People Share Their Stories Of “You Get What You Ask For” Revenge

Ok, so we may not all have a pro revenge or even an act of revenge up our sleeve (for some of us, it’s just not in our nature) but a “malicious compliance” is something everyone has done at one point or another. In fact, it can be so subtle, you probably didn’t even notice you did it! Disclaimer: The following stories are absolutely not subtle. While they might have meant to be just a quiet, small gesture, a lot of these scenarios explode into something far greater than the person intended. Here’s proof that words can pack punch (and sometimes be delightfully entertaining) and serve as an act of mini revenge.

Let’s start with a quick rundown of what malicious compliance is – it’s when you intentionally follow a person’s order or rules knowing full well that the compliance will result in something far worse than what the person meant. There’s a sense of legitimacy because you’re saved by the literal sense of the order or rule, but by fully complying, you’re potentially injuring, harming or making a total a*s of the person! Just check out the story about the guy who got billed too much for his dentist appointment so he pays them back in $5 weekly installments.

Or the man who finds a loophole in company policy and gets half the office to wear Hawaiian shirts. These stories might appear a little long, but don’t let that deter you. They’re choc full of details and build up and end with a very satisfying twist. Buckle up, you’re in for a ride!
33. Knock My Parenting, And I’ll Sit Beside You With My Fussy Twins

“I was at the doctor’s office today and had to bring my 15-month-old twins with me. These kiddos do not enjoy being cooped up in a stroller but letting them wander around isn’t an option since they will both bolt in opposite directions immediately.
They have clean nappies, they’ve been fed and hydrated, so at this point, any fussing is just stroller-related crankiness.

In preparation for having to wait a while and wanting to be considerate of the others who were in waiting room purgatory with me, I packed the diaper bag full of endless snacks and sippy cups. Sure enough, 5 minutes in they lose their mind so I instantly start giving them snacks and also walking back and forth in the very, very large waiting room. I am at the back area and not even close to being in anyone’s way and as long as I am pacing, the beasties will quietly munch away on their cheerios.
At one point, I stopped pacing to hear the doctor mumble the next patient’s name in another barely audible whisper and this is where a cranky old lady decides to weigh in on my parenting.

I hear a huffing noise and look over at her and the second we make eye contact she says ‘Oh my gawd, you have got to stop walking up and down that back area. You’re making me dizzy. Also, you really shouldn’t be feeding them that much, just SIT DOWN and they will relax too. Watching toddlers really shouldn’t be that hard hun.’ Thanks. Firstly, while my girls are very healthy, they were preemies born at 3lb/1.5kg and are still very tiny so I will feed them all the **** cheerios I want.
Secondly, I am doing all this not for myself or the twins but for the benefit of all those around us.

Finally, I was waiting to find out if my scans showed cancer or not (hurray scans were clean) so I really didn’t care.

Now for the malicious compliance. I take her advice and sit down. Right next to her. Tons of empty seats everywhere by the way. Instantly, they start screaming their heads off and what do I do? I pull out my book and start reading. Anyone who has ever been seated next to a stranger’s baby having a meltdown, close your eyes, imagine that sh*tty moment and now double it to account for twins.
Within 5 minutes she is looking like she is about to snap and suggests they might want a snack.

To which I calmly respond, ‘Nah, I really shouldn’t be feeding them that much,’ and cooly turn the page of my book. Ten minutes later, my name is finally called and this lady looks like she is ready to give up on life. I, however, have read my first chapter in ages. I guess watching toddlers really isn’t that hard after all.” crou87
32. Want Me To Take A Number? Here’s #2 – Everywhere

“I’m at Costco trying to order a pair of glasses.
If you’ve never been to Costco, the optical department is usually either next to the entrance or next to the Membership desk on the way to the exit. If it’s the latter, the entire area is pandemonium from people trying to exit/return things/get memberships/order optical lenses.

My local Costco is the latter.

I’m standing there with my ticket waiting to be called. My ticket is like 54 and they’re on number 48 and there are only 3 guys so this is taking a while. I notice a woman in the area holds a fussy toddler, I suppose just on the verge of being able to talk, looking for the first available employee.
It just so happens that one of the optical guys was done with a customer, so the woman goes up to him and they have an exchange like this.
Woman (W): ‘Excuse me, I–‘

Optical Guy (OG): ‘Ma’am, you need to take a ticket and wait.’

W: ‘But I just–‘

OG: ‘Ma’am, take a ticket.

There were other people in front of you,’

W: ‘Yeah but I just wanted to–‘

OG: ‘Ma’am! Take. A. Ticket. That’s the last time I’m going to tell you. You can wait in line like everyone else.’

At this point, the woman accepts “defeat” and her toddler is getting fussy. She grabs a ticket and puts her child on the ground.
The kid is crying at this point loudly but I have my headphones in, just trying to wait for my turn.

And then it happens.
This kid unleashes a torrent of **** that basically explodes his pants and gets all over the AC display poop they try to sell you on the way out. I’m amazed that much poop came out of this little boy.

He’s crying up a storm and his mom is trying to comfort him but it just keeps coming and coming. At the same time, he’s waddling around and getting it all over the place. The entire area, myself included, jumps back and is giving this lady some space.
Finally, after what seems like an eternity, it stops. The kid is crying, his mom holding him, poop running down her arms. There is fecal matter in about a ten-foot radius everywhere. All traffic to the exit has stopped as horrified shoppers looked on. The optical department, including OG stare at this woman. She marches herself, son in tow, up to the man.

W: ‘I was wondering if you could tell me where the bathroom was.’

OG sheepishly points to an area behind the registers and W walks away.

I decide to come back later when the area didn’t smell like a raccoon died, trying to stifle my laughter the whole way through.
There is no big sign pointing to the bathrooms visible from the Optical Department at my Costco. I imagine that will be changing soon. thefilmer
31. Won’t Let My Kid Through Without A Passport? Here, Take Him

“This story was passed down to me by my dad about what his dad did when my dad was little.

My grandfather was in the military and was stationed in Germany with his family. They lived there for a few years and during that time, my Grandmother got pregnant and had my dad.

When his deployment was over and he returned home, my dad didn’t have a passport yet but he had the proper documentation, a citizenship certificate, birth certificate, and letters from his commanding officer, the base doctor, and delivery doctor.

When he was passing through customs, even with the proper documentation, the agent wouldn’t clear my dad because he didn’t have a passport. My grandfather was a Drill Sergeant (I don’t know if he was before or after this incident) and could yell and argue with the best of them so he and the agent heatedly went back and forth for a while. All the while my grandmother stood behind him, embarrassed of the attention the commotion was causing, holding my two year old dad up with one arm and my aunts hand with her other hand.
At one point the agent yelled at my grandfather something along the lines, ‘I don’t care what you think you know, you’re not bringing that kid in here.’ To which my grandfather only said OK, turned to my grandmother, ripped (always the wording when told to me) my dad out of her hands, placed him on the agents counter, and took my grandmother’s and aunt’s hand and started briskly walking away.

The poor man realized my grandfather was serious (no-one knew how far my grandfather would have gone to prove his point) and begged and pleaded for him to come back. My grandfather did come back after a minute and took my dad and his stamped papers without saying a word and left. The agent didn’t say anything after that either.” Zigmendm
30. Bill Me Hundreds Of Dollars For What I Already Know? Here’s My Weekly Payment

“Years ago on Memorial Day long weekend, I was enjoying a tasty frozen Snickers bar and broke a tooth. Being a holiday weekend, I knew the dentist office would be closed but thought maybe they had some sort of nurse line or something for advice.

Imagine my surprise when I received an answer and was transferred to my usual dentist! After answering numerous questions, including whether or not the tooth had broken above or below the gum line (important for later), the dentist says he’d be happy to see me in the morning (Memorial Day itself).

So I go in, his office is void of any humans besides himself (there were some fish to bare witness), he puts on one latex glove, takes a look in my mouth and says, ‘Oh, its below the gum line (we discussed this!), you’re going to have to go to a Maxillofacial Surgeon, I’ve got a guy I can refer you to, but he’s not open until tomorrow.’ He refuses to do anything further in his office (not even a pain killer script, the *******!) and I leave.

I get it fixed the next day and was relatively happy with the surgery.
Imagine my surprise when a few weeks later I get a bill from the dentist for $700! I call the office and they explain that it was an emergency service on a holiday I was being billed for. After arguing with them that this never came up once on the phone or during the visit and all he did was put on ONE glove, look in my mouth and tell me he couldn’t do anything, they wouldn’t budge on the bill. Being the total vindictive ***** that I am, I said fine but I’m broke an I also had a surgery bill to pay so I’d be paying it out with weekly $5 payments.

They didn’t necessarily like this and tried to get a higher monthly payment but I wasn’t budging either.

So, I started sending them $5 a week along with a single latex glove, which they returned each with a note saying it wasn’t a large enough payment. After a few months of this, the bill went to collections. Let me tell you folks, I kept every single returned check and explained to the collection agency that I’d been trying to send them money for months but they refused my payment. I sent them my proof with the returned checks and notes from the dentist.
It was a beautiful moment when the agency informed me that I’d done my part by attempting payments.

It disappeared off my credit report shortly afterward and that’s the last I ever heard of the matter.” ShuttlecockShshKebob
29. You Want My “Truck Wash” After I Said It’ll Destroy Your Car? Ok, Go Ahead

“TL;DR: In addition to his, there’s another concrete crew on site. They are trying to preemptively block them from so they can do their job first. The other crew asks his crew to work around them, so they comply, but manage to splatter wet concrete on their cars in the process.
The offended chief then asks him if he can wash off the cars with hydrochloric acid. After warning the chief that it will eat his paint, the chief still insists, and the guys lets him!

Concrete mixers are big, ungainly things.

Trying to maneuver them around a crowded job site is like trying to play miniature golf with a tennis ball. The biggest problem is, of course, other people, specifically other people’s cars. Nobody is going to lug 50 pounds of tools any further than they have to, so if there is an open space near where they want to be, they park there, never mind that it is right next to a sidewalk or directly across from a driveway that a crew is obviously prepping.
It only makes things worse when it’s done by people who should know better (and done intentionally).
So, we’re pumping grout walls in the late afternoon, which already has me in a bit of a mood.

Grout jobs tend to be very slow. Each cinder block has two cells, and the crew pumps the grout into those cells filling them all the way to the top of the wall. Grout is really just a term for a weak concrete mix that is pumped super wet. It has to be that wet to make it all the way to the bottom of the wall, otherwise, it sticks to the sides of the cinder blocks (or gets caught up on steel reinforcement).
There is a lot of stopping and starting, as well as a lot of moving the pump. It all takes time, during which that concrete starts to go off and stiffen up.

Things only get worse on a hot day, and the subs will do anything to get more water in the load (****** addicts looking for a fix have nothing on grout pumpers eyeballing your last 20 gallons).
As we move to a new street, we find a line of cars parked all along the side of the street we are working on, just far enough apart to take up as much space as possible without leaving enough room to get the pump in there.
Turns out it is another concrete crew setting up to do patios. No problem, we’re all concrete guys here, and they know how it is. We ask them to move.

That I am writing this post tells you what their response was. It turns out they are waiting for their own pump and mixer to show up, and they intentionally blocked the street because they don’t want us to be in their way. Their crew chief tells us we can wait for them to finish and move on, or we can just work around them.

It’s pretty obvious he expects us to wait.
Waiting is, of course, going to make the concrete go off even more and will rack up standby charges for the customer, but trying to work around their cars is going to mean blocking the street and rolling up the hose every time we move (normally the crew just drags/carries it down the sidewalk, but we can’t do that with the cars in the way).

