty much everyone. My specialty at the time was working the drive-thru

I was working back at the first drive-thru window, which we called back booth, where the worker confirms the drive-thru order and collects payment.

We had recently been told by franchise management that we don’t ask customers if they want a receipt; we just hand it to them, and they have the ability to refuse it. Seems harmless enough, but in this case, it would have helped the situation. A side note: while most people took orders and cashed out drive-thru one at a time, I was able to do both simultaneously to cut down on time.

A customer comes through in a large diesel truck, which anyone who’s worker drive-thru will know, can cause issues with hearing the order. This guy had to shout over his truck what he wanted and then pulled ahead before I could confirm his order. When he got to the window, he pulled out his card and handed it to me before I could confirm again.

As I was taking another order, I quickly walked him through his order and total while I was swiping his card, then continued to take another order as I handed him his card and receipt. He grabbed the card, but not the receipt, and continued to the next window. As this was common, I simply threw away the receipt to prevent clutter.

Apparently, I entered one of his items wrong, and he called later to complain, and specifically said, “If she hadn’t been talking to someone else the whole time, maybe she would have been able to do her job!”

My manager, who knew how I worked and placed me in back booth for that reason, came back and let me explain the situation to him before judging.

He then said, “How about you try and do things one at a time? That way you won’t have any more complaints.”

A few things to note: 1- We all got complaints for stupid reasons because we can do things perfectly and still be wrong. Cause that’s what people do. 2- Our company takes drive-thru time very seriously. If we went over, say, 150 seconds for a person to start an order to when they left our drive-thru, we weren’t being fast enough. 3- My manager knew both of those things and placed me in back booth because, frankly, I was the best. I was able to multitask with little to no error, and therefore, extremely decreased our drive-thru times.

But you know what? I said fine.

I wasn’t going to argue during a busy weekend lunch period, so I just did as he said. I would take an order, then confirm, and complete the order at my window, one at a time, without any crossover. Our times tanked. We went from a happy 150-160 to over 400 with like 10 minutes. People began complaining left and right that their food was cold, they waited too long, why did they have to be parked for a 2 item order, etc. And once the times tank, it’s near impossible to get them back up for a good 4-5 hours, especially on the weekends.

My manager came back and looked at me. I maintained eye contact with him as I took a large order, then felt him watch me as I carefully went over an even larger order at my window to confirm and pay.

I then looked over at him and said, “You said to do them one at a time” with a big smile.

Him, being a guy with a great sense of humor, just laughed and told me to shut the **** up and do my job.

The times went down pretty quickly after that.

No regrets.” WhisperingPotatoe

10. Want Me To Adhere To the Contract? Give Me A Hotel Until The Property’s Issues Are Resolved

“A few years ago, I moved back to the city in which I was a university student. As I was now “a young professional” and had experienced significant issues with housemates in the past (non-payment of bills, having to do all the cleaning). I decided that I would enjoy the luxury of living on my own and rent a small flat from a reputable agency, which specifically catered to “young professionals” such as myself.

I went and viewed the property, which was quite messy, and needed to have a few things addressed (i.e., the vinyl flooring in the kitchen was ripped, one of the drawers in the freezer was broken). But seeing as tenants were still living in the property, and the agency assured me that between tenants the landlord would clean the property and resolve any small issues prior to moving in, I happily signed a contract and wrote a check for the deposit and first month of rent.

Two months later, I moved into the property and was welcomed with the following issues.

General: The entire property had not been cleaned. Fire door wouldn’t close (breach of fire regulations). The previous tenants had left much of their belongings behind, namely clothes and bedding.

General waste was present in all rooms (bins had not been emptied). Batteries had been removed from all of the fire/smoke alarms (by law, they were meant to be hard-wired in rented property). Half of the lightbulbs had been removed from the property

Hallway: Mains supply & circuit breaker ripped from the wall (incredibly dangerous). Carpet soiled.

Bedroom: Slats on bed broken (so would not have been able to sleep on it). Mattress torn and ripped. Vinyl floor ripped up. Window jammed closed.

Bathroom: Fecal matter on a light switch. Mirror broken. Toilet had not been cleaned (still had fecal stains in the bowl). Shower door broken off hinges. Vinyl floor torn up.

Kitchen/Living Room: Washing machine broken.  All drawers in the fridge freezer absent or broken beyond repair.

Gas cooker, missing burner caps and pan rail (therefore unusable). Two cupboard doors hanging off. Vinyl floor ripped up. Curtain poles ripped down.

It was very clear that two things had occurred here. The first being that the previous tenants had done a bit of a number on the property, that they had not respected the property and had left quite a lot of damage in their wake. They did not even have the decency to empty the place of their contents, and at the bare minimum, take the rubbish out before leaving. The second issue, however, is that the landlord had evidently not made any significant attempt to bring the property back into a habitable state prior to me moving in.

Being the reasonable guy that I was, I called the landlord and asked if he could resolve these issues immediately.

Primarily as the property was genuinely in a dangerous, and non-inhabitable state. I did not want to be a **** about it, however, at the bare minimum, the flat should be safe to inhabit.

The landlord dismissed all of my complaints and stated that his wife (he was on a business trip) had inspected and cleaned the property a few days before, and all was fine (a blatant lie). I told him that I was extremely unhappy with the situation, and he told me to ‘adhere to the contract which I had signed.’ He subsequently put the phone down. Any sympathy I had for the landlord evaporated at this moment. He was happy for me to live in a dangerous property.

So, I went through my contract line by line and found two key pieces of information:

If a property is deemed to be in breach of fire regulations and/or is deemed uninhabitable by a suitable representative, it is the responsibility of the landlord to resolve such issues immediately.

If the landlord cannot resolve such issues immediately, it is the responsibility of the landlord to provide alternative accommodation to the tenant until the property is returned to a habitable state.

