People Share Their Revenge Stories Of “But Isn’t That What You Wanted?”

There are two types of people in the world: those who refuse to do something that they’re told to do when they know it could result in a negative consequence and those who comply with the request anyway. Sometimes a person falls somewhere in between. They may at first warn the person giving them the request about the potential consequences but then end up complying once they see that the person still wants them to follow through with the task.

Take, for instance, the impatient customer who tells an experienced employee not to clean the oven before cooking their pizza who then gets served a burnt pizza, even after the employee told them what would happen to their precious pie. Or, maybe the grouchy client who greatly underestimates his massage therapist’s ability to give him a deep-tissue massage and begs for another therapist, despite his original therapist informing him that she is in fact competent, only to get the most painful massage of his lifetime. What now, punk?

These malicious compliance stories will have you howling in laughter!

19. You Said You Were The Boss Of The Project

“So this story happened around 2003 or 2004.

I was in the military working for a new boss who was afraid to look incompetent. I understand his position, but the equipment we were working on isn’t used anywhere else in the world, so there’s no reason he should have been self-conscious about it. Literally, everybody posted into this job is starting from ignorance of the kit in question.

For your knowledge, we are technicians. Our job is fixing electronics and performing 3rd line maintenance (board level, replacing components on equipment).

The equipment we were working on is 1.5 metric ton cameras used to acquire telemetry information from our aircraft on bombing ranges.

They’re really, really old though. Like, they were installed in the late ’60s.

Due to this, we needed to start trialing a new system, so the government opened up contracts and a bid was won. We were finally going to get upgrades!

At this point, I was an expert on the systems. Our boss went on a leadership course required when you reach his rank, and he dumped everything he had on his plate onto the lap of his second in command, who was understandably frustrated.

I offered to take on the biggest project so there would be less to do, and because I wanted to show I had the skills.

He agreed.
So, I contacted all of the necessary people, P-MED, supply, engineers, and transport, in order to orchestrate the removal and disposal of these cameras. After two weeks of careful planning and research, we were ready to go. The 2 I/C grinned at me on the day of the move and says, ‘Grab the white hat.

This is your project, you’re in charge here.’

Beaming with pride I grab the site supervisor hard hat, throw it on and start the ball rolling. Everything is going well and according to plan. The dome housing the camera has been cut off and the truck with a crane arm (HIAB), capable of lifting up to a metric tonne is on site.

I am about to go dismantle the camera (they are capable of being split into 3 pieces, all weighing under a tonne each), when my boss gets out to the range.

It’s his first day back at work after his course, qualifying him to be a ‘leader’ for his troops. Instead of asking for a brief as to what’s happening or just letting it play out, he decides to puff out his chest and display his newfound levels of authority and command.

Loudly, in front of everybody, he says, ‘Why the **** are you wearing a white hat? You aren’t the MCpl.’

Turning red with embarrassment, and not having much of a spine back then, I capitulate and apologize, attempting to stammer out that I was assigned this task.

He cuts me off, ‘Whatever. Take it off and get back to work.’ He exchanges hard hats with me, and I’m wearing my yellow worker hat now, he’s wearing the white site supervisor hat. Smugly content, he turns to me and says, ‘Carry on.’
Here’s the malicious compliance bit. I’m the one who did all of the work. I know exactly what needs to be done next. As the person with all of the information, the reason I was supervising it should be obvious.

So I decided it was time for some Malicious Compliance. Did he want to embarrass me in front of everybody? Turn about is fair play, my friend.

I nodded and said, ‘No problem boss. What do you want me to do?’

He said, ‘Keep removing the camera.’

‘I’d love to. How do I do that?’ my vapid response came back, ‘As you are the site supervisor, I’m awaiting your instructions on how to proceed. What exactly would you like me to do next, boss?’
He turned to beet red as he realized this means he would have to publicly state that he, in effect, chewed me out for supervising the project I put together as I should have been doing.

He swore at me a bit and waved his hand saying, ‘Just finish the job,’ turning redder by the minute as higher-ranking people caught on to what had just happened, so they started clustering around him asking pointed questions about the project and process.