It would take much longer; depending on when their pump shows up, it might not even save us any time. Still, Todd the pumper rolls his pump right up next to the lead car and feeds his hose out around it.
At the best of times, a concrete pump farts and sputters like a nervous chihuahua, flinging small globs of concrete out the hopper. If the driver isn’t paying attention and accidentally lets the concrete level get too low, the pump sucks in air. Feeding a concrete pump air is like feeding a hippopotamus Olestra; ****** not pretty, and it gets everywhere. We probably end up moving that pump twice as many times as we have to, but it ensures that every single one of those cars gets to spend some quality time next to the hopper.

We finish with the job and are washing out the pump when the crew chief (whose own concrete and pump still haven’t shown up yet) storms over to complain about all the concrete splatter on their cars.
I point out that we told them we’d be pumping there and asked them to move, but they refused. At this point, he sees that I have a truck wash bucket strapped to my water tank and demands I let him use it to clean off his car.

I tell him that is a terrible idea, smoking lounge on the Hindenburg levels of terrible. The stuff we use is designed to dissolve dried concrete, and it will probably damage his car.

The concrete is fresh enough that he can probably just rinse it off with water. He isn’t having it. He tells me to stop lying because if it doesn’t damage my truck, it won’t hurt his car.
Besides, he’s done this before and knows what he is doing.

Now, keeping a concrete mixer clean is a downright Sisyphean task. No matter how hard you try, chutes overflow, pumps splatter, and plants huff cement powder all over your truck. There are a variety of chemicals used to clean off concrete, and most of the modern mixes are relatively safe (for something that can dissolve concrete). Our plants provide a phosphoric acid mix (relatively safe isn’t the same as actually safe) to any drivers that need it, so it quite common for there to be a bucket of it stashed somewhere on the truck.

Of course, part of what makes these chemicals safer also makes them somewhat less effective. That’s why some of us will bring in our own cleaning products to fortify the company mix. These are not the friendly chemicals that will just leave you with a mild chemical burn; My bucket of fun dips down to the good old days of leaded gasoline, asbestos and red dye no. 2. Still, I warned him, and he assured me he knew what he was doing. Besides, he’s intentionally being a ******* and expected my sub to pay standby for his convenience. I let him have the bucket.
I half expect him to stop when he pulls the lid off.

The witch’s brew in the bucket smells like Walter White’s bathtub. Somehow, the fact that his nose hairs are curling up like a spider in a flame doesn’t seem to faze him. Brush goes in the bucket. The brush comes out of the bucket. Brush slams onto the hood of the car with a wet slap. I can only watch in mute horror as the man proceeds to not just clear off the concrete, but bathe his entire hood in hydrochloric acid, rubbing it in to get out all those nasty water spots.
It’s like watching an orphan unwittingly skin his favorite puppy. None of us stick around long enough to see the final result, but it is already apparent that he has scrubbed off the clear coat and is in the process of etching brush marks in the paint.

I don’t want to be anywhere near him when that hood dries out. I let him keep the bucket.” Hippo_Singularity
28. You Want Me To Be More Professional? Ok, Here’s The Paperwork

TL;DR: She is a small-time landlord with kids, and after she politely approached her tenants to ask if they would like to renew (after they’ve brought in a dog and the woman’s husband, without asking or putting him on the least, respectively) she starts to get a little annoyed.
But no big deal. She manages to secure some viewings. But it gets a little chaotic with everyone’s kids and the coming and going of people in a small space. As a result, the tenants ask her to “be more professional” in how she conducts her business, thereby causing her to send them a flurry of paperwork and red tape and bringing them to court.

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

They also did not respond when I asked if they were happy there and wanted to renew their lease for the following year. I asked again, then I emailed them notice that I would start showing the unit 2 days later.

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

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

Just to further clutter your imagination, this is an 800 square foot 2 bedroom apartment with a cozy entryway.
So I arrive with my two kids, to find that my tenants are still at home, along with the husband, the newborn and the other sister’s boyfriend. So that’s 7 people in a small kitchen already. Then the first prospective tenants start arriving. Husbands, wives, with kids, and some showing up early so there are two sets of them. That’s 14 people in a small kitchen…
And I’m a mom. I have magical powers. So I’m holding my toddler, my daughter is safely under the dining table coloring, and I’m chatting with the prospective tenants and directing traffic while my actual tenants prepare to depart.

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

They do eventually leave after the boyfriend tells a prospective tenant that he, in fact, ALSO lives there. And I carry on with exhausting scheduling of showings. And have my new tenants all picked out and lease signed by the next day. Awesome, right?

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

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

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

They ignored the violation notice, which I sent by certified mail and, thoughtfully, also by email. I decided to be even more professional 30 days later, and issue a 5-day notice to vacate. And I called their mom, who is their emergency contact, as an eviction notice IS an emergency.
Did I mention that their lease was due to end just a few weeks later? But it would be unprofessional of me to let these violations slide until then…

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

They moved out on their lease termination date.

And skipped out on their last electric bill, and left the unit in damaged condition. Despite my professional security deposit disposition statement and request for payment, they ignored those notices, until I stated I would proceed to small claims court by X date for the total due BEYOND their security deposit.
On X date, they replied stating they ‘didn’t think it was fair’ that they should have to cover damages to the unit, or ‘pay any more money’ toward their utility bill.
Yep. Two months later, there we were in the lobby of the courthouse, sitting across from each other on uncomfortable waiting-room benches. They’re laughing among themselves about how they’re going to get their full security deposit back.

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

One hour later, we’re back in the lobby and their mom is trying to write me a check for the full amount of the judgment.
She doesn’t have a pen. Her kids don’t have a pen. I, however, have a pen. I cheerfully offer my pen. She writes the check and hands it to me, and… wait… I hold out my hand again. Got my pen back too.

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

You know why? Because I was being professional, as I’d been from the moment he’d left that voicemail. As a last note, I do acknowledge that it would have been better if I hadn’t brought my children. However, if you have kids, you’ll understand that sometimes, they simply have to go where you go.” nygibs
27. Charge Me A Cancellation Fee For Someone Else’s Mistake? Take This IRS!

“First, you have to appreciate the kind of guy Nathan is.
Brilliant engineer/crazy person. Nathan likes rules and Nathan doesn’t give up when he knows how things should work. I like to get him to tell the story whenever we’re together because he doesn’t even see why it’s funny – it’s just how he deals with all problems.

Nathan was like if you saw Sysiphus and you thought, maybe I should try to stop him. But then one day, the boulder was on top of the hill. And you go and ask Sysiphus how he did it and he replied, ‘it was simple… I just kept pushing it forever and ever, and eventually… the mountain gave up.’ A real Grade 19 Bureaucrat.
He just works systems through problems no matter how daunting they should seem.

Until one day, when Nathan’s unstoppable force met an immovable object. I came into work and saw checks and envelopes spread all over his desk. And Nathan filling them out with the kind of grin Steve Buscemi might have crossing names off a list with a tube of lipstick.

I ask him about it and he calmly starts explaining that he’s ‘having trouble with the IRS.’ I probe a little deeper since that in no way explains more than one check or envelope and he starts telling me about how last year during tax season he was in China for work so he started filling his taxes out early while at his parents’ house.
He owed a little but left before he could mail it in. But he remembered while in China and (broke through the firewall in order to) paid it online. But then his parents, thinking he forget, wrote a check for him and mailed his taxes in too.

So now his taxes would be paid twice. So they said don’t worry about it, we’ll cancel the check.

Well, it turns out that NYS IRS has a canceled check fee of something like $40. And they sent Nathan a bill and penalty for the $40… That was it. That was the whole story. A $40 fee.
Nathan, why do you have 20 checks on your desk? ‘Oh, well after I explained to them what was wrong with the fee they didn’t get it.’ So Nathan spent the next 4 weeks escalating the issue to the point that he got a case officer – a real, live human agent on the phone with a case number.

Nathan started by asking for the agent to spell his name – and politely to demonstrate that he was where he said he was by asking how the weather was and how the ‘drive in’ had been that day. He then asked for his agent’s manager – got their name and exchanged some pleasantries.
He explained that his parents wrote the check but that he was the one being charged the fee. The agent explained that this was the policy of the IRS – ‘All canceled checks will result in a $40 fee.’ The agent and Nathan went in rigorous compliant circles for hours exploring the rules. Nathan then calmly confirmed that:

It is the policy of the IRS to allow just anyone to write a check on behalf of anyone else?  ‘Yes, sir that is fine.

You just need to indicate the name and zip code of the account.”

It is the policy of the IRS to charge a $40 cancellation fee to the person whose account is indicated on the check? ‘Yes sir, that is the policy in NYS.’
This means that – and I swear to God he actually asked the agent this hypothetical question on the phone, “I (Nathan) could write a $10 check and indicate it’s for you (Mr.
“Agent” at 1234567 Schenectady, NY) and cancel it resulting in a $40 fee for you with absolutely no penalty or recourse to me?’ The equally compliant and rule-minded agent replied, ‘Yes sir, I guess you could.’

So, that’s what Nathan did.

And that’s what was doing with 20 checks on his desk and what he meant by ‘IRS trouble.’ He was following through, sending checks to the IRS addressed to pay the taxes of the agent and the agent’s manager, so Nathan could cancel them, causing the agent and his manager to owe the IRS a fee for each canceled check. He was exploiting the same flaw in the system in which he was caught to essentially extort the IRS agents.
I laughed about this for weeks after.

And then, 3 or so weeks later… I’ll be ****** if he didn’t receive a letter from the IRS:

“Sir, we understand the point you’ve made. Please consider your fee waived and I hope we can put this behind us.” fox-mcleod
26. You Want To Left Alone Because I’m Annoying You? Have Fun Epically Failing Your Science Class

TL;DR: A girl who is very smart but mildly autistic is chosen by a bully to be partners, more like commanded to be partners for a massive, grade determining project.

After the bully demands that the girl shut up and leave her alone, the girl complies and gets permission to do the project alone.
She is left entirely alone to fail the class.

“So, the middle school I went to was a bit… non-traditional. It was a private school, meaning it wasn’t exactly constrained by the same rules as a public one, and so it got away with doing things quite a bit differently than what most schools (at least to my knowledge) did at that age. One of the biggest things in this area was our Science Fair Project.

This project wasn’t just the classic baking soda volcano crap, oh no, this was more equivalent to a ******* capstone project.

Think I’m kidding? We were given the whole year to work on it, (some kids had known about it beforehand and been working for longer), and it was worth, I kid you not, a good 85% of our Science grade for the entire year.
There were kids who legit didn’t do anything in science class because they knew that it was the project, not the class, that mattered. And it was competitive, too. Every project would be judged, and if you did well at the school fair, you’d get sent to a regional fair, and if you did well there, you’d get sent to the statewide fair, which was a big deal.

Now, given how gigantically huge this project was, we were supposed to do it in partners at the very least, though the teacher actually recommended working in large groups of up to 5 people, just because of how much work this project entailed.
You probably already know where this is going, but before I get to the action of it there are a few things you need to understand, because I want you all to know that what I did wasn’t just out of nowhere, it was the result of a cumulation of ********.

So, ever since I was old enough to actually display a personality beyond screaming flesh gremlin, I’ve been noticeable, to use a term I kind of hate, “quirky”.

There were things that were just a bit out of place when I was a toddler, things like seemingly inexplicable tantrums and overly aggressive behavior at times, but nothing that couldn’t be chalked up to just “kids being kids”, with the assumption that I’d grow out of it.
Well, I didn’t. While I had indeed grown out of the actual tantrum part, the underlying problem was still there, only becoming more and more obvious as I got older. I got upset over things that seemed pointless to other people. I didn’t understand jokes or sarcasm very well. Other kids said I was “creepy” because I wouldn’t look them in the eyes and was generally pretty quiet and robotic for an 8-year-old, and I often blurted out some pretty weird and upsetting stuff with no real warning, unable to “read the mood” and know that it was inappropriate.