Fortunately, a close member of my family at the time was a Fellow of the Royal Institute of Chartered Surveyors. Within the hour, I had a formal letter stating that the property was uninhabitable and dangerous. I had this emailed to the landlord (address helpfully listed on the contract). Within 10 minutes, I had a call from him arranging emergency accommodation at a local hotel until he returned from his business trip, 3 days later.

On his return, he drove directly to the property from the airport and returned the check for my deposit and first month’s rent to me and asked me to move out, which I gladly did.

Unbeknownst to him, a copy of the letter had been sent by my family member to the Housing Ombudsman and the local authority. The last thing I heard is that this bloke ended up being investigated, heavily fined, and had to sell the house.” low_myope

9. We’ll Serve You Exactly What You Ordered

“My brother Jason, who started his first job, and not three days into it, met his first Karen and witnessed a really satisfying case of malicious compliance.

For background, he started his job at a popular pizza chain and was with three other employees: Alisha, Kaylie, and Jess, all three of whom were easy-going, young women who were showing him the ropes.

It was a busy day and in walks our future Karen.

But at the time, she was seemingly nice and even left a small tip for initial order – wings and a pizza.

Cut to about an hour later, she calls, and Jason is the one managing the phone. She tells him that her pizza was completely “undercooked and disgusting, and it tastes as if someone has just poured an entire pile of butter on it.” And she demands a new pizza be delivered to her home for her for free. Keep in mind that 1. She initially came in to pick up her first order, and 2 this pizza place has a delivery fee.

So, Jason, unsure what to do because it is his THIRD DAY, calls over his coworker, Jess, and they were talking about what to do for this situation.

And meanwhile, he is still on the phone, keeping her on hold, and Jess says to him that if she wants it, she’ll have to come back to the store to get it.

So, Jess goes to start the pizza, and Jason informs Karen that they were not able to deliver, but they still were able to honor her request. Her last words before hanging up were a snippy, “/Fine/. I’ll go there and I’ll make a scene.” Yikes.

Jason informs Jess of what she said, and she takes the pizza that almost went in the oven and throws it right away. “I’m not making that ***** her pizza.” Way to go, Jess.

Out walks the shift leader, Kaylie, who asks why Jess threw away that pizza.

Jason catches the shift leader up to speed, and Kaylie just sorta shrugs it off.

Cut to another hour later, Karen comes storming in with her previous box of pizza in hand, slightly more in disarray than she previously had been. Jason says, knowing who she is, “Hi, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m here for my pizza.”

Kaylie steps in at the moment and asks, “Are you the woman from the phone?”

“Of course! Look at /this/,” she says haughtily, and opens the pizza box, revealing the already half-eaten cheese pizza that didn’t have anything wrong with it.

Kaylie responds, “I don’t care. Did you threaten my employee?”

Clearly taken aback by this “accusation,” Karen exclaims in self-defense, “No, of course not! No one threatened anyone.”

“Okay.

Well, he says otherwise.”

Karen insists she did nothing wrong, “I said my pizza was undercooked and calmly asked for a new one.”

Jason shakes his head, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but that’s not what you said.”

Karen, now being caught in a lie for some reason now says, “I wasn’t even the one who called!”

Alisha steps in and then pulls Jason over to the side while Kaylie and Karen continue, and says, “Alright, we’re just gonna pretend to do something and listen in on this.”

Karen’s final words on the matter before Kaylie gives in to end up remaking her pizza are, “My kids are /starving!/ This is not acceptable!” And so they begin to make her pizza.

Karen complained it was underdone, so they are extra careful to be sure the crust was burnt and hard.

She complained that it was too much garlic on the crust. So, they place none on and leave it bland for her. No oil is in sight.

When they give her the pizza, Jason smiles, she opens it and see the disaster of a pizza, looks up with disgust, realizes she’s not going to win against four young people who refuse to be treated like garbage by customers, and leaves in defeat.

She calls corporate, so he’s heard. But nothing will probably come of it. Hope your starving kids enjoyed the wings that you didn’t bring in.” Mentally_an_Amoeba

8. I’m Being “Too Nice” To Customers? I’ll Go Emotionless

How can anyone be “too nice?”

“Ok, so this happened about a year ago. I was working at a small cafe that – despite being part of a chain – was a rather homely place.

It had many regular customers who all had their regular times, regular dishes, and regular conversation topics.

Within a week of working them, I knew them all by name. I’m proud to say that I was a great waitress. I was efficient, I was kind, and I managed well even when the place was brimming with people. I was always nice and polite, and (when there was time) I loved chatting and laughing with my customers more than anything.

Even when there was stress, I always made sure to throw in a nice remark before moving on to my next table. Now, this all sounds like a brag, but I just legitimately really loved my job and the people that were in it.

Well, my boss never really liked me from the start, and apparently, he was having none of it.

One day, he sat me down for a “conversation.” I immediately freaked out thinking he was gonna fire me or something, which was rather confusing since we both knew I was one of his best waitresses. He calmed me down and said he just wanted to make a few remarks about my “work routine.” Apparently, I was being “too nice” to customers.

You see, my boss said that I was making customers uncomfortable by being too friendly. As a very shy person in my nature, it was a real surprise – I’m very cautious around people and always back off when people seem to want their space or don’t feel like chatting.

I hate the thought of being too pushy or unpleasant.

He also said that me chatting with customers was taking up too much time, in which I could be doing other things like polishing cutlery or piling up glasses. Honestly, this one I can understand a bit better from his POV as an employer, but I still disagree with it. Being nice is part of my job just as much as cleaning spoons; it’s a part of the experience people pay for!

Anyway, cue malicious compliance. Me being the salty, little pr*ck that I was, I decided to make his remarks my new motto. I stopped chatting with customers or addressing the chatty regulars in conversations. I barely talked, barely laughed, barely smiled.

My entire interaction with customers was nothing more than the mere minimum that was necessary.

I was like a fricking machine. And boy, did that backfire at my boss. Before all this, I was one of the highest tipping waitresses. The average in my country is 10%? I got 15% regularly. Most other staff weren’t doing as well since they were kind of meh people all around. That’s why we really felt the blow when the average tip percentage in the shifts I was a part of fell from 12.5% or so, to fricking 9%.