The absolute glee I felt when the range Chief asked him where we were bringing the cameras, and the look on his face as he realized he was going to have to call over to me to answer the questions was priceless.

But not as priceless as the malicious gleam I caught in the Chief’s eye when he turned to me. It said, ‘I understand. I’ve got your back.'” ReaperCDN

18. Sure, I’ll Eat Everything Off My Plate

“Let me paint a picture. My grandfather, rest his soul, is the most stubborn person I have ever met.

My grandmother and he are devout Roman Catholics very much from the era of what the man of the house says goes, no matter what that is, to the point I had never seen her argue with him except two times in my entire life, which is the time I will be referencing and a time he straight up called me ugly (he was a gruff grump of a man, obviously) for black fingernail polish.

He did apologize for that, but my grandma tore him up beforehand. That tongue lashing was nothing compared to the time in question.
My grandfather, being old fashioned, was big on the ‘you eat what you are given, you don’t leave until your plate is clean’ mentality.

Now, I was under six in this story, but I remember it so clearly, mostly because my grandma still seethes about it and brings it up regularly. It was one of the first times I was staying with them without my parents due largely to my parents divorcing, meaning it was their (Read: grandpa’s) first time making my plate.

The plate I was served was huge. I mean, thinking back the plate they served me matched theirs. That’s HUGE to someone as young and tiny as I was (I was born premature and incredibly petite until puberty, and still petite after that.) It was dinner time, and grandpa would not budge in his ways.

I was crying, he was angry, and all because I was so full I could not eat anymore. My grandpa yelled and berated me, as a child, that I WAS going to finish my plate and I would not leave the table until I did.

Okay. I don’t leave the table. He sits there, expecting me to fold, but the problem is I have always been just as stubborn as he is if not more, but only if you give me a reason to be, which he did. My bedtime was supposed to be around 8 pm because it was the summer.

I sat at the table, growing more and more irate (tiny tot unable to move and exhausted level temper tantrum) all the while.

I do not eat. I do not leave the table. I follow his instructions.

Grandpa finally gives in around four in the morning, per my grandmother, and lets me leave. Ah, but of course, only if grandma saves my now ten-hour old plate for tomorrow. I didn’t finish it, so now I would eat nothing else until that plate was finished. Whatever. Grandma does that and happily takes me to bed at last.
I think I slept basically until lunch, but grandma convinced him to allow me to (he was also the ‘everyone gets up at six in the morning’ type).

True to his word, he served me the plate. True to my resolve, I ate nothing. You don’t leave until you finish the nasty plate, so I don’t leave.

Cut to the chase, this went on between us so long that my grandma, pillar of patience and everything that is good and woman who has hidden all but two arguments between her and her 50-year husband behind closed doors, freaking LOSES it. By the time she does, mold has grown on this plate.

I haven’t eaten, at six or fewer years old, in actual days.
You can imagine how my temperament had deteriorated.

You can imagine how far my grandfather and I had pushed my grandma. You can imagine how long this went on, how long it took to crack my grandma at long last.

My grandma absolutely lost her everlovin’ mind. She took the plate and flung it, moldy food and all, across the room and SCREAMED at my grandfather. I was silent, stunned, terrified.

Grandpa was the same. I had followed instructions, she tells him. I had told him I couldn’t eat that much when he first set the plate in front of me, as had she repeatedly when he was making it apparently, and he had pushed the issue too far.

She had tried to lightly stop this for days now, but lightly hadn’t worked and she went all out.
Eventually, terrified and starving, I completely deteriorate and am full-on sobbing, and she’s basically force-feeding me Poptarts and that Honeycomb cereal (I remember because it was the only cereal I ate for three years following this incident for whatever reason) while going absolutely berserk on my grandfather and telling him that he’s the adult and he shouldn’t have pushed it so far just to be right and if anything is wrong with me he is explaining to my father, their son and a VERY overprotective father at the time due to my mom literally trying to kill and kidnap me which was why I was in their care, to begin with, what happened and why he refused to feed his only granddaughter.

When my grandma every now and again brings this story up, mostly when I end up not finishing my plate which is rare but certain foods make me sick and my family still goes by oldest male makes the plates for holidays, she makes sure to hit three points hard.