We found out later that, much to the surprise of absolutely no one who actually knew me, I am autistic.
However, this wasn’t officially diagnosed until I was in my sophomore year of high school, likely due to the fact that I am both high-functioning and a girl (for some reason this stuff doesn’t get noticed as often in girls?), so up until then I was just that weird, hyper-dense kid that nobody really knew what to make of.
At best, I was entertaining. There were often other kids who seemed to find my social disconnect to be ‘cute’, much in the way that a duckling with a limp is ‘cute’, and kept me around as a sort of mascot, a funny little oddity for them to enjoy.

At worst… well, you know how it goes. Nothing ever got physical or anything like that, quite possibly because I hit puberty at a pretty young age and was, therefore, a fair bit bigger than most of my peers, and had a known record for getting violent when pushed (a story for a different day), but they were terrible all the same.

As I mentioned before, a lot of things that seem inconsequential to other people really, really bother me, and that’s what these kids tended to capitalize on. They’d stand uncomfortably close to me and/or bump into me constantly, knowing full well that I hated being touched.
They’d move my stuff and sit in my area knowing how territorial I was.

They’d purposefully chew extra loudly and smack their lips knowing I hate the sound. You get the idea. All really petty stuff that they couldn’t really get in trouble for, and that I would get mocked for complaining about because it was ‘your own fault for being so sensitive!’

Well, fast forward back to the early fall of 7th grade, and my science teacher says we should partner up for our projects. I was doing my thing of sitting there in stone cold silence because no way in **** am I actually going to ask someone (way too awkward), when this girl, who I’ll call Katie walks up to me and basically announces that we’re going to be partners.

Doesn’t ask, mind you, just sort of declares it.
Now, Katie was one of the people who took the most pleasure in messing with me. She went the extra ****** mile to get up in my personal space, blow down the back of my neck, touch my stuff, etc., and then laugh when I got upset. So you may be wondering, why would she want to partner up with someone she so clearly disliked?

Exploitation, of course. On top of being a general freakazoid, I was also pretty **** book smart, making me the perfect person to use for this type of project. Deep down, I knew that’s what she was doing, but I wanted so desperately to be liked that I went along with it and didn’t protest the partnership at all.

I emailed her that night asking politely about some pretty basic questions. What was our subject gonna be, how were we gonna divide up the work, etc., and I get no response. She ignores me in class, and I’m too shy to push it in person, so I keep emailing her until finally, after about 4 days, I get a response.

It was a short reply, something to the effect of ‘Oh my god, you’re being so annoying! Would you just shut up and leave me alone already?? Jeez!’

It wasn’t as though I’d been expecting otherwise, but still, it hurt. Except for this time, I’d finally had enough.
This ***** wanted me to leave her alone? My pleasure.

I tell my science teacher, Mrs. G, the next day that Katie and I were no longer partners, and that I’d be doing the project on my own. She tried to talk me out of it, saying that this was a ridiculous amount of work for one person to do all by themselves, but I told her I wanted to work alone, so she let me.

I told Katie about none of this.
Over the next several months, I went hard on this project. I ended up choosing to study behavioral science, specifically choosing to experiment on learning effectiveness in various environments.
I went out and got rats to use in my experiment (don’t worry, I loved those little suckers and they were not at all harmed), I researched daily, I taught myself standard deviation and basic statistics, the works.

I ended up writing a 32 page paper on the topic, along with creating a big old three-sided presentation board with my graphs from each individual experiment displayed proudly on the surface. This whole time, I didn’t say a single word to Katie.

Well, the day before the science fair, and Katie walks up to me, super casual, and asks, ‘Hey so how’s our project coming along?’
I pretend to look surprised.
‘Our project? What do you mean?’

She looks at me like I’m stupid.

‘Uh, our science fair project? You know, the one due tomorrow that’s worth, like, our entire grade in the class?’ She said it with the same speed and intonation that one would use when talking to a mentally handicapped toddler.

‘No, I know about the project,’ I said, blandly. ‘I was just wondering what you meant by ‘our’ project. We aren’t working together.’

Getting pissed, she replied: ‘Uh, yes we are! I told you on the first day, remember? We’re partners!’

‘Yeah, and then you told me to leave you alone, and never said anything about the project, so I assumed you didn’t want to work together anymore.
I told Mrs. G and she said it was okay for me to work by myself, so I did.’ I replied. Her face goes white, then red.

‘What?!’ She barks. ‘You mean you bailed on me??? How could you?!?’

‘You said you didn’t want to be partners.’

‘I NEVER SAID THAT YOU ********!!’

‘Ka*********tie!!’ Mrs.

G snapped. ‘We don’t use that kind of language in here, especially not directed at our fellow students!’
Katie was about to keep talking when the bell rang, and I dashed out. She would’ve followed me, had Mrs. G not pulled her aside, presumably to discipline her.

The Science Fair comes around the next day and I pull up proudly with my stuff, ready to roll.
I slap my monster of a paper down on a very proud looking Mrs. G’s desk, and set up my table in the cafeteria, getting ready for the judges to start making their rounds.

I’m in the middle of trying to get my stupid posterboard to stop falling over when Katie storms up to me.

I don’t remember what exactly she said, as I was full on ignoring her, but it was a lot of insults and threats and the like, as well as multiple demands that she be allowed to take credit for the project as well because she “never actually ended the partnership”.
I basically just laughed in her face.

She goes away when the judges come through, probably because she knew how suspicious it’d look if she actually got caught arguing with me like this, and I’m given gold by the judges, who seem very impressed by my project. A gold means I get to move on to regionals.
Naturally, Katie tries to circumvent me and take credit for it anyway by just going to Mrs.

G, claiming that, ‘Oh haha Feral just forgot to put my name on it too while she was editing’ but Mrs. G was having none of it. She very clearly told Katie that I had approached her months ago asking to work solo, to which Katie argued that I hadn’t told her I’d be doing that (she dropped that first lie so quickly lol) so it ‘wasn’t fair!’ Again, Mrs.
G just coldly replied that essentially, it was Katie’s own fault for not bothering to check in, as well as adding that if she seriously hadn’t known, that indicated she’d been planning on just making me do it all and claiming credit anyway, which obviously wasn’t allowed.

Temporarily defeated, Katie slunk away. She made sure to amp up the making my life **** thing, but I found I didn’t care as much because she was just being petty and desperate, and it was actually kinda fun to watch her be so upset.
I won gold at regionals, then went on to state where, holy crap, I won gold again.
I tell you this not to flex (okay maybe a little bit to flex) but to highlight just how much work I put into this crap, as well as just how infuriated Katie must’ve been with all this.

When our project grades come out is when *** really hits the fan. I got like, 99.8% with that 0.2% taken off for a stupid error on the axis labels of one of my graphs or something similar.

Katie got a big fat 0.

Pretty much the day after these grades came out, I get called to the office. There, waiting for me alongside the principal, are Katie, her furious looking mother, and an exasperated Mrs.
G. From the moment I walk in, both Katie and her mom glare at me as if I’ve just murdered their first born and they were intending to return the favor.

I sit, and am told a remarkable tale.
Apparently, Katie had switched tactics from her earlier ‘forgot to include my name’ lie, and was now trying to claim that she’d done all of the work, only to have me swoop in and put my name on it, then cut her out completely.

She had crocodile tears running down her face and everything. Her mother rubbed her back comfortingly, trying to burn holes in my skull with her eyes, and Mrs.
G looked ready to slap her.

Naturally, I explained my side of the story, with Mrs. G backing me up and vouching for the fact that I’d said I was working alone months ago. Of course, this wasn’t enough. Katie’s mom then tried to argue that I had unfairly kicked Katie from the partnership and that I should be punished for it, even going so far as to suggest that I should be, I kid you not, expelled for ‘sabotaging’ Katie by refusing to work with her.

I calmly replied that actually, Katie had been the one to cut ties with me, and I had just been doing what I thought she wanted.
She called me a liar, of course, so I pulled out my school laptop and showed her the multiple emails I’d sent asking Katie about the project, as well as the email Katie sent back telling me to ‘shut up and leave her alone already.’

Silence.

After a moment, Katie tries to recover, claiming that she’d just been mad I was ’emailing her constantly!!!’ and that she hadn’t actually said she wanted to stop being partners, but she didn’t really have a leg to stand on here.

She failed the class, and I take no shame in admitting that watching her cry her eyes out at the end of the year over it gave me a truly euphoric sense of happiness.” FeralTaxEvader
25. Bratty Kid Says He Can Eat Two Scoops Of Ice Cream? Eat This Monstrosity

“Last summer I worked as an ice cream vendor on the beach of my hometown.

Best job I ever had. People were nice to me, I got to work on my tan, it paid pretty well, but most importantly, we were allowed to eat the delicious ice cream on our breaks.

One day, I’m serving a man and his son. The man orders a cone with two scoops for him and a cone with one scoop for the little one. The kid wasn’t happy about that and said to his dad that he also wanted two scoops. The dad explains that the scoops are pretty big and that one will suffice for him. I confirm this to help the Dad, even offering to make it extra big.

Still, the kid doesn’t budge, instead, he starts throwing a tantrum, nearly crying how he wanted two scoops. The dad, clearly not wanting to ruin his vacation mood, gives up and says to the kid he can have two scoops. ‘However,’ he adds, ‘if you can’t finish your ice cream like I said you wouldn’t, no more TV for you, for the rest of the vacation!’ The kid happily agrees, claiming he could eat a whole tub of ice cream.
Big mistake kid.

Me, being the petty person that I am, wanted to teach this brat a lesson. I proceed by scooping one of the most gigantic scoops I’ve ever scooped in my entire scooping career.

I put it on the cone, the kids’ eyes widen in shock. My scoop goes back for more, I see the kid tremble in disbelief. I scoop the second most gigantic scoop a scooper could scoop, and graciously add it to the first one. I hand the monstrosity I’ve created to the kid, who by now realizes he won’t watch TV again this summer. The dad seemed pretty cool with it, he even tipped me a little which was very rare. All in all a pretty good day.” Julian-VH
24. Tell Me To Leave And Don’t Come Back After Throwing Up My Guts? Have Fun Working Doubles

“Many years ago I worked at a gas station on a college campus, mainly the evening shift Thursday through Sunday nights.

The manager, I’ll call her Wanda, was a total ****** bag. She was constantly failing at her responsibilities, then blaming the employees when the owner would mention something.

I had been working there for about 4 years when one morning I wasn’t feeling well. I called around to see if anyone could come in for my shift (4-12), but no one was available. I called Wanda to let her know I was sick and unable to come in since part of her job was to cover shifts when others cannot. She told me to be at work and on time, or else I would be fired.
So I took my sick *** up to work and within an hour I was throwing up.

I even threw up behind the counter when I couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time. I called Wanda and told her I had to leave, as I was throwing up constantly. She had an attitude but said she would come in anyway.
An hour later, she showed up, complaining that I ruined her day because she and her boyfriend were planning to leave to go on vacation that evening. I started to gather my things and she asked me what I was doing.
I said, ‘I’m sick and throwing up. I’m going home.’ She replied, ‘I’m just here to watch the store while you get yourself together. If you leave, don’t bother coming back.’

So I left.

Around 8:00 Wanda called to ask me where I was. I told her I was at home, in bed, still throwing up. She told me I needed to come back to work so she could leave for her vacation. I reminded her of what she said before she left and said I was more than happy to comply. I hung up the phone and unplugged it (this was when land lines were still popular).
I plugged the phone back in at 11:45 and called the store. Wanda answered after a minute of ringing, so the store had to be busy (usually there’s a ton of college kids wanting to get alcohol before the midnight cutoff).

I said something like, ‘Wanda, it’s Christine. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be coming by Monday to get my last check and also, I agreed to work doubles tomorrow and Sunday so Employee X could go home for the weekend. Goodnight,’ and unplugged the phone again after hanging up.