That was an insane drop. And not only that, but the regulars started asking me what’s wrong. I didn’t feel like lying to cover up for my boss, so I just said it like it is – “My boss says chatting with you is a waste of time.

I’m really sorry, but I can’t stick around since I really need this job.”

Oooooh boi. One of the regulars – a lovely old lady that I actually grew really attached to – came over and told him he was a pr*ck, that he didn’t know a good waitress if she spat him in the face, and that he’s “clipping the wings of the youth.”

She wasn’t the only one complaining about this, but she was the loudest one about it, and I adore her to this day. After that, I realized the place really wasn’t for me and moved to another cafe nearby. I wasn’t there long (it closed down when the pandemic hit), but I swear to God, the boss there appreciated me for what I’m worth, and I never regretted moving there even for a second.” arteminxx

7. Want Me To Keep An Eye Directly On You? I Won’t Warn You About A Big Wave Coming

“So, this happened a long time ago during the summer.

I must admit, I was a bit of a jerk, and I was unreasonable, but at the time, it felt amazing. So, Sara, my nice friend, and Lizzie, an annoying girl, were hanging out on the lake, and I felt a bit left out as they were becoming really good friends. So, I asked Sara if she wanted to come tubing, but I ended up asking both of them by accident. Lizzie was pretty annoying and constantly bragged.

It was a pretty cold day (for us), and they didn’t feel like falling off the tube. We have a small flat tube that gets a TON of air, so it’s super easy to fly off if you hit a bump outside the wake.

For people who haven’t tubed, you’re laying on your stomach holding onto some handles and trying to stay behind the boat. Going outside the wake is pretty dangerous if you don’t want to fall off because you don’t get any protection from the wake. You have to find a constant balance between going too far forward, too far back or overcrowding the other person. On top of that, most tubers lean, trying to stay in the wake, so you have to go from side to side as well. It’s pretty hard if you’ve never done it before.)

We have some hand signals for ‘go faster,’ ‘slower,’ or ‘stop.’ We also have some for if you want to go crazy or for people on the boat to say if it’s bumpy (which will be important in a second).

Now, my dad didn’t want to have angry parents after him, so he wanted these 2 girls to do perfectly. (It was just me and him in the boat and the 2 of them on the tube). He says “Op, do NOT take your eyes off of them.” The lake was pretty crowded, and he didn’t want the risk of a boat not seeing them if they fell off. Then Lizzie mocks, “Yeah, OP, whatever you do, DON’T take your eyes for of us. Our lives depend on it!” I was p*ssed by that, but I kept my mouth shut as Sara was really good friends with her. My dad grimaced and just started.

I did as they asked, and kept my eyes on them the whole time.

My dad asked, lightheartedly, “How crazy do you want me to go?” I said, “Keep it calm for now. Just make sure to go over every wake you can find.” Grinning, he complied. Lizzie was pretty confident about the whole thing, thinking she could handle everything we could throw at her. Sara knew she could handle it. She did expect me to warn her when it would be bumpy as that’s what we’ve done in past times. But no, I didn’t look to the front once to check if it was bumpy. I just kept my eyes glued to them. Cue the malicious compliance.

Suddenly, there it was. The monster wave (wake). It was one of those that you’re terrified of when you’re on the tube, and you need WARNING.

I’ve done flips in the air flying off of these waves. In reality, it’s not that big, but it’s scary if you don’t tube much. Luckily for me, they’re already outside the wake. My dad says, “Big wave coming up!” I just reply, “Oh, sorry. I’m watching them. I can’t see it.”

Now, Sara is a good tuber. Her dad’s crazy, and she’s learned to get some big air before and come down well. Lizzie, on the other hand, only has ever been on a couch tube. She’s got basically zero experience with getting air while trying to hold on desperately. She sees the wave seconds before it hits her. Her mouth opens in a scream, her hands grasping the handles as tight as she can, while Sara only faces it with grim determination.

And BOOM, it hits.

She wasn’t as prepared as she thought. On the way down, she loses her grip and tumbles forward. She bounces as she hits the edge of the tube and does a semi flip before tumbling several feet away from the speeding tube. Sara, on the other hand, manages to ride it and come down safe;y. Due to her arms being wonky and her balance not right, she ends up falling soon after. But she manages to do it in a much more graceful and thought out fashion.

Only when I see Sara fall off do I call, “They’re off! We need to turn around to get them!” By the time we get over there, Lizzie is sputtering in shock and rage.

“Why didn’t you warn us OP?! I couldn’t see it until it was too late! Now I’m cold!” She shouts. To that, I just smile and say, “Oh, I’m sorry, I was focused on keeping my eyes on you two.” She just rolls her eyes. We took her back soon after and enjoyed the rest of our day on the lake peacefully.

To her credit, she was trying to do it in a funny/sarcastic way, but she came off as so rude and arrogant (which also showed in some comments she said to me). The water wasn’t even that cold. The air was just a bit chillier than it had been all day. She got what was coming for her.” Awkwarding_muffin

6. Ask Me If I Want To Share With The Class? I Sure Will

“Background:

This is years ago from my first semester in community college.

My senior year of high school, I was not allowed to take math because my mom p*ssed off the school counselors and school district. (Seriously, the situation was dumb, but her yelling at people made it worse.) This sucked because I love math and knew I wanted to major in engineering once I had a good enough GPA to transfer to the university. As a result, my first semester, I retook algebra, so I could have a refresher before continuing to higher math.

Story:

Due to a combination of my love of math and the fact that I had taken it before, I did well in my second course with very little effort. Other students sought me out as a homework buddy, and I made a fun little group of friends.

We sat together, did homework together, and shared notes. It was great! But the math teacher was old school in the worst way.