1.) I followed every rule my grandfather set forth like the stubborn, spiteful, hellish little gremlin I am.

2.) My grandfather was undoubtedly in the wrong, because the reason I didn’t eat the food that next day was because it had already basically gone bad and tasted poorly after sitting out for so long, plus my picky eater behind had already been force-feeding myself, to begin with, the night before.

3.) She has only ever met one person in her lifetime as stubborn and absolutely unmoving in resolve as my grandfather, and that’s me.

I distinctly remember my grandma made all of my plates, outside of holidays when for a while my dad did instead of my grandpa which was a BIG DEAL with our traditions until I was old enough to make them for myself if I was staying alone with them.

And yes, grandpa got chewed out again when dad found out about it.

RIP grandpa though, he’s still one of my favorite family members and I miss him every day. Grandma is still my favorite female family member, though.

Grandma got my back and turns out she’s a straight-up savage when pushed.” warricrsmind

17. Realtor Refuses To Do His Job, So We Get Him To Cancel The Contract On His Own

What a loon.

“My better half and I are in the market for a home. We’ve been casually searching for 4 years, and this year we really kicked it into gear.

We nailed down where we wanted to live, our price range, got approved, and actually found a house we wanted to put an offer on. We contacted an agent my husband found and said he thought he wanted to work with (due to the guy’s other interests and the niche he’d built himself in that area – right up our alley). Against my better judgment, we signed with the guy as our buyer’s agent. I’ll call him Agent D*uche for the purposes of this story.

So, Agent D*uche was our exclusive buyer’s agent. I personally thought he was a “yes man,” but my husband didn’t see it. He knew we would be buying sight-unseen (cannot be helped; yes, it’s unwise).

He went to this property and had ONLY glowing reviews. We asked if he saw any signs of water damage (husband has mold sickness, have to be careful), and he emphatically said there was none whatsoever. It was “pristine.” He kept telling us how amazing it was, how it wouldn’t last, and how we’d better offer a decent chunk over asking if we want to have a chance at it.

We did not feel that was a good idea. Against his advice, we offered below asking, and it was readily accepted. The first red flag for me was the agent forcefully urging me to offer above asking with no other offers on the table.

So, we get the inspection, a guy Agent D*uche recommended personally and ended up paying twice what it should have cost ($875). I’ll give the inspector credit, though, that the report was exceedingly thorough, and we got it back within a day.

A cursory glance at the inspection report, though, showed a large area of the wood floor under a window in the living room, in plain sight to Agent D*uche, was BLACK from water seeping in. The guy says he’s got 15 years of experience; he should have seen that. But he isn’t an inspector, and that’s not necessarily his “job.” But still, another sign he’s playing “yes man” to get us to buy ANYTHING at the highest cost.

Anyhow, we immediately back out of that deal and tell him why. He asks, “Are you mad at me?” I was taken aback by this question coming from a grown man who says he’s an ex-marine, but whatever. I tell him it’s fine and that we must move on to another property. He seems quite upset by this but agrees.

I get an email from the inspector two days later saying that he’s gotten an email from the seller of that home asking for “another” copy of our inspection and that he will not send it to them without our consent as we own it.

I immediately ask Agent D*uche if he sent our inspection to the seller after we backed out, and he says he did and says, “I’m sorry, I should have asked.” I tell the inspector that we do not want our inspection shared without our consent and that if the man wants another inspection (the seller was loaded), he can pay for his own.

Over the next few weeks, Agent D*uche sends us a handful of properties we had already excluded as out of our price range.

Let me say, our price range is pretty high. If I can’t find a home for under half a mil, I don’t want one. I repeatedly tell him these are too expensive. There ARE homes within our range. Eventually, he relents and sends one or two within our range. He’s still not sending us anything that fits our criteria, though, like not even a little, and we’re actually doing all the leg-work. I keep sending him homes we’ve found online.

He comes up with one excuse or another as to why it won’t work, but I tell him I want to see information on it. He’s definitely irritated at this point but sends me bits and pieces of information over the course of days.