I had a cell phone at this point, but Wanda didn’t have the number, so I didn’t plug my phone back in until Monday.
I went up to the office around 3 to get my last check and Wanda was furious. She had worked an entire extra week’s worth of hours in one weekend and she was salaried, so no extra pay.

She also got in a lot of trouble when the owner found out what she did and I was rehired immediately. She was fired within a year of that incident.” WTF_Christine
23. Ask Me To Go Above And Beyond? Sign This Please.

TL;DR: His company is adamant that they don’t help customers carry heavy items. When a husband and wife roll in asking for help, the guy makes the couple sign a waiver.
The husband drops his end of the ottoman causing damage to the car, breaks a tail light and tries to sue. The guy is called in for a meeting the next day with the General Manager, the Manager, HR and a legal representative who is there for the shareholders.

They threaten to fire him until he shows them the signed waiver. He eventually gets a lawyer, takes it to court and walks out better than he started.

“One of the most entertaining things in a customer service/dealing with the public role is the Husband and Wife dynamic. Sometimes the Husband is the more reasonable of the two. Sometimes the wife is the calm and understanding ones. Other times they’re both a bunch of idiots.
On this particular day, I had a lovely wife with an extremely aggressive husband come into the warehouse and pick out a storage ottoman they wanted. Now the storage ottomans were a frustrating item, as the metal mechanisms that allowed the lid to be opened and shut made the ottomans extremely heavy, needing at least 2 x people to lift it.

Naturally, aggressive ********* husband flat out refuses to pay delivery for his ottoman he’s just purchased. In his words, ‘we’ll just pick it up.’

Yeah right buddy… more like, we will drive our small car around back and your warehouse staff can do it.
The husband and wife conclude the sales process in the store and the sales associate passes a copy of the paperwork onto me.
I scan it over and make sure they’ve ticked off and signed off on the Terms and Conditions: that all clearance sales are final, that all clearance sales are ‘as is’, that warehouse staff/sales staff are not covered under any insurance for loading or unloading customers goods and customers are responsible for the pickup of any items them purchase/order, etc.

The customer pulls the car around, and it’s a smallish car, but should be fine. The husband walks over and I show him where his freshly bagged ottoman is and hand him a trolley.
Man – ‘What’s that for?’

Me – ‘To load your ottoman sir.’

Man (chuckles) – ‘No no no, you’re helping me.’

Me – ‘There’s two of you sir, you’ll be fine.’

Man – ‘Well then I’m canceling my order and filing a complaint against your company.’

I just sigh… I don’t want to cost this salesperson a sale, but my gut is trying to tell me something.

I quickly go into the office and grab a release form which we use for anyone picking up clearance, but make a few handwritten notes of my own. I bring the paperwork back out and show it to the customer.

Me – ‘Sir could you fill out your full name, contact details, and initial these handwritten comments and sign this release?’

Man – ‘Why?’

Me – ‘It just says that you’re happy to have me help you load up your ottoman and that if anything happens you won’t hold us liable.’

Man (smirks ) – ‘Wow, you guys sure take things seriously.’

I just smile as he signs the document.
I pass it to my offsider, asking him to make a few photocopies for the sales associate, the manager, the Area Manager, and the General Manager.

The wife grabs one end along with her husband and I grab the other end. We all lift it up and begin walking it toward the trunk of the car. The wife seems fine but the husband is struggling.

He keeps asking to put it down so he can take a break. We pick up the ottoman again, and as we are just about to reach the car, the Husband lets go of his end, the lounge tips to the right, I lurch forward and the ottoman smashes into the back of their car, taking out the right-hand side tail light.
The wife immediately starts laughing as the husband loses his ***. He is inspecting the damage and is looking at me with wild eyes, wanting me to offer him an admission of guilt. I calmly stand there as they load up their ottoman and drive away.

The next day the husband calls the store, he is filing a lawsuit against the company for damages and has provided HR and head office with excessive estimates. Immediately, I am called into the board room upstairs.

There’s the General Manager, the Manager, HR and a legal representative who is there for the shareholders.

GM and HR explain to me that they’re not risking a lawsuit, that they’re going to pay for this guys car and that they’re going to fire me. Without a word, I take out the document the customer signed.
I hand it to the HR rep, who hands it to the GM.
Me – ‘The customer signed off on a release form after I explained that the company didn’t cover or expect me to load his goods. The customer clearly stated here that if I helped him he was absolving me of any liability including vehicle damage.’

The GM hands the document over the lawyer who scans it.

And his face changes – they know they can’t do anything.

Me — ( I couldn’t help but add this ) ‘Ask your lawyer over there, I did EXACTLY what the customer asked me to do, I helped them.
It was the customer who dropped his end of the ottoman, he caused the damage, not me.’

There’s silence in the room

I turn and walk out. I’ve had enough.

I go to the warehouse, grab my bag, get a bus home and play some Dead Space 2.
There was aftermath… I went to my best friend to get a lawyer and put my own lawsuit against the company, for a variety of issues. This started a legal battle. After this ******** transpired, I got together with my best friend and we started looking into the company and the safety procedures they were breaking; the fact they were not hiring enough staff to safely lift items; no lift access in the store which breaches safety laws regarding moving heavy items and also breaches a few laws around access for people on wheelchairs or disabilities; no Overtime pay when people are forced to work overtime, etc.

The General Manager ran a special promotion during my time there for proceeds that would go to a Cancer Charity… and guess what? The $50,000 meant to go to charity disappeared, and somehow found it’s way into his bank account. There were also some claims made about the furniture that were false, made in Italy (actually made in China), 15-year warranty (2-year warranty ), unlimited cleaning for the entirety of you owning the sofa (claims were always denied ), stuff like that.
Armed with all this, my lawyer and I went to a mediation, where their legal team tried to pressure me into NOT taking a payout of my wage, my holiday pay, and a payout of all my other benefits … if they made this lawsuit against me ‘go away.’

Imagine their surprise when my lawyer began bringing up all the safety violations, staff wage discrepancies, not to mention the outright lies and stealing carried out by management.

The meeting was quickly postponed and the lawyer for my ex-employer and the General Manager asked for a private conversation outside.

They asked me what it would take for me to not go ahead in court, my lawyer asked for all my benefits paid, and to pay out the rest of the year as if I had been working a 5 day week. They deliberated for 15min before they agreed. What they didn’t agree on is that we couldn’t send off the violations to All the necessary government bodies.

Last I heard the GM AND MANAGEMENT team were fired and the company was fined $250,000.
DarklyNear
22. Tell Me You Didn’t Ask What I Think? I’ll Keep Going And Going And Going And Going

TL;DR; A young guy is working at a fast food chain when manager lets everyone go early for the night.

A bus of hungry people come in and the manager tells the young man on the grill what to cook and says don’t stop until I tell you to. The young guy questions the manager’s choice, to which the reply is, ‘I didn’t ask you what you think. They made me the manager, not you, and this is what needs to be done.’ So he keeps flipping burgers until the manager flips her lid.
“In the late 1980s, my first job was working at a well known fast food chain. I’d been working here a couple of years at the time of this story and had worked my way to crew leader, but had just been passed over for promotion to shift manager 3 days before.

It’s around 7:00 PM and we had just finished the dinner rush and the newly promoted manager (NPM) decided to save some labor and send the bulk of the crew home and just keep the closing crew. We had 1 person covering drive-thru, 1 person in the grill (me), 1 person at the front counter, and NPM.
At this point, it’s important to know that this fast-food chain was running a promotion for their most famous hamburger item (2 for $2), and of course, this was very popular.

With one employee in the grill area, and the equipment and prep methods that were used at this time, it was possible to make this item 6 at a time.

We had code names for cranking out these items from the grill area at speed.

6 pull 6 – meant that you make six of this item and when you finished making these 6 times, you started the next 6. With this method, you can make about six items every 2 1/2 minutes.
6 turn 6 – meant you start 6 of this item, and when you flip the meat on the grill, you start making 6 more. With this method, you can make six items every 75 to 80 seconds.

So what happens 10 minutes after the NPM sends the bulk of the crew home? We get a large Greyhound bus full of senior citizens that walk into the restaurant.

About 80 people flood the lobby and start lining up to place their orders.
From the grill area, I see the flood of people, assess the situation, and decide to start making some food. However, I choose not to make our ‘hot’ sale item since I don’t think the bulk of these customers will order this.
I decided to make fish, chicken, and smaller hamburger items, which I believe this group of people will order.

Just as I finish delivering the first ‘wave’ of these smaller items and about to start another, the NPM pokes her head out of the office and notices the situation. Obviously, the lone front counter person was overwhelmed, and the NPM rushes to help take orders.

On her way to the front counter, she yells to me in the grill area.

NPM – ‘I want you to do a 6 turn 6 until I tell you to stop.’

Me – ‘I don’t think these guys are going to be ordering that.
Are you sure?’

NPM – ‘I didn’t ask you what you think. They made me the manager, not you, and this is what needs to be done.’

Time for Malicious Compliance.
I start to crank out the burgers and don’t bother to wrap them up. I’m working furiously and get into a rhythm, turning out 6 of these every 75-80 seconds. About 15 minutes pass, and there are about 60 burgers made. With only me in the grill, there isn’t time for me to box the burgers and put them in the bin.

I’m stacking trays of finished burgers on any flat surface I can find in the grill area.
NPM is still taking orders at the front counter. She hasn’t noticed how many burgers are piling up in the grill area. At this point, I decided to ask her if she wants me to continue.

Me – ‘Do you still want me to do 6 turn 6?’

NPM – ‘Did I tell you to stop?’

Huh. Well, she’s taking the customer orders, so she must know what’s going on. I go back to the 6 turn 6. Another 20 minutes pass. There are now another 90 burgers and I’m putting trays of finished burgers in the sink area, straddling fryer vats, etc.

and she still hasn’t told me to stop.
At this point, all the customer orders are taken and they are now trying to get orders out. The smaller fish, chicken, and burger items are long gone by now and I’ve had no time to make any more. NMP yells back to me.

NPM – ‘We need chicken, fish, nuggets, hamburgers, and cheeseburgers.’

Me – ‘So you want me to stop the 6 turn 6?’

NPM – ‘What! You’re still doing that? Are you crazy?’

Me – “You didn’t tell me to stop, I’m doing exactly what you asked me to do.”

At this point, she walks back to the grill area and sees the fruits of my labor.

There are burger trays everywhere, the prep table is a disaster, the grill needs to be cleaned, and I can’t even get to the fry vats to make chicken or fish since there are burgers stacked on them.

NPM – ‘I can’t believe you did this! We’re never going to sell all of this! This will ruin my food waste goals!’
Me – ‘I specifically told you that I didn’t think a 6 turn 6 was a good idea, and you told me to do it anyway. I asked you if I should stop and you told me to continue. They made you the manager, so I assumed you knew what you were doing.’

NPM – ‘You did this on purpose!’

Me – ‘I did exactly what you told me to do, so yes, it was on purpose.’

NPM then storms back to the front counter and I start packaging burgers and making the food that was actually ordered to fill the customer orders.

She didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night.

The next day, the store manager asks me what happened and I told him exactly what I was instructed to do. The front counter person was able to verify the instructions that were given and I never heard anything more about it. The NPM was transferred to another store shortly after this and I was promoted.” colflagg
21. Can’t Check To See If My Fax Came Through? Here’s 500 Just In Case

“This happened about 5 minutes ago at my local DMV/MVD. I’ve been here for the past hour and 48 minutes and finally saw someone who bumped me back into the queue while my insurance company sent proof of insurance.

I have an email sent about 15 minutes ago but that apparently isn’t enough. Anyways, there’s this gentleman standing reading out numbers even though they’re announced over the loudspeaker. While I’m on the phone with my insurance company, I approach this gentleman to ensure that they’ve received the fax so that I don’t have to call again.