This math teacher was like the most cartoon version of a math teacher ever. She wore long, black turtlenecks every day, despite our November weather being hotter than most places in July. She also would ONLY use chalk. The classroom had 4 whiteboards but only one chalkboard, meaning that she constantly had to erase her previous work. And while that was a little bit annoying, she was constantly shaking dust everywhere because EVERY time she erased the board, she got chalk all over her blacktop. Her constant cloud of dust irritated everyone’s allergies, which made her monotonous and confusing lessons even harder to pay attention to, especially because she spent half the class getting the dust off her shirt and the other half calling out anyone who sneezed too loud for “interrupting the lesson.” Now, I know that while weird, this combination of behaviors was mostly just annoying, so we all just dealt with it until our group started working together in her class.

Our group started working on homework and studying for tests together which made us realize we had vastly different grades. I was pretty sure she hated me because she was constantly calling me out for talking. I try not to talk when teachers talk because I think it’s rude, but I don’t think it’s rude to quietly share notes with my neighbor when she erases the board before I can finish taking notes. But despite constantly calling me out, she would give me full credit on a bunch of problems that she would mark my friends down for, despite having the same work and answers on the page.

In particular, she seemed to hate my friend who I studied the most with, which I never understood.

This girl was always punctual, polite, took notes, and worked hard to get a great GPA while working to put herself through college. Now my friend wasn’t as good at math like me, but she was very smart and picked it up quickly when we studied together. She never copied my homework but would ask me or a tutor if she didn’t understand until she understood the concept.

But despite doing problems the same way as me and getting the same answer as me, the teacher docked a bunch of points saying she “didn’t show enough work.” She would also pull this crap on other students, though less frequently. Even if they tried to talk to her and show her that every step was on the work submitted, she would still say it wasn’t good enough.

This kept happening until I got annoyed and started going up with my assignments and the other kids to show that we had the same steps and amount of work written down, but theirs was marked down and mine was fine. I’m pretty sure the only reason she didn’t retaliate against me was that when she tried this on me at the beginning of the semester, it didn’t work. I always write every single step, know algebra well enough that she couldn’t convince me that I missed a step, and refused to back down until she either gave me a real reason for losing points (which was impossible; I followed the syllabus and read the school’s policies on homework), or she fixed it.

In the end, she did fix it.

For the rest of the semester, I made it my mission to protect the class. I constantly clarified directions, I checked people’s homework and let them borrow mine if they got marked down, I would question unclear problems till she relented and accepted multiple answers, and I did this all with what my husband calls “polite belligerent confusion.” I wasn’t out to punish the teacher; I cared and wanted to make sure that we understood her expectations. Basically, I was super invested and clearly cared but also forced her to make clear and public requirements for every assignment, which super annoyed her, but she would look like a massive jerk if she acted annoyed.

Every day, she had a printed attendance sheet that we were supposed to fill out to mark attendance.

She was really picky with it, so if you walked in late but didn’t want to walk in the front of the class during her lesson, she wouldn’t let you sign in after class and marked you absent. About 4 weeks before the end of the semester, her printer broke, so she didn’t have an attendance sheet. She said she would deal with it the following class.

The following class, the printer was still broken. Now most teachers would either give us free attendance or find a different way to do what they had been doing all semester. She instead decided that she would pass around notebook paper and ask us to write both dates if we were present for both classes.

This would’ve been fine if she hadn’t announced this 10 minutes BEFORE class started and BEFORE 50% of the class was in the room. This included me.

About 15 minutes into the lesson, the paper finally made its way back to me. While my friend had made it early enough to know what to do, I was confused because only some of the kids wrote on it before passing it on. After she explained it to me, I decided to check with the next kids to get it to make sure they knew what to do before I handed off the paper. Initially, I was trying to explain it to the next guy, figuring he could pass the message on, but instead, the next three people were trying to listen and ask me questions.

Halfway through the explanation, the next two people also started asking questions.

At this point, to try and avoid interrupting the lesson as much as possible, I told the other two people that I would tell them in a minute, so I didn’t have to whisper shout. So, I explained to my close neighbors, then moved next to the other people, so I could explain it to them more covertly.

50% of the way through the second explanation, I heard that disapproving “huh huh” noise teachers make. She then attempted to shame me for talking during the lesson in the worst way possible.

“Why don’t you share with the whole class?” she asked.

“Thank you, that would be great!” I responded, maliciously complying with her request.

I then stood up, raised my voice to address the whole class, and explained the attendance sheet for everyone. I finished by profusely thanking her for letting me speak, and I finished by apologizing for interrupting because I get confused easily and didn’t want that to happen to anyone else. In the end, I took less than one minute of class time, guaranteed that all my peers got marked as present, and super p*ssed her off in a super respectful way.

After that class, the school suddenly assigned a “tutor” to our class who attended every class. I’m not sure the tutor was there because the teacher complained or if more students complained. In the end, we were happier because we had someone who actually answered our questions after class, and I think the teacher was happy because she now didn’t have to talk to us outside of class time.” NewEnglandBound

5. Get Mad At Me For Not Taking Notes? You Bet I’ll Be Extra Prepared Next Time

Apparently some teachers forget that students learn differently.

“AP US History class circa 2008. This was the very first-ever AP US History class at the school and so it was a bit of a pilot program. The teacher, Mr.K, was a favorite of most students in the school…but as I would learn, I always seemed to have trouble with one specific kid every year. Here is where I come in.

I took the class, not because I needed it, but because I had a hole in my schedule and couldn’t take another study period. I’m a big history buff and had a feeling it would be a breeze. It was. In his class, I never took notes. 1. Because I didn’t need to, it was almost all stuff I already knew (not a smart brag, should see me in math.

Ick.), and 2. I learn better as an active listener; when I take notes, I’m more focused on writing than learning.

One day he says something off the cuff like, “OP, am I boring you? Or do you think you know everything?” He didn’t expect me to answer with the latter, but it got a chuckle.