After pulling out of the offer on the first home, Agent D*uche has become increasingly difficult to reach. He’s told my husband he’s so busy that he must start turning people away. It becomes a running joke in our house: “Have you heard from Agent D*uche about that house we sent him?” “HAHA, yeah right.” Homes hitting the market at this point were going under contract within 24 hours due to low supply.

So, him taking 2, 3, 4 days to get us basic information like whether or not there’s an HOA or what it uses for heat, are a detriment.

He repeatedly urges us to make offers above asking on homes he hasn’t even pulled info on, let alone set foot in. He says this is necessary because things are moving so quickly. I’m too uncomfortable to do this. He’s playing around with $5,000 in earnest money, and just no.

I realized pretty quickly that he took us as clients only because we’d found the home already, and he thought it would be quick money for him. Can’t say I blame him on that, but when it became clear that it was not the right property, if he did not have time for us, he should have sent us on our way.

We tell him we’re feeling neglected, and it’s taking too long to get answers on basic questions.

He keeps saying, “It’s no big deal,” like that somehow makes me feel better about not buying a home because he’s too busy for us. We ask him if there is someone else at his brokerage we can work with who has time, but he owns it, so there’s not.

We send him another home, and he actually went out and took a few 15-second videos there. We ended up making an offer. Again, he urges us to offer well over asking.

I tell him that’s not happening and offer $30k under. The sellers countered at 25 under, and this is accepted by us.

Two days into contract, I have to ask him if we are actually under contract. NO contact from him one way or another, so no idea. He eventually responds and says we are. Ok, great. 4 days into our 10 day inspection period, and we still haven’t heard word one from him. I finally ask him if we’re planning to schedule any inspections.

He says, “I’ll connect with you tonight!” and then doesn’t.

The next day, 5 days into this inspection period, I tell him we’d like to cancel the contract and cancel our contract with him (again). The mold test we need will take 5-7 days, so we literally can’t get it inspected in the time left. He immediately calls me, and it does not go well. I tell him we’re unhappy, he calls me unreasonable, again says, “It’s no big deal,” blah blah blah, but he begs for another chance.

Literally he begged me. So, fine, whatever. One more chance.

We find the PERFECT property and immediately email it to him. He says he’s set an appointment to view it the next morning. Two days later, he finally sends us a totally different (MUCH more expensive) property. I tell him my husband has left to go there already and MAY choose to see it when he’s there but that we are really interested in the other one we sent him and ask if he ever makes it out to see it.

He responds with, “You should make an offer on this one asap!!!” Like, what the ***,* dude?

So, again, I ask him point-blank, “Did you go see the other home at XYZ or not?” and he finally admits he didn’t bother going to see it. And now, since it’s been 2 more days, there’s an accepted offer. He will not go see it, so we might put a backup offer in. The next day, I receive videos of the more expensive property that I never asked for nor wanted.

My husband then arrives, having 30 hours to go to this area to look at the area and some properties and meet Agent D*uche. Husband texts updates on his trip to Agent D*uche along the way but never gets a response. I speak to Agent D*uche the night before, telling him my husband will be there in the morning. I tell him to please call and coordinate with him, that he’s available now to speak. He told me he would when we ended our call, but didn’t.

The next day, my husband arrives. He texts to say he’s arrived and Agent D*uche has no response. He waits and waits but still nothing. Tries to call, no response. After another 7ish hour, it’s now dark, and our “agent” has ghosted him all day. Husband texts him to say we want out, that he’s driven all the way here, and been ghosted.

Agent D*uche flips his ***.* Like instantly. He says he didn’t ghost anyone and that we never told him what day he was arriving or that he got there (obvious and provable lies), and he “figured” he’d want to rest the whole first day.

With 30 hours each way, and a full week took off work for this, losing income, we did NOT want that, which he would have known had he asked or coordinated at all.

Things fully collapse at this point and become outright hostile.

He says immediately that we are in a contract with him, and there’s nothing we can do. We have to work with him, OR we can agree to pay him 3% or get a new agent to agree to pay him a referral fee.

“These are the ONLY terms I’ll agree to. It’s your best option. You should take it.”

I think this would be reasonable if our reason for cancellation were not his own negligence.