Instead of double checking or even politely declining, our docent decides to make a bit of a scene. ‘No he exclaims! We only take faxes of your insurance as a courtesy and you need to sit back down and wait for your turn in line!’ I’m a little taken aback, however, I want to make sure that everything is okay, so I ask the docent, ‘In the event that the fax didn’t go through, what happens?’

Well, this was apparently the wrong question for our docent as he lashes out screaming, ‘That isn’t our problem if it doesn’t come through you’ll have to come back a different day because we’re closing, I suggest you have them send it a couple of times.’ I’m a bit dumbfounded so I walked away telling my insurance agent, ‘Wow that’s possibly the biggest jerk I’ve ever spoken to in my life.’
The agent chuckles and I tell him the docent asked for the fax to be sent a few times, could he accommodate that? My agent looking to make good on customer satisfaction asks, ‘He never did specify how many times right?’ Turns out my insurance company has an auto fax system so they could send as many copies of my insurance as they wanted.

What if someone mistyped and wrote 500 instead of 50? That would be a real shame, wouldn’t it? Filling their fax line while 500 faxes came through. Something so petty that only a child would do? Well, unfortunately, I’m a child and the MVD/DMV is currently receiving 500 copies of my insurance. Hope they get at least one of them.” /XxDrsuessxX
20. Won’t Let Me Leave You A Message On A Piece Of Paper? Here’s 30 *******

“My boss, let’s call her K, used to duck in and out of the office all day. Part of me wondered why she had a chair at her desk, given she never seemed to stay in the office long enough to sit in it, most days.

As a result, if I had a message or question, I’d have to leave a note on her desk, for her to find when she next blew in.

I used to write them up on A4 pieces of paper because I could put a few things on the one sheet. Apparently this ‘violated office note policy’ and I was to only use Post It Notes. This was just after I gave a month’s notice I was leaving, so I got the feeling she was spiteful and looking to make my last month miserable. Little did she know.
Rightyo K. Only Post It Notes, it is.
Due to their size, I really could only fit one message per piece, so one can only imagine how 30 messages would look, stuck to a computer monitor.

K told me that I couldn’t use so many. I was limited to one Post It Note a day.

Game. On.

When I was told only standard size were acceptable, I printed on them in the smallest font I could (size 1, using the smaller font button).

So rules updated to only handwritten. I wrote in the smallest handwriting I could and mashed it all together. The handwriting was now required to be at least 1/4 of a cm high and 2mm space between words.
So I went after the ‘Notes only in English.’ Nothing about modern…. so Shakespearean it is. They plugged that loophole up, and here the wild ride ends, because that was my last day.’ JustANutMeg
19. You Want Us To Unload Our Lumber Around You? Better Get Ready To Sit Tight For A While

TL;DR: A rude lady took it upon herself to park in the construction the crew’s reserved parking on site.

She asked the very busy crew, hauling lumber up and down a hill to “just unload around her.” So they park around her and block her in and in doing so, she gets mad when she realizes she has no way out.
She crashes into the porta potty and tries to mount the sidewalk and gets stuck – all in front of the officer who appeared on the scene. She was arrested in front of her child in the backseat of her car.

So this happened earlier today and was too perfect to not share with you guys. I work in construction as the foreman for a new house build. The location is kinda strange, the house is 250 feet up a hill via a foot path only.

All of our materials have to come up this foot path by hand, it’s a pain in the *** to manually carry, quite literally, an ENTIRE HOUSE up this hill.
One of our saving graces is having the two parking spots on the street at the bottom of this hill marked with official No Parking signs. Unfortunately, there is an elementary school about half a block away and the parents of children seem to regularly (at least twice a day) think it’s ok to park in our spots. Now I consider myself a reasonable person, so if someone is parked in the spots and we don’t have a delivery or a need to park a truck I will let it go.

If we need the spots and there’s someone parked there, however, I will ask them to move nicely and most of the time they do so immediately.
Until today.
I get a phone call from the lumber delivery truck that is en route to our location, he says he’ll be there in about two or three minutes. I let him know I will meet him at the street and make sure he has space to park. He’s carrying all of the material to frame the roof of our house, which is a lot of really big lumber and will take easily an hour to bring up the hill, so naturally I didn’t want him parked in the middle of the street with his hazards on for an hour, when we have a perfectly good parking spot for him.

As I begin my trip down the hill, I notice there is a school parent sitting in her car idling, ***uming she’s just waiting to pick up her child, I walk up to her car and politely let her know that she is parked in a no parking zone and we really need her to clear it to park a delivery truck. She scoffs at me and rudely states back, ‘I’ll just be a few minutes, and your truck isn’t here, take a chill pill dude.’ Before I can respond, a giant lumber truck comes around the corner and I wave to him and then gesture towards him to the woman in the car who has now put her window back up to ignore me.

I put on my best customer service smile and wave at her through the window, she put it down halfway and angrily shouts ‘WHAT!’ By now the truck has pulled up alongside her car and I politely ask her again, with a stronger tone of voice to move her vehicle, reminding her that she is illegally parked in a tow away zone. Then she gives me this wonderful idea, she says, ‘Can’t you guys just unload around me? Jesus, it’s not that hard.’ I give her another smile and walk away, a brilliant plan forming in my head.

I instruct the delivery driver to park as close to her as possible and block her in with the porta potty that is at one end of our reserved spots and the parked car that is parked just adjacent to our spots on the other end.

He smiles because he immediately gets what I’m trying to do, and proceeds to expertly block this lady and her car into a little two parking spot jail. We unstrap the lumber and my guys begin ******* material up the hill, meanwhile, I call the police parking enforcement to let them know the situation. At this point in time, I wasn’t trying to get her in trouble, I just wanted a record of why we were blocking part of the street so we don’t get in trouble with the city.
The very friendly traffic officer lets me know that she can be there in about 30 minutes and deal with the situation for me, wonderful! As we continue to unload lumber the child of the parent shows up, and wouldn’t you know it Mom is just now realizing that the lumber truck is parked so close she can’t get out of her driver door to meet her kid.

She awkwardly clambers across the inside of her car and stumbles out the passenger door, shooting glaring looks at me and the truck driver in the process. She loads her kid into the back and then begins to realize that she has no way of leaving. She comes storming up to myself and the driver and states, ‘I’m in a big hurry, you need to move your **** truck right now so I can go.’ Before I can respond, the driver gets a grin on his face and says, ‘Ma’am in order to unload the lumber on the truck we had to unstrap it, and per our company policy I’m not allowed to move the truck with any unsecured load on it.

Sorry.’ This sends her into near aneurysm levels of ***** pressure, meanwhile, I can barely contain my laughter. ‘*** your policy I have somewhere to be!’ She barks back at him.
At this point, with impeccably convenient timing, the parking enforcement officer shows up and parks behind the truck. The angry lady doesn’t see the officer arrive and while the officer is still getting out of her vehicle I just casually say, ‘Can’t you just pull out around it? It’s not that hard.’ With the biggest *** eating grin I’ve ever had, I watch as she realizes that I just used her line on her.
‘*** you!’ She yells, and storms back to her car and angrily clambers back in through the passenger door and into the driver’s seat.

At this point the officer is walking up to myself and the driver, before she can even introduce herself, the Mom in the car slams it into reverse and stomps on the gas, crashing into our porta potty and knocking it over, and then throws the car into drive and tries to mount the curb and drive on the sidewalk. The officer, driver and I are staring in disbelief as she gets halfway over the curb and gets stuck.
I can hear her screaming obscenities over the idling truck from inside her car. The officer promptly walks up to the door of the car and orders her out. My favorite part of the entire thing is watching her face go to shock as she realized she just did all of that in front of a police officer.

She gets slapped in cuffs as the parking officer calls for a second unit and she is promptly sat on the very curb she tried to drive over.
She sits on the curb yelling to the now two officers about how we told her she could stay there and that we never asked her to move.
The traffic officer responds that she was the one who was originally called when the mom first refused to move and that she already knows what’s going on. While the driver and I are giving a report to the second officer, my guys finish moving the remainder of the lumber and the driver finishes his statement and takes off to go back to the yard.

By the end of the ordeal, the mom was arrested, charged with Child Endangerment, (her kid was in the back of the car the whole time) Reckless Driving, Destruction of Property, (the porta potty) and Driving on a Suspended License.
On top of all that she also got her car towed, the kid went home with his grandma and she went to spend some quality time in a cell. I never expected her to actually heed my advice to ‘just pull out around it.’ But I think next time she’ll probably think twice about parking in a tow away zone if she ever gets a license again.” BBQLunch
18. Make The Floors Sparkle? I’ll Make Them Glitter And Shine

“When I was a young ET3 United States Navy Electronics Technician who was at the end of his training pipeline, stuck in limbo with not much to do because orders were coming in less and less.

Generally, the lull period between commands is a period of courtesy calls to the command to verify you haven’t partied your self to death and to verify if you’re still in limbo. Except if you have an ET1 jack*ss who wants to make your life as miserable as they can. Now that I was no longer in training nor a part of his crew I guess ET1 saw fit to make me his personal janitor.
Anyway, after attempting to be clever and having my duty the previous day be to sweep the sunlight off the walkway during the dead of winter in the Northeast (meaning I worked like 4 hours and went home), he was furious that his plan had backfired.

So his new plan was to make me clean our workshop until it was up to his level of clean.

Did the usual dust, sweep, mop, clean windows. I was told ‘not clean enough.’

Strip and wax the floor, polish all the metal. I was told ‘not clean enough.’

Reorganize all the tool lockers to spec, take apart all the things removing every ghost turd, polish the chairs, fix the squeaky door. I was told ‘not clean enough.’

It was at this point, the ET1 said, ‘Do you not understand me, petty officer, this room is not clean enough, I want you to make the floor sparkle!’
Well, it just so happens that the mechanics had this pint of two-tone powder pink and purple paint flake/glitter stuff (I did not ask why only found it and pretended I didn’t).

So I headed down to their workshop where most of the ones not on watch were hanging around and I asked them if they’d mind if I took that glitter off their hands.

The usual round of, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if we did…..why?’ came up and I simply asked if they’d like to see ET1 lose his mind (he was also infamous for having a short temper).

So I obtained the glitter and spent a good 3 hours stripping and re waxing and buffing the floors, even polished the top of the work table, and go to get ET1 again, after notifying the navy mechanics to be on stanby.

Well ET1 shows up and looks around, ‘Not clean enou- what, is this, is this DID YOU JUST WAX GLITTER INTO MY FLOOR!?’

I respond by inquiring why he was getting so angry, and that I had followed his instructions to the letter – the floor now sparkled.

It was in this moment amongst the growing crowd of onlookers who were chuckling at ET1 that I found out firsthand how a person could get so angry they change colors. Flush, to red, to almost purple with veins bulging in his neck and forehead. I had not seen such a spectacle outside of a hollywood movie.
ET1 proceded to yell….something, it was very incoherent and loud, storm outside to the smoke pit, scattering every one who was there as they wanted none of what ET1 was now, our Command Master Chief even came around the corner to see what the crowd of running non-useful bodies was about, saw ET1, and came to the workshop to see what might’ve happened.

Upon seeing my handy work, he laughed, and told me to just take it easy until my orders showed up, he didn’t need an attempted murder at his command. So I got to spend the next 3 days in relax mode as my paperwork was found, I got new orders and I was off to the fleet.” Riker557118
17. Check For The TV You Want That I Know We Don’t Have? Ok, I Won’t Be Right Back

“So this happened a few years back when I used to work at a department store in the UK.
This store is very popular amongst the middle/upper class and therefore leads to a lot of entitled and outright rude customers coming in.