Move on to a few days later, and he asks me to stay after class. Apparently I was disrespecting him by not taking notes. I explained my situation. I’m on the debate team; I get a lot of practice in learning by listening, stuff like that. He huffs and tells me I need to take the class more seriously. It’s worth noting I had a perfect score in the class several weeks in.

The next day, I show up and do my usual thing. Sit and listen. No notes. He tells me to go to the office and wait for him after class. A whole thing happened there, and naturally, the VP just says, “Is it that hard to just write some stuff down to make him happy?”

Alright. Yeah. I can do that. It’s Friday, so I have the weekend to plan. I show up to his class on Monday and sit in the very front up against the sidewall and hide my Malicious Compliance props beside the desk…the biggest memo pad the office supply store had (4ftx2.5ft approx) and a pen that I constructed that came out to be around 4ft long as well.

He starts the class shoots me a dirty look, turns to write on the whiteboard, I whip ’em out, and the entire class erupts in laughter. He turns to see me deadpan ready to take notes. “OP, what the **** is that?” “It’s my notepad, Mr.K. I’m ready to take this class seriously. What was that you were just about to say about the invention of the assembly line?”

Got kicked out again. This time, I talked to the principal. He laughed. He asked if I thought I could pass the AP test without the class. I said yes, and I was pulled from the class permanently and given and extra study hour. For the record, I did pass the test. Also worth noting that this teacher had earlier accused me of plagiarism, which flew back in his face as well.” OneHourHotdog

4. Give Me Detention And Make Me Be On Time After I Was Late? I’ll Just Bring My Child

“I was a teen dad when I started high school.

As such, Mamma told me that I had to be home to take care of my son on the weekends. She did say that during the week, that if I could not find a babysitter for him, then she would watch him while I was at school for the cost of extra chores. But I had to try to find a babysitter first because she was not going to raise any grandchildren. If I can make the baby, then I can raise the baby.

So, I did the best I could, by asking at church on Sunday if one of the ladies would be willing to watch my son during the week while I was at school. But there were some days the sitter I had lined up canceled last minute, leaving me no choice but ask Mamma to help me out, causing me to be late to school and costing me more chores.

For the first 3 months, I had dealt with ISS (In School Suspension), lunch detention, and the paddle on a number of occasions. And each time I tried to explain, the explanation fell on deaf ears. This time was going to be different.

Story:

I woke up every morning at 4:30, and did my chores, got ready for school, and got my son ready to go to the sitters. I went to the sitter’s with my son at about 7:30, only to be told that my son could not stay for that day for some reason or another. That went on every day since day one. So, I drove all the way back home to ask Mamma if she could watch my son for the day.

It took 15 minutes one way, so 30 minutes round trip.

Me: “Mamma can you watch son for me?”

Mamma: “OP, why are you not at school? Did you take him to the sitter’s?”

Me: “Yes, Ma’am. But she said that she has an appointment in “State Capital,” and she could not watch him today. Please, Mamma, I’m already late.”

Mamma: “Okay, OP. I’ll do it, but you are doing dishes tonight.”

I gave my baby to Mamma and drove the 20 minutes to school. (Every day, the sitter had a different excuse, and it wound up costing me some extra chores to pay Mamma for watching the baby. First night, dishes. Second night, laundry. Third night, cooking supper. Forth night, more dishes. 5th night, cooking supper.) By the time I got to school, it was almost 9, and the first period was almost over.

I go into the office to get my p*** to go to class. Monday – Thursday, nothing happened. I got my p*** and went to class. I gave the p*** to the teacher and accepted the scolding from the teacher. Friday morning, however, when I went into the office to get the p***, Principal called me into his office. I walked in his office, Principal, ***istant Principal, and Teacher are in there waiting for me.

Principal: “OP, please have a seat.” I do, and he continues, “OP, Teacher tells me that you have been late to class all week. You know that all students must be here at or before 8:00. We have had this discussion before, have we not? Now, do you care to explain why you are late every day?”

Me: “Yes, sir, we have had this discussion before.

And every time we have, I have told you every time, that I have a hard time getting a sitter…”

***istant Principal: (interrupting me) “That is no excuse. What does you needing a sitter for your siblings have to do with you being late every day?”

Teacher: “Yeah, I am tired of hearing that excuse. Now, you be in my class Monday morning on time, or you will be sorry. Do I make myself clear?” Then he walks out before I could answer him.

***istant Principal: “Well, I’m waiting! (Tapping her foot) You better answer me now, young man!”

Me: “Well, ma’am. I don’t need a sitter for my siblings; I need a sitter for my son. Had you not interrupted me, I would have told you that.”

Assistant Principal was mad, that I had the nerve to talk to her like that.

However, Principal spoke up, before Assistant Principal could get her words out.

Principal: “OP! Watch how you speak to Assistant Principal! Or do you need to have another talk with the paddle? I think since you want to be late all week, then lie about it and speak so rudely to Assistant Principal, you can have Saturday detention for the next 4 weeks. You will not be late. You will not make excuses. And you will apologize to Assistant Principal for your rude behavior. Do I make myself clear?”

Me: “Yes, sir. I understand.” To Assistant Principal: “Assistant Principal, I’m sorry for being rude and disrespectful.”

Principal: “Good! Be here at 7:45 in the morning. 1 minute late, and you will have to deal with the Truancy Officer.

Am I clear? Good, now get out of my office and get to class!”

I got up and left. I started to hatch a plan, to show them how unreasonable they were being and that I was not lying about having a child. So, when I got home, I told Mamma what happened and my whole plan. After taking the punishment for getting in trouble at school, she laughed and told me to be careful and not raise the hornet’s nest too badly.

The Malicious Compliance Part 1:

Since I had to spend all day Saturday and Sunday with my son, well, you can see where this is going. I packed my son’s diaper bag with everything he would need for 5 hours, grabbed my bag that I put together the night before, loaded up in the car, then had my brother drop us off at the school at 7:30.

(Detention started at 8:00.) I told my brother the plan on the way, and we had a good laugh all the way there.

Since my son and I were 15 minutes early, we sat on the bench outside of the front door of the school. We really didn’t have to wait long, 10 minutes. Assistant and Principal came walking up carrying their Dunkin’ Doughnut coffee. They saw my son and I, then Principal said:

Principal: “OP, I said 7:45, what are you doing here early? And why do you have your baby brother here? No children allowed. Take him home and get back here by 8:00. Now!”

Me: “Sir, you did say that I have to be here by 7:45. I didn’t want to be late for detention for being late, so I got here at 7:30.

He is not my brother; he is my son. (I pulled out the unofficial copy of his birth certificate, with “Father’s Name” section highlighted and showed him.) See, sir, it says right here: “Father’s Name: OP.” It takes 20 minutes to get home, 5 minutes to drop him off, 60 minutes to explain to Mamma why he is not with me, 20 minutes to get back, and on top of that, I would have to wait 30 minutes for my brother to come to get me, so I can take him home. So, all in all, 2 hours 15 minutes round trip to comply with your orders; it is 7:40 now sir. By the time I do all of that, it will be 9:55, so no sir, I cannot follow that order as I would be 1 hour 55 minutes late getting back.

Sorry, sir.”

Principal was p*ed that I had the nerve to talk back to authority, he stomped off and unlocked the doors of the school.

Assistant Principal: “We will be calling Mamma to come get the child! Don’t think you can get away with this sort of behavior!”

We go in, they call Mamma and told her how rude and disrespectful I was being and that she needed to come to get my son, to which Mamma told them: (relayed to me by Mamma after I got home)…

Mamma: “Really? That sounds like your problem. It also sounds to me like you are the ones that are being rude and disrespectful. That is OP’s child; it is his time to spend with his son. If you don’t like it that OP brought his son with him, then maybe believe him when he tells you something.

Don’t bother me again over some BS because you get your feelings hurt. Grow a spine, and grow up.”

That was that. They didn’t bother me or my son for the rest of the detention time. I brought my son with me for the whole 4 Saturday detentions. After that, I never received another Saturday detention.

The Malicious Compliance Part 2:

Teacher had told me the Friday before the first Saturday detention that I had better be on time for his class, that next Monday. So, step 2 of my plan, ACTIVATED! I called all of my other teachers Sunday and told them what I was going to do for the rest of the term. (It was about 8 weeks before Christmas break.) They were on board with it but told me that if my son started to disrupt class, then they would have to ask me to abandon the Malicious Compliance.

I agreed, and the next morning, hahahaha. (I also told the lady at church, who kept leaving me stranded without a sitter, I would no longer be asking or paying for her as a babysitter. She was mad. But I don’t care.)

I did the normal stuff. Woke at 4:30, did my chores, ate breakfast, got ready for school, got my son ready (with enough things for 10 hours, as I figured I would have ASD (After School Detention)), got in the car, and instead of going to the sitter’s, went to school. I was on time! (7:40)

I go in the office with my son (who was asleep) and got him a visitor’s pass. The receptionist laughed when I told her why I needed a visitor’s pass instead of a tardy slip.

I took the pass and go to the first period, Physical Science. (The class that I was always late for.) I walk in, take my seat, and wait for the first bell. (Of course, all the girls and some of the guys in the class are going ga-ga over my son. Even some of the snobby girls are talking to me.) First bell rings (8:00). Teacher walks in and starts taking attendance, gets to my name:

Teacher: “OP! Well, I guess he doesn’t care about my class again! That’s it, I’m done with his tardiness! Class, I’ll be back!” Before he can get out the door:

Me: “Present, Sir!”

Teacher: “Well, you decided to be on time after all! So, what’s your excuse this time? Why have you decided today of all days to grace us with you being on time?”

Me: “Well, sir, if you care to remember Friday in Principal’s office, that you wanted me here on time, no excuses.

Then you left before I could acknowledge your order, sir. So, sir, I am here on time as you ordered with my son since you did not believe me when I said that I could not find a babysitter, sir.”

His face turned ***** red. He was p*ssed by my answer. He continued to take attendance, then turned to me and started barking something. All I could make out was: office, how dare you, call, baby, and detention. All his yelling woke up my son, who started crying. I stood up, got my things and son, and said:

Me: “Sir, look at what you did. You woke up the baby. I hope you are happy now, sir.” Then I went into the hall but not before hearing all my classmates agreeing with me.

After I got my son calmed down, Teacher came out in the hall and with a calmer tone:

Teacher: “OP, please explain why you brought your brother with you to my class. I told you that I wanted you on time, not your whole d*mn family.”

Me: “Sir, he is not my brother. He is my son. (Shows copy of birth certificate) The sitter has not helped me at all. That is the reason I’m always late. By the time I turn around and convince Mamma to help me with him, I’m late for your class. But please, sir, if you want to give me detention or any other punishment, that’s fine, and I will take it. But please, sir, please don’t shout or cuss.

It’s not good for you. It’s not good for us. And more importantly, it’s not good for my son, who will be joining us for the rest of the term.”

Teacher: “WHAT! (through gritted teeth) OFFICE NOW!”

So, I, my son and Teacher make our way to Principal’s office. Teacher goes in and tells Principal something, Principal comes out, sees me and sighs.

Principal: “OP, come in. Leave your child there.”

Me: “Yes sir, I’ll come in. But no sir, I will not leave my son unattended.” I go in, pushing my son’s stroller.

Principal: “OP, Teacher, said that while you were on time, that you were being disrespectful and insubordinate. Not to mention that you think it is okay for a child to come to school for the rest of the term! You, young man, are about to learn a lesson that children do not belong in school and that you can not get away with disrespecting authority or rules! Now, what do you have to say for yourself!”

Me: “Sir, if children do not belong in school, then why in the **** are we forced to come? I have no other choice but to bring my son with me.