I should also explain that the way the break system works here is due to the lack of staff, you have to wait for the people who go before your allocated break slot to come back to work before you can go so that there’s always staff on the shop floor. This also means if you’re late going to break you can send the whole team off track for the day causing people to have lunch breaks ages after they’re meant to.
So I was working in the TV department when a customer came up and asked me to check the stock on a particular model, no problem, I check the systems and see that it is showing out of stock in store and the distribution center with it due to be coming back in to stock in a couple of days time.

I explain this to the customer who immediately goes into a tirade of entitled moaning about ‘this is not what I expect from DEPARTMENT STORE’ and ‘If it’s out of stock why is it still on display?’ I explained that the store sells upwards of 50 different models of televisions and if we had to remove each one that went out of stock there’d be no staff left to serve anyone, which just annoyed this customer even more.
Anyways, it got to the point where despite me explaining the TV would be back in stock in 2 days and also offering viable alternative models, some better specs for less money, this customer was **** bent on getting that particular TV today and started demanding I went to check the stock room.

‘Surely you must have one? This is ridiculous, how can you tell you don’t have any without physically checking etc.’ I can’t describe to you how incredibly entitled and rude this customer was, even by the DEPARTMENT STORE’S usual standards and he really started to wind me up.
Now by this point, I’d been with this customer for a fairly long time explaining I can’t just magic a TV out of thin air for them and I was already 15 minutes overdue on my lunch break. I could see my manager (who had been listening to this whole conversation) waiting to tell me to go to break so I explained to the customer that I was going to talk to my manager and come back to him.

My manager was a down to earth guy and a good friend of mine, I explained the customer was asking me to go check the stock room and I knew I was already late for my 45-minute break so together we formed a plan.
I returned to the customer and explained that the stock room was on the 3rd floor of the building and contains 100’s of different TVs which would take a while to search. The customer was adamant that I checked the stock room for his particular model as that was the service he expected from DEPARTMENT STORE and if not he would be complaining. With a spring in my step, I then asked the customer to wait there whilst I went up and checked if there was any in the stock room and swiftly left the department.

As pre-agreed with my manager, I then proceed to go on my 45-minute lunch break, I had a Subway, did a bit of clothes shopping, got some snacks for the team for when I went back to work and generally took my time strolling around the town center.
I then return to work at the end of my break, go to the 3rd-floor warehouse (via the stairs, not the lift), straight to the shelf where the customer’s TV was meant to be and sure enough there isn’t any there! I then stroll back down three flights of stairs, stop for a glass of water, have a couple of chats with some colleagues and then return to the TV department well over an hour after leaving the customer, who is still there, where I left him, looking extremely pissed off.

I approach the customer ‘out of breath’ and explain that I’d checked every TV in the warehouse and his one wasn’t there, at which point he erupts into a rich person rage, shouting and asking to speak to a manager and saying I’d wasted his time making him wait for so long.
My manager then walks over, introduces himself and then explains he had heard the entire conversation and that I had already explained there was 100’s of TVs upstairs meaning it would take a while. The customer looked as if he was about to explode but realized that he had caused the wasted hour of his life, stormed out the shop and, as far as I am aware, never did get that TV.” AFC-Wilson
16. Ask Me To Write An Essay About Respect? I’ll Do You One Better And Show You

“When I was in sixth grade, I really venerated my English teacher.

He was cool and quirky and calm and compassionate, so little introverted me looked up to him to the point that I sort of studied his behavior and intentions.
This helped me be more confident and extroverted, possibly too much.

One day, he was late to class when I walked in. I set my bag down in the same manner that he did stand before the class, and proceeded to do a pretty spot-on impression of him. This drew some good laughs so I went in harder, hamming up his mannerisms and movements and inflating his vocal idiosyncrasies. The class roared louder with laughter. ‘Wow, I’m really doing a good job!’ I thought.

I was wrong. Just before I launched into the staunch effigy, Mr. C walked into the doorway and stood behind me, leaning against the door frame in full view of the class but out of my sight.
The second wave of laughter bolstered my confidence, and I rode that rush into a full blown monologue that didn’t cast him in the best light. Fewer laughs this time, plenty of cringes, quickly followed by a sound I can still hear – a slow clap, coming from behind me, the tambour of which can only be produced by adult male hands.
My posture folded as I grabbed my bag from his desk and shrank into my seat.

‘Bravo Mister ____,’ he said grinning, ‘that wasn’t half bad.’ His grin faded to a scowl. ‘However, that was incredibly disrespectful. You are going to go home tonight and write a 300-word essay on respecting your teachers.’

I was crushed.
In addition to losing the respect of my favorite teacher and hurting his feelings, I had two tests the next day and a ton of homework and there was no way I could get all of it done well enough to make up for this. Then I got an idea.

‘Mr. C, I don’t think I can fit it all I to 300 words,’ I said with a smirk. ‘You still haven’t learned, have you? Alright then, 500 words due by the beginning of class,’ he quipped.

‘That’s still going to be a tight squeeze Mr. C,’ I rebutted. ‘Son, now you owe me a thousand.
I don’t want to hear another peep from you.’ I nodded, with a few Ooohs from the class. Just as I wanted, hook, line, and sinker.
I went home and studied for my tests, did my homework, then took out a piece of drawing paper. I drew the scene of the class laughing at the bottom, with an exaggerated me doing an impression of the teacher in the middle, with Mr. C leaning against the doorway in the corner. Across the top, I wrote, ‘Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Flattery.’ Across the bottom, ‘A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words.’ Signed and dated it.

The next day when I reached into my notebook and took out a single sheet of paper, he scoffed, thinking I hadn’t written the full assignment. He took the page and stared at it completely blank face. I didn’t know if he was going to rage on me or send me to the principal. He stared for what felt like an eternity. Finally, a smile curled across his lips, he sat the drawing down, and heartily said, ‘Bra-vo! Now THAT is a job well done!’ We were back in good graces again, thank goodness.

He framed the drawing and hung it on the backside of his filing cabinet.
It was still in his room ten years later when I visited after college.

If you’re reading this Mr. C, thank you. You’re still my favorite teacher I’ve had.” Baedhisattva
15. You Want To Call The Cops And Have Someone Arrested? I’ll Call The Cops And Have Someone Arrested

“I was over 30, had gone back to school, and it was the Friday before finals week on my last semester to finish my CE degree. Bordering around campus, it’s rather low income and not highly educated, and not a place I frequented.

I walked into a gas station, we’ll call it Square L, about 7:30 am.
Locally, that’s 30 minutes after they start selling alcohol, the county is dry between 3 am and 7 am. Grab two of the largest packs of cheap beer they sell, and head up to the register.

No big deal, just stocking up for a small ‘study party’ with friends on campus later that day.

The person behind the register eyes me suspiciously as I set them on the counter and tells me I’m not buying them. I politely explain it’s after 7 am, and I don’t see a problem. The manager, denoted by dress shirt instead of polo leans over and tells her to get my ID, so she asks me for it.
I’m like fine, whatever, and I fidget around a minute before realizing it’s in my car. I say as much and offer to grab it, and she told me to go ahead.
I dash out to my car, grab my wallet from my book bag.

No big deal. Walk back in and present it to the person at the register, who promptly glances at it, snickers, snaps it in half, tosses it in the trash, and tells me to get the *** out of her store.

I stood there a minute, sort of dumbounded. The manager tells me to get the *** out of the store or police will be called and someone is getting arrested.
I mumbled something along the lines of oh crap and opted to comply with the second half. I went to my car, grabbed my phone, called non-emergency and told them I just had my driver’s license taken and destroyed, read off the address, ended my call, then headed back inside and stood.

The manager tells me that’s it, they are calling the cops. I let her know I already did. The clerk laughs and shouts for the people in the store to hear, ‘ya’ll want to stick around, this punk *** called the cops on us for taking their fake ID.’

It took about 10 minutes, but they showed up.
As they arrived, the manager rushed out the door, and I walked behind. The cop asked for me immediately by name, dismissing the manager pointing at me and rattling off about my ‘fake ID’. I told him what happened, and I was told to leave or cops were to be called and someone were to be arrested.

He then takes the statement from the manager, then the clerk, then requests the ID be retrieved from the trash. He looks it over and hands the two pieces back to me.
He hasn’t said anything other than simple requests for info up to this point, then asks me to come along, and we’re going to have a chat outside.
At this point, I’m actually growing a bit concerned.

He punches in the DL number and up pops my face and info. Clean history both driving and criminal. He then lets me know that destruction of a license is a misdemeanor in this state, and asks which one snapped it. We have a brief conversation, and at this point, he’s smiling ear to ear.

He asks me if I want to press charges, and at this point, I’ve already missed the first class, so state I do. I’m told to play along with him, and we share the course of action. By this time, there were 4 squad cars and police milling about.
Customers had grown scared.

We walked back in, I’m staring at the floor looking pensive, and he says loudly, ‘What do we say?’ and nudges me. I politely say, ‘I’m very sorry this happened, and I’m sure it won’t happen again.’ The clerk and manager begin chuckling. I then finish with ‘The manager requested the clerk take it, who snapped it, then the manager is the one who said someone is getting arrested.’
The officer undid the cuffs from his belt, walked up to the clerk, and began with miranda rights.

Another did the same to the manager.

Another 30 minutes roll by while they are sitting in the backs of squad cars, the store is devoid of employees until someone walks out from the back cooler.
I wait patiently, eventually, they are cut loose under ‘own recognizance’ and I’m given a date to play witness in court. We head back in and the manager is IRATE. The employee, on release, bolted. I pay for my now-warm beer and leave. My professor got a great laugh out of the police report, and let me do my project presentation late anyway.” ************
14. Want Me To Upsell Fancy Coffees? I’ll Upsell Fancy Coffees Until The Cows Come Home

“A long time ago I worked for a chain of posh pubs in London.

The one I worked at was in Maida Vale, a fairly wealthy neighborhood with several celebrity residents (Jude Law, for example).
Anyway, I was an assistant supervisor in the pub and was always responsible for Sunday afternoon shift, which for those of you who are familiar with the UK, knows this means Sunday roast was a big deal. And we had a really good roast with all the fixins and we’d get really, really busy on Sundays with all of our tables full with people who’d come to eat and drink for half a day at least.

For whatever reason, my manager had decided that, despite how busy we are on Sundays, that we only needed two people on the shift.

Again, for those of you who are familiar with UK pubs, everyone typically orders at the bar, but it’s table service, so me and the other person on shift were responsible for staffing the bar, pouring drinks, taking food orders, but also taking out the food, taking out cutlery and sauces, restocking, cleaning glasses, and bussing tables.
You’re essentially a cashier, bartender, and wait staff all at once.

And then there was the one thing I hated the most – coffees.
We had this old, slow, partially broken espresso machine which none of us had been properly trained on. Making coffee on it took AGES. The worst was that it would take so long that food orders would go out more slowly, and a queue would form at the bar of people wanting to order drinks.

I hated having to leave customers waiting at the bar who just wanted a quick pint or soda while I fussed with the stupid coffee machine for 15 minutes.
We all hated the ********* coffee machine and complained about it constantly. Luckily, however, demand for coffee wasn’t that high at the pub – given that it’s traditionally a venue for drinking alcoholic beverages. But then, one day, corporate management announced that they wanted all their pubs to sell more coffee. In fact, they had quotas of coffee sales they wanted us to meet, and they wanted us to ask EVERY guest that was placing a food order if they wanted a fancy coffee drink like we were some sort of Starbucks or something.

But they still didn’t give us a new, proper machine, and they still provided us with exactly zero training on making espresso drinks.
For the most part, on Sundays, I ignored this edict. We were so slammed just with regular beverages and getting out Sunday roasts that adding obligatory coffees into the mix would be *******.