I don’t have a babysitter. Mamma won’t help me out (remember she said she would but only in extreme cases and for me doing more chores), and I have ran out of options. Now if you are going to punish me for something, then I think it best to wait until my attorney gets here to make sure that the punishment fits the charges and is a fair carry of justice. Or you can proceed and have a lawsuit and loss your position with the Board of Education. Your choice, sir. I know my rights as a citizen of ‘Country.'” Teacher was shocked.

Principal: (after much thought) “OP, let’s not get attorneys involved. Let’s go back to where you said that you have no choice but to bring him with you.

Do you care to expand on that? Why does he not live with his mother and her family?”

Me: “Yes, sir, the reason I have no choice but to bring him with me is because the babysitter I hired is useless. Mamma is too busy, and I can’t afford to pay her to watch him. The reason he doesn’t live his mom or her family is that she and her family gave up their rights and claim of him. Her family said that they don’t want a b*stard in their family, and she is in “State” Women’s Facility for assault and attempted murder. So, you see, there is no other choice.”

Teacher: “OP, if that is true about his mother, then why is he not in the care of Child Protection Services? Why do you have custody?”

Me: “Because, sir, the same reason why I have an attorney on retainer.

If you have any further questions about the matter, you can contact my attorney.” Teacher was silent after that. After a really long discussion, I went on about my day. (The other teachers were okay with my son being in their class.)

I contacted my attorney when I got home from school. He contacted the Board of Education and got them to agree that my son could indeed attend classes with me until I either found a babysitter or finished the term, due to my situation.

I ended up changing schools before we went back after New Year’s. I did find a wonderful babysitter who was available when I needed her for a really great rate. Also, I ended up having to retake Physical Science, as I had failed at the first school but ended up passing the class with an 87 (B).

People think it is hard to be an adult, married, and have a child. Ha, I only wish I could have complained about that. That is easy compared to my experience in high school.” mrbigdaddy93

3. Wish Me Luck On Finding A Job During An Economic Crisis? I Will

“I’ve read a lot of people having issues with jobs with everything that’s going on, and it reminds me of an act of malicious compliance that I perpetrated back in the last economic crisis of ’08-’09.

I worked for a large online website in what we call the Operation Center. Large websites have many servers, not only in number but in type. A problem is sometimes simple, like “This server (really just a computer) is broken.” But sometimes, it’s complicated.

A dozen small problems have happened throughout the system, normally not an issue on their own, but together have become this perfect storm that ***** the whole website and takes it down. These problems are complicated, and often, the individual developers are not familiar enough with the system as a whole to figure it out quickly.

This is where the operations center is tasked with monitoring the system as a whole and connecting the dots on these larger problems. Different companies may use many names like service operations center/SOC, network operations center/NOC, etc., but every large website has this sort of group that acts as the custodian of the inter-dependent connections of the individual servers.

It can take a year to a year and a half of learning how a website works before you’re even useful during an outage and many years before you’re an expert and have the confidence to lead a shift.

We ran 24x7x365 all from one office in a major city. 1/2 the people were on 4 10-hour shifts; others were on 3-12 1/2 hour shifts (with 5 extra hours every other week to make 80 hours every 2 weeks), covering the whole week with no on-call (as we were staffed 24x7x365. No need to call anyone at home; there was always someone at the office.)

I had been there for years and was d*mn good at my job. I had done several years on 3rd shift and was ready to be done with staying up all night and basically being a zombie on my time off. It’s tough to switch from being awake all night to being awake all day twice a week.

So, a new manager, let’s call him Kyle, was hired and decided that he didn’t like the fact we were only getting f*cked on sleep. He wanted to f*ck us just a little harder. And dry.

So, he pulls me into a meeting room one evening when, basically, everyone except my two team members had gone home, slides this paper over to me, and starts telling me that the shifts have to be changed, and everyone has to work 5 days a week, and on top of that, now shift leaders have to be on-call during the time period of their shift on their days off. Something about understanding common issues that happen during that time of day. On top of this, they were going to expect us to also do some kind of vaguely defined project work while we were on shift or something, which with our workload, was absolutely ridiculous to expect.

We weren’t JS or Java developers anyway, which was what the site ran on, so it was asinine to expect us to work on the web application in our spare time. We were ops, and while some of us were good at scripting, this was just a terrible decision. There were already teams there that handled monitoring and build tooling for us to use.

The turd cherry on top of this **** sandwich was that he was moving me back to third shift, and I’d be working Wednesday – Sunday. No weekend. And on-call at night during my two days off.

After all of this was laid out to me, I looked at him and said, “We’d be working every day of the year, no time to unplug or get away from work.

I don’t know why anyone would accept this plan as it’s laid out.”

He responded with a smug grin on his face that I will never forget, “Well, if you think you can find another job in this economy, you’re welcome to try.”

I literally (not literally as figuratively, but actually literally) had to bite my tongue hard enough to bleed to stop myself from saying ‘challenge accepted’ out loud. Instead, I slid the paper back at him and walked out of the meeting room without another word.

The thing is that good sysadmins are tough to hire. We’re loyal, we have excellent problem-solving skills, and we enjoy a challenge. So, I kept my mouth shut, started working overnights, and meanwhile contacted everyone I knew about the predicament I was in.

I got Kyle to pay for a certification that I’d always wanted. And meanwhile, I was complying with all the maliciousness I could come up with.

I landed an interview with someone who’d managed our group right when I’d been hired. I showed them how I’d kept growing as a professional, getting certifications, and getting regular promotions. I let slip that the only two days I’d be available for the interview were Mondays and Tuesdays because, well, they changed the schedule. And I’d have to keep my phone on as I’d be on-call those two days. This leads them to ask more questions about the changes there, and I have to admit I wasn’t at all averse to telling them how this new manager was changing things.

I could absolutely see the disbelief on their face and enjoyed every “What? That’s not how you run things!”

This old manager was sympathetic and so I had another job offer in hand within a month of the changes. I left a 2-week notice on Kyle’s desk, that said, “Despite the slightly stagnant economy, I have been offered another position. Effective in two weeks, I will no longer be able to continue my employment with [COMPANY].”

The little **** told me not to come back after one week. Didn’t even try to schedule any knowledge transfer meetings where we share what we know when we leave, a common thing with technical employees. Cut off your nose to spite your face, I guess.

Now he didn’t have anyone to cover for that third shift with any experience for months.

Mistakes were made, and website problems were way up on his watch (which was tracked by another team). He had no one else to blame but himself. He did tell me I was welcome to try!

EPILOGUE: I was always getting stories from the people who were left about dumb **** that he said in large meetings, but eventually, he crossed HR. He said something mildly inappropriate in a meeting, and someone went to HR and complained. He then went all-in on his stupidity, and, I **** you not here, God’s honest truth, pulled that person into a meeting room alone and demanded to know why they went to HR.

He told them stuff like, “You come to me first if you have a problem with me,” and “We don’t go above other people’s heads around here.” The person was shaken, and the other people in the operations center advised that they go straight back to HR with it.

HR wasn’t ready to believe it and clandestinely called others to corroborate. Not only did they say it was totally true, but they all felt free to discuss even more inappropriate behavior they’d seen. Kyle was escorted out with nothing but a box of his belongings that day. Do not pass Go; do not collect unemployment. I don’t know what happened to Kyle after that. But that was a bridge I was happy to burn. And dance and sing while it crumbled to ashes.

And don’t give up hope. This too shall pass. Businesses know this and will still be hiring for the long term. It will be tough, but you can do this!!! DO IT!! Interview (on video conferences, of course).

Talk to old co-workers and managers. There are opportunities even in times of crisis; look for them. “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take” –Wayne Gretzky” –Michael Scott” lunchlady55

2. Want The Aluminum Paneling Taken Off Our Shared Fence? Of Course!

“This story doesn’t actually involve me but my father.

Background:

My parents bought a property on the beach because it’s their happy place, and they didn’t want to stay at hotels anymore. The place is an older property that needed a lot of love, so we’ve been renovating it for a good year in our spare time.

Our neighbor is an older lady who runs the small motel next door. From the very beginning, she’s been quite an annoyance, constantly doing and saying manipulative things as “favors” to make us feel like we owe her something, which usually ends in her being allowed to use parts of our property.

(Fun fact: an inspector that was checking on the renovations once saw her coming towards him and quipped, “Here comes trouble.”)

So, the main story involves the side of our property that we share with her. There’s a fence that she built and a small alleyway between the fence and our house which is ours and has a hose/shower area for when you come back from the beach and want to get the sand off of you. As part of the renovations, my dad had some small aluminum panels put in on our side of the fence so that the users of the shower could have privacy. The panels are not visible from the neighbor’s property and are completely unobtrusive.

The neighbor sees them while passing by and FREAKS and frantically calls and texts my dad begging for a call back and saying it’s an emergency.

My dad makes time to call, assuming the hose might have broken or something. Nope. Just the neighbor throwing a hissy fit over the panels.

“Take them down!!!” She insists.

My dad is a very busy man and has already had enough of my neighbor’s constant annoyances. Her claiming an emergency just for these panels finally made him snap.

Malicious compliance:

My dad, the amicable man he is, agrees to take the panels down. As part of the renovations, he also has a gate put in front of that small alleyway area.

This is NOT good for my neighbor because she had made an agreement with my father to use our hose so that her guests could rinse themselves off when coming back from the beach.

This precious hose is now behind a locked gate, the key for which my neighbor will NOT be seeing.

On top of that, my father put a chain in front of the parking area of our house, which she was using as extra space for her guests and where our trash cans are kept, trash cans which said neighbor was using to throw away her extra trash.

Now, our neighbor will have to pay extra for a better water plan for her motel, something she was well aware of and trying to avoid as she had previously told my dad about the numbers for water plans on her property vs ours, AND possibly pay for extra trash cans for her trash.

My dad is a very patient man and very hard to get angry, but once you do, you’re gonna regret it.” creativeheart7

1. Wanna Know Why I Keep Using The Bathroom? I Won’t Hesitate To Tell You

“About 6 months ago, I got a small dog bite and had to get antibiotics for it.

One of the side effects was diarrhea, and that caused me to have to be in the restroom quite a lot at work. The diarrhea was an embarrassing medical condition that caused me to be on the toilet throughout the day.

CAST:

I had just walked out of the restroom to come face to face with my manager who was on her way to the back. As soon as she saw me, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Manager: “Why are you always in the restroom? Whenever I’m looking for you, they always say you’re in the restroom. Why is that?”

Me: “Uh, it’s just a… something medical.”

Manager: “Well, you didn’t bring us a doctor’s note. You can’t be in the restroom all the time.

You know how busy we get. So, what’s going on?”

Me: “It’s kind of embarrassing, and I don’t really want to tell you.”

Manager: “You have to tell me.”

Me: “Please, I really don’t want to say it.”

Manager: “If you don’t tell me right this second why you’re always in the bathroom, I’m going to have to write you up.”

This manager is always on my case for some reason. Whenever we’re working together, my tension is always increased because I know she’s going to critique me for something or another. And her berating me outside the restroom in front of some of the customers really rubbed me the wrong way, so I thought, “She wants to know, so I’m going to tell her.”

Me: “Okay, it’s an **** fissure.

It’s a small tear in the lining of the ****. When I sweat, it irritates it and causes it to itch. It sometimes gets itchy while I’m working, so I go into the restroom to clean it out.”

My manager just stood there, staring at me in shock for a few seconds. I could only guess that she was trying to process what I had just said.

Manager: “Okay, well, you… you’re…”

Then she continued to make her way into the back.” CONVERSE1991

Another User Comments:

“Medical information is private; even courts need special permission and third party specialists to get access to medical information. At least in the USA.” Endegraf

I think if the latter malicious compliance victims just listened and dropped their egos for one second, they wouldn’t have had to deal with such a terrible situation.

From their awful situations, we can learn.

Which of these malicious compliance stories did you think was the best?