Then one Sunday, my manager was in the pub doing paperwork, and pulled me aside and said that he noticed our sales of coffee weren’t what they should be, particularly on Sundays. He noted that Sunday afternoon should be our best day for coffee sales because everyone’s in for roasts. He then perched himself next to the bar to work on his paperwork, and I could kinda tell he was doing this so he could monitor whether I was up-selling coffees or not.

I tried to warn him. I said, ‘You know, with only two people on shift, when the rush comes we’re going to be really slammed. If I’m doing coffees as well as drinks and food service, there will be a significant delay.’

‘Whatever, I’ll jump on if things get out of hand,’ he said.
So, I decided he should see how crazy Sundays get, and just what adding coffees to the mix would do. As usual on a Sunday, a trickle of people start filling into the bar around 11 am, but by noon it’s already two deep at the bar, all the tables are full, and there are two full lines of food tickets with multiple plates of starters, mains, and dessert.

It’s now that I and the other bartender start selling the coffees hard. We’re telling everyone, ‘You know what would go well with that, a nice cappuccino, or maybe a latte!’

And they’re all agreeing with me. I wait until I have about a dozen coffee orders all lined up, and I tell the other staff member that he’s on the bar and food service, and I go over to start preparing them with our old, slow, crappy espresso machine.
It’s at this point that things go a bit haywire. Food starts coming down the food lift, and so the bartender is sprinting back and forth between the bar, the food lift, and the tables.

The crowd at the bar is growing and becoming restless. They just want some beer, FFS! I’m going as fast as I can with the coffees, but honestly, it takes a really long time.

Then my manager looks up and sees the angry mob at the bar, my colleague running around like a crazy person, and asks me ‘Why aren’t you pouring drinks?!’

I show him my tickets, ‘I have 20 fancy coffee orders!’
The manager decides to take over the coffees so I can go back to the bar, so I double down on the coffees. I’m getting people to order mochas, flat whites (I don’t even know what that is, really, but now we sell them!), Irish coffees, coffee with shots of Baileys or Amaretto.

I’m going wild. And my manager is visibly sweating and frustrated and cursing at our terrible coffee machine. And then the best thing happens. We run out of coffee cups and saucers. He’s now making coffees in some Styrofoam cups he found in a closet. He’s very close to making a cappuccino in one of those fancy Belgian beer goblets. And then finally, he comes up to me, all angry, ‘Stop offering people fancy coffee drinks.’

‘But you said…’

‘No more coffee drinks.’

He never asked me to up-sell coffee ever again!” Source
13. The Armrest Is Yours And The Window Is Mine? Here, Let Me Just Put My Book Down

“So this happened to me today on my flight on a, particularly sunny morning.

I booked a window seat (love me some window on an airplane), and I ended up sitting next to a man in his mid-30s who took an outrageous amount of selfies on the plane to document his travels (I assume). This already put a bad taste in my mouth but to each his own. Our side of the plane only had two seats so it was just him and me.

We did some armrest dancing and eventually reached what I thought was an unspoken agreement that I would have my elbow on the front side of the armrest while he would take the back.
I thought it worked out pretty nicely so we both got what we wanted.

So we take off and he ended up falling asleep. I pop my headphones in for some lo fi hip hop and open up a book I’ve been meaning to read for quite some time. As we reach 10k feet, it’s QUITE sunny – like almost unbearably so. But I enjoy being able to see out my window while flying, so I kept my window open.

I felt bad and wanted selfie bro (SB) to be able to stay asleep, so I lifted my book juussst right so that it blocked all sunlight from SB – that way, I could enjoy my book and my window, and SB could get some z’s.

Fast forward about 30mins when selfie bro woke up:

SB: *aggressively moves arm forward so as to displace mine*

Me: ‘Did I do something to upset you?’

SB: ‘You’re taking up the whole armrest. You have a window. I get the armrest.’

Me: ‘Ok.’

I move my arm. And my book. As I set my book down, the sunlight that was previously blocked now shines directly on SB’s face. He grunts as he tries to reposition himself to get out of the light. I lean back on my seat so he can get the full sunlight experience. I return to reading my book. SB asks me to close the window and I pretend to not hear him.

SB can’t get comfortable, and he doesn’t want to turn the other way because there’s a small child who won’t stop staring right at him. You can have the armrest, SB.” axonpruning
12. You Want To Talk To My Manager? Ok, But Speaking Up Won’t Help

“Prior to being a bartender I worked at a retail chain called Big W. I’m a nerd, I tend to switch to autopilot when tired (almost always at the end of shifts) and can be a **** when annoyed. Me in a nutshell.

It’s a slow Wednesday afternoon, the A/C has broken again and it’s about 5 degrees C hotter inside than it is outside (29c).
I’m in autopilot, rigor mortis smile on my face and retail greetings are droning out of my throat.

A guy walks into my register, demanding a refund for something trivial. Probably his panties were the wrong color, I don’t remember.

I inform him in a monotone voice that refunds are issued by my supervisor, not me. There’s a surprisingly substantial line at the supervisor’s desk, people wanting cigarettes, refunds or information. He informs me that he’s not waiting that long for something trivial.

He demands I do it, because ‘Even someone as dumb as you can do this.’ Well, that snapped me out of autopilot and the smile fades.
I repeat, in a much more direct tone that, ‘only the supervisor can do refunds.’ The customer is having none of it. ‘Refund my item.’ He demands again, saying it very slowly as if I was the dumbest potato in the strawberry patch.

‘I am unable to-‘ He cuts me off.
‘I want to speak to your manager, I don’t want to talk to you.’ Now, this is where people need to be careful with their words. As a cashier, I report directly to my supervisor, one of the two at the desk. They’re in charge of me. My manager sits out back managing the store, and usually never has to interact with customers unless the supervisor calls him.
So I nod, calling through the headset for my manager (let’s call him Fred). Fred’s a great guy, he tells good jokes, he’s always ready to help his friends and he’s a caring soul. He’s also a mute; and after wrapping his vehicle around a tree as a teen, he’s also deaf.

As such he knows Auslan (Australian Sign Language), but can’t read lips to save his life. I also can’t speak Auslan at all.

This probably took about 5 minutes for someone to alert Fred that he was needed and for him to come down. All this time, I’m smiling but not saying a word to the gentleman, as he told me to.
He comes up to the registers, sees it’s me waving him down and pulls out his personal digital assistant device to communicate with me.
‘What’s up?’ Fred types. I take the PDA and type, ‘Customer has a complaint, wants to speak to “my manager” not me.’ Fred raises and eyebrow at me and I just shrug.

The guy is turning red with anger, probably thinking we’re ignoring him.

Fred turns to the guy who launches into a full on verbal assault that would curdle milk chcocloate. Something about incompetent employees and terrible service. Fred just stands there. Eventually, the guy runs out of breath and Fred has a chance to show him the PDA with the words, ‘Sir I am a deaf-mute, please use this to communicate with me.’ The guy practically screams and storms out of the store.
Yiffparty_exe
11. Just Give Him A Bowl? I’ll Give Him The Biggest One We Got!

“Yesterday I decided to take my kids to an international chain restaurant. In this restaurant, the kids’ meal comes with ice cream.

But, you have to serve yourself. That was a problem because there weren’t any bowls beside the ice cream machine.

So I thought, ‘I know what to do. I’ll simply ask an employee for some bowls.’ And that’s just what I did.

So he turns to look at the vast array of bowls behind him, some sauce-sized, some entree salad-sized, and many in between. And we realize that neither of us knows what size the kids’ ice cream is intended to be.
So he thought, ‘I know what to do. I’ll simply ask a manager.’ And he says, ‘hey boss, what do we put the kids’ ice cream in?’

Without turning around, the boss says, ‘a ****** bowl, what do you think?’

‘Ya, but what size of bowl?’

The boss, with his inimitable charm, tact, and grace, says, ‘JUST ****** GIVE HIM A BOWL.’

The employee looked back at the bowls, and then I saw him get a big grin over his face.

‘I apologize about that, sir. I think it’s probably these ones,’ he says, as he hands me two of the largest bowls they have in the restaurant, practically giggling with glee. My children were similarly delighted.
The manager walked by when we were half way through and made a noise like a startled opossum, but said no actual words.

Definitely going back there.’ Mango123456
10. There’s A Man Walking Down The Street You Say? Here’s Another One Coming Your Way

“I use to work as a 911 dispatcher and I once took a call from a lady who was complaining about a black man walking down the street. He was doing nothing wrong…except, as she put it, ‘He’s black and walking down the street.’

She insisted an officer be dispatched to speak with her and we had a policy that we must always dispatch.

Soooo…I sent the only black officer on duty. It was out of his area, but a computer message to him and the supervisor made it obvious why he was going. When he arrived she went nuts and called again screaming that there was now a black man knocking on her door. I said, ‘yes this is the police officer you requested.’ Ultimately, I had to send the supervisor out because she refused to open the door and was throwing a huge fit on the phone.” nlderek
9. No Earlier, No Later? Ok, I’ll Just Come Right On Time

“I deliver food for a major company for a living, and while most of our customers are very nice, we get the occasional person who drives us crazy.

One customer requested her food be delivered at 5:30 PM. I left the store at about 5:20 PM, knowing it’d take about ten minutes to get there. I ended up getting stuck behind slow drivers and arrived at 5:34 PM.

This woman flipped out. She was yelling at me and telling me that when she requests something for a specific time, it had better be there AT that time, no sooner, no later! I got where she was coming from, but due to a variety of reasons (including not wanting drivers to drive dangerously to arrive at the specified time), we cannot guarantee that it’ll happen on the dot.
She wasn’t hearing any of it.

No tip, but that was no surprise given her reaction.

The following week, the same woman ordered again for the same time. This time around, we had more help in the store and I got the order out earlier than normal. I thought ‘eff it’ and went to get something to eat. I parked on the next street over and ate my food slowly, then delivered her food at exactly 5:30 PM.

This time around she was on her phone and didn’t say a word to me. No tip again.

This process repeated, but I came to enjoy having some quiet time to eat, even if I wasn’t getting tipped.
One day, I was in a particularly mischievous mood and decided to just sit outside her house and eat my lunch.

When I finally rang the doorbell at 5:30 .PM, she immediately whipped open her door and yelled, ‘HAVE YOU BEEN SITTING OUTSIDE MY HOUSE THIS WHOLE TIME WITH MY FOOD?!’

‘Yes.’

‘WHY IN THE **** DIDN’T YOU BRING IT TO ME THEN?!’

‘Cause you said when you ordered something for 5:30, you wanted it at 5:30. It’s 5:30. Didn’t want to bring it to you too early.’

No tip. Worth it. Striker__Eureka
8. Tuck In My Shirt? Well, Tuck This!

“For a little background: I used to work in a call center selling vacations for a major hotel chain.
My boss was a huge ******. All he did all day long was walk around and make sure everyone had their shirt tucked in (and generally be a negative jerk who everyone hated).

No customers ever saw us, and we were secluded from every other department because we were really loud (if you have ever worked in outbound sales you know what I mean). There was literally no reason to tuck in shirts, but the boss for some reason thought this would help us sell better (I was the top salesman on the night shift, and 3rd overall in the company.
It didn’t help at all)?
So I come into work on my birthday, and my friend runs up to me and yells, ‘redditingwhileworkin!!! happy bday!!!’ right in front of my bosses office. He looks up and says, ‘redditingwhileworkin!’ I’m thinking he’s going to say happy bday since he no doubt heard her, instead, he said, ‘Yeah go ahead and tuck your shirt in, k?’ and he does the hand signal like he’s tucking in an imaginary shirt.

So I say, ‘ok no prob, I just have to put my stuff down real quick and I’ll take care of it.’ So I walk over to my desk, which takes approx 7 seconds to get to.
I go to put my stuff down, and as I am he comes up behind me again and says, ‘hey I said to tuck in your shirt!’ So I quickly tuck it in, and as he’s walking literally right by me I say ‘sorry I just had to put my stuff down first,’ and he walks by like I never said a word.
Immediately, I bust out my HR manual and check out the rule on tucked in shirts.

Turns out you must tuck in all shirts EXCEPT a Hawaiian shirt or a ‘Guayabera’ shirt. So right after work I take my *** to Walmart, and buy 10, and wear the most obnoxious Hawaiian looking shirt the next day.
The second I walked in, he looked me up and down, glared, turned around and walked away. When everyone asked why I was wearing such a ridiculous shirt, I told them about the loophole, and within a week half my office was wearing Hawaiian shirts. It drove my boss crazy…all within the guidelines outlined by company policy.

As an update to the story from the last time I posted it, the boss eventually got fired for getting oral pleasure from one of the girls in the call center while he was in his office.

I had already moved on to another company by then, but when I heard, I got a nice chuckle out of it.” RedditingWhileWorkin
7. Don’t Want To Listen To The Guy Who’s Been On His Machine For 30 Years? Guess You Don’t Need Your Fingers

“Back in the early 2000s, I was a management trainee for a manufacturing company in the UK, and I was responsible for quality control and production management.
I was 22 years old, keen as punch and ready to change the world.

About 11 months into the role, I got a new boss, let’s call him ‘Fred.’ Fred was also the company owner’s son and was basically a 45-year-old giant toddler who had only ever been a drug dealer/DJ and now stood to inherit the entire company.

His management style was, let’s say, ‘interesting’ and he would deviate from ‘screaming at you for the most benign thing ever’ to ‘I can’t deal with the pressure so I’ll go home for the day’ in a matter of hours. He also thought he was a manufacturing GENIUS.
His ideas were ******* crazy, but he would scream at anyone who questioned him.
There was a 52-year-old machine operative, let’s call him ‘Roy,’ who has worked on the same machine for over 30 years. Roy could tell when his machine was 2 weeks away from a breakdown, just because it sounded different. He was truly at one with his machine.

Fred decided that we would modify Roy’s machine so that we could extend the range of products we could manufacture.

In order to do this, he decided that we would add an additional spindle to the machine. The problem was that each product would finish at a different time and you would need to remove a product from the machine while the other one was still spinning.
Roy protested and said he’d never use it, but Fred went ahead and modified it over the weekend with a subcontractor.

On Monday, Roy said, ‘You must be joking, I’m not using that.’ Fred said, ‘You will use it, or you’ll be looking for a new job tomorrow.’ Roy said, ‘It’s not safe and I won’t use it. If you try to make me I will report you to the HSE.’ And then Fred said, ‘If you report me, I’ll make sure you don’t find work ever again.’

So Roy smiled and said, ‘Ok, fine, I’ll load the next job but you can run it first.’

Roy loaded on his next job and took two steps back.

He also looked at me and said, ‘Stand back.’

Fred started the machine and all went well, for about 30 seconds.
The first job had reached the diameter required and Fred pressed ‘stop’, however, he now had to lean over the other job that was still running at 2,000 RPM. I didn’t see it happen but I heard an awful scream and then saw ***** squirting everywhere. Fred fainted onto the machine, narrowly missing the spindle with his face and greasy long black hair. We pressed the emergency stop and picked him up, and it was then I spotted his fingers in the machine.
I picked up two middle fingers and gave them to a colleague to put into a freezer bag, which was a waste of time because they couldn’t reattach them, they were too mangled.

Fred never came back to work. Apparently, he told his father he wasn’t cut out for running the company and I also left about 6 months later. I saw recently that it was bought out in a management buy out and good old Roy was the operations director. Good for him!” NGD80
6. Force An Atheist To Read A Prayer? I’ll Pick Just The Right One

“Years ago, I went to a Catholic high school.
I was also an atheist. Not an in-your-face, ******* atheist – I just didn’t believe in God and wasn’t going to lie about it. They offered a solid education, it’s part of the curriculum, I had a lot of Catholic friends, so I’m obviously not going to be a jerk about it.

I had no issue showing up at mass and being respectful, taking four years of religion courses, or doing community service. But that didn’t mean I wanted to lead the prayer.

I didn’t really mind saying a few words, but reading from the Bible never sat well with me and felt disingenuous.
Luckily, most teachers were awesome and I could respectfully opt out.

But at least once a year, some teacher would absolutely insist that I get up and read from, ‘one of the many beautiful passages you should know by now!’

‘Okay.’ I would walk to the front, say the traditional greeting, ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,’ and then I would read:
II Kings 2:23-34

‘From there Elisha went up to Bethel.

As he was walking along the road, some boys came out of the town and jeered at him. “Get out of here, baldy!” they said. “Get out of here, baldy!” He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the Lord.
Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the boys.”

For times I didn’t feel like going with 42 children being brutally mauled by bears for making fun of a bald guy, there was another passage that was (somehow) often a more appropriate read:

Deuteronomy 25:11-12

‘If two men are fighting and the wife of one of them comes to rescue her husband from his assailant, and she reaches out and seizes him by his private parts, you shall cut off her hand.

Show her no mercy.’

And then I’d finish up with the sign of the cross and head back to my seat.
And what do you know? My turn to say prayer never seemed to come around again.” Homeless-Bill
5. ID Every Customer With No Exception? That Includes The Manager Too

“My friend told me this beautiful story that needs to be heard.

A few years ago she worked at a little hole in the wall franchise liquor store here in AB, Canada. The staff received a notice from management stating that they suspected AGLC (Alberta Gaming & Liquor Commision) was going to be doing some ‘secret shopping’ in the area to fine liquor stores who weren’t checking for ID, and that as such they were to ID every single customer without exception (Having worked at a liquor store myself, this would suck, but it beats getting a personal fine and ******* the boss off getting them a big fine as well).

So one day my friend is on shift and her horrible manager/franchise owner who no one liked comes in to purchase a bottle. My friend asks for ID. This ensues:

Friend: ‘Can I see some ID?’

Manager: ‘I didn’t bring it with me. Just ring me up.’

Friend: ‘Sorry, as per your memo I can’t do that. I need to see ID for every customer. No exceptions.’

Manager: ‘Friend, ring me up. Now. Or you’ll be written up.’

Friend: ‘Sorry, no can do manager. You were very explicit we ID everyone. You should have known to bring yours.’

Manager: ‘Obviously that doesn’t apply to me. I own the store.
Ring me up or you’re fired.’

Friend: ‘Guess I’ll leave then…’

So my friend drops her apron and starts walking to the door, and her manager lunges for her and grabs her and starts yelling in her face about how she’s fired and going to be banned from every franchise store for life due to insubordination blah blah blah.

Then, out of nowhere, a plainclothes cop cuffs the manager and she gets arrested for assault.
As it turns out, in the line behind psycho manager was not only a plainclothes officer but an AGLC employee. In the end, the AGLC employee fined the manager over $10, 000 and she was fired by the franchise for the incident and banned from even entering one of their stores again, in addition to the suspended sentence and community service time she was sentenced to for assaulting her staff member.” MunBRO
4. Don’t Acknowledge Receipt Of My Fax? I’ll Give You The Fax That Never Ends

“I do collections that, occasionally involved speaking with businesses about past due accounts.

Their main tactic was postponement and delay, of any kind. Negotiations could drag on for months, even if you were speaking to the principal payee or their lawyer.

I would fax important paperwork, receive a fax confirmation and yet, somehow, they ‘didn’t receive it.’ ‘Oh, gee, sorry. Can you refax?’ My response was to apologize for the confusion and ask them if it was ok for me to continue to re-fax the paperwork until they finally received a copy.

I would always receive a smug ‘Sure!’ from them because they had no intention of acknowledging receipt and planned on simply throwing the fax away. So they thought…

I would make three copies of the bill, tape them end to end, feed the first copy into the fax and, as the top came out, quickly tape it to the bottom of the third copy, making an endless loop for faxing.

Within the hour, I would receive a call screaming obscenities about their jammed fax machine and how much trouble I was in.

My response was, ‘So you acknowledge receipt of my fax?’

‘But, but, but, but…….’

‘Sorry, you said I could.’ *******
3. You Want Your Fries NOW? Here Are Your Fries NOW

“I work at a french fry stand during my free time to earn some extra money. Last week, we had this customer who was REALLY impatient. There was an old lady who paid before her. She wanted her fries to be first. I said, ‘Sorry can’t do that.’ She said she’s going to be late for something.
As I cook her fries, she asked me how much time does she have to wait for them to cook.

I said for 6 minutes.

Only two minutes in, she asked me again! And at 3 minutes she wanted the fries. I told her that it’s not yet cooked and they’re still cold inside. She said she didn’t care. I told her to give me the money first. She gave the money, I gave the fries still cold inside. She took a couple of fries and ate them at the same time. She spat the fries into the little paper bag the fries come with.
She wanted a refund I said, ‘Sorry can’t do that.'”  -Pesticide-

Another user summed up this story perfectly:

“Give me a refund because you gave me exactly what I asked for!” thruthewindOw
2. You Want A “Bottle Of Wine?” Here, Let Me Know How That Goes For You

“I work at a small Chinese restaurant that generally only has locals and regulars with the odd visit from out of the area.

Because it’s so small on a normal day or night, we will only have 1 waitress on a shift.

We were having a relatively quiet night so I was sitting around pouring soy sauce into bottles and cleaning chili jars.
This table of 4 people walk in and they’re all relatively nice and I give ’em the good old casual greeting and seat them down. They do their stuff and order their meal and for drinks, they only get table water which is normal. When I bring out their food the old man (henceforth OM) asked for a bottle of the red wine. Now we don’t serve alcohol nor do we even have a byo.

I’m not yet 18 so I can’t even handle alcohol if we did. I told him we don’t have any alcohol, and he goes on this rage pointing out a bottle that was on our shelf.
I knew what he was pointing to. It was our Chinese vinegar. Now, these bottles look remarkably like Asian alcohol. They’re green with red on it and all the writing is in Chinese. And I told him that, ‘Sir that’s vinegar, not wine.’ He went on an alcoholic rage yelling about how I couldn’t know what alcohol was cause I was underage and how I was hiding alcohol from him and he would make a complaint on our Facebook page.

His children and wife look embarrassed and are trying to hide themselves, and his wife gives me a look that just says, ‘do it and he’ll regret it.’

So I went and got a bottle of the vinegar and put it on the table.
OM makes a really big deal out of it saying crap like, ‘AH wasn’t that EASY,’ ‘waitresses in MY DAY would have done it in 2 seconds.’ I walk away and when I turn around to check, he’d spat a mouthful of vinegar out and onto the plate and was trying to wash out the taste of CHINESE VINEGAR with water.

To be fair the wife did come up to me later and apologize for his idiocy.

They never made that Facebook post, and paid $20 for the bottle since we couldn’t use it again.” xxmomochanxx
1. She Needs To Wear Makeup? Ok, She’ll Go For The Natural Look

“One of the first jobs my Wonderful Mother had was in the retail industry.
Most retail brands will ask you to wear clothing similar to the style being sold, dress fashionably, and so on. This one went a step further. They asked all their female employees to wear makeup.

My mother wasn’t one to wear makeup at that point in her life. She found it a waste of time and money, and she did fine with the job and was actually later promoted for working well.

Well, the upper management thought that her hard work was less important than the fact that she didn’t wear makeup. They directly came to her and requested that she wear makeup.
She refused, but they kept asking. Finally, they stipulated that if she would wear AT LEAST mascara then they would stop with the harassment. She agreed.

The next day my Wonderful Mother walked in wearing her brand new…. clear mascara. She very proudly wore it every day after that and the management couldn’t say a thing, as she was indeed wearing mascara.” UnpopularRight
How’s that for some serious you-get-what-you-ask-for? Careful what you say, words carry a lot of weight and the wrong person might take those words for surface value! Ever done something like this only to have it escalate? Tell us what you think!