I tell him there is NO way in **** I will allow him to profit for d*cking us around. He literally laughs at me and says I have no choice.

Bad idea.

I have an attorney look over the contract, and yes, we’re f*cked contractually. Funnily enough, the attorney tells me he is VERY aware of this guy, and he does this all the time.

He apologizes that we’re in this mess but says there’s nothing he can do about it. I ask him about posting reviews of our experience, that I’m worried about a defamation suit. He says that as long as it’s true, and I have proof, I cannot be sued for defamation.

I call the real estate commission and speak with an investigator for the entire state. He asks where in the state this occurred, and I tell him.

He says, “is it Agent D*uche?” and my jaw dropped. He says he gets a lot of calls about this guy, that there are lots of problems, but that he hides behind pretty ironclad contracts, so he continues to do this legally. He’s been doing it for years, apparently. He tells us that if we try to circumvent the contract, we will almost certainly be sued by this man- he’s done it before.

I tell Agent D*uche that the least he could do if he doesn’t have time to do his job, is release us.

Again, he laughs. I tell him I will report these actions to the real estate commission. “HAHAHAHAHA,” is his response. I tell him fine, then he can expect people to hear about what’s happened to us online. He says, “I will sue you.” I tell him that I will only be posting a true account of events, with written proof, and therefore, it is not libelous, and he can sue me but will not win. He replies, “You two are psychopaths.”

Now I really start to get angry.

I emailed Agent D*uche and told him point-blank that if his terms for cancellation were not acceptable to me and mine were not acceptable to him, then we are still legally bound. As such, I FULLY expect him to do his job. I sent a list of houses we would never otherwise consider. He did nothing for 2 days, and for 2 days, I asked him probably 10 times a day to send me documentation on them.

He asked if I even meant to send those to him, and I said, “Of course, you’re my agent, ARE YOU NOT?” He sweetly replies that he is and that he’ll send the information that evening. I send him like 8 more listings, all in a different geographical area (the contract was for the entire state), and all WELL below our price limit. Like, some were under $100k, and all were reallllly rough.

That evening, Agent D*uche starts to try to ‘team up’ with my husband against me.

For some reason, he thinks this tactic will work because my husband avoids confrontation whenever possible. He emails my husband. He forwards the listings I’ve sent and asks my husband if I am “mentally unstable” and says he thinks he should “get me some help.” It does not go well, and my husband tells him to “Pump his brakes” and that he has “no right” to talk about me that way. Agent D*uche doesn’t respond. Instead, he writes me, telling ME he thinks I’m unstable.

His logic is that I’m not happy with him and don’t want to work with him, and now I’m sending him properties, so I must be mentally incompetent.

I tell him again that we have 4 months left on our contract, and I am under no obligation to accept his terms for cancellation if they do not benefit me, just like he is not obligated to accept mine.

He emails my husband again, saying that he’s got some agents who will “be reeeeaaallllyyyy nice to Vmizzle,” and my husband just says, “We don’t need your referrals, dude.”

Next day, another agent calls me.

Agent D*uche wants me to sign with them instead, and they’ve already agreed to accept less commission, so he will be paid. I have a lovely chat with the nice couple on the phone and then tell them flatly that under no circumstances will I allow him to profit financially for doing this to us. He’s become openly hostile, rude, and calls us names. They didn’t really know what to say, so we amicably ended the call.

They call me back a bit later (I suppose after talking to Agent D*uche) and ask again if I’ll consider signing with them just to be done with the situation, that buyers don’t even pay the commission, and that they will even pay for my inspection! Wow. Once more I tell them no, that is not their responsibility, and I won’t allow them to go out of pocket for this clown. I tell them in no uncertain terms that I would choose to wait out this contract before signing with anyone else and that I might consider signing with them (I never would because of their affiliation with him) but only if we were released fully from the contract beforehand.

I told them that if we somehow decided to purchase one of the two homes he ‘showed’ us, that I would feel obligated to pay him, but short of that, there is no way.

Agent D*uche emails and texts more, calling me more names for refusing to sign his cancellation terms, even though he’s done the same to me.

I again send him a handful of crappy listings and very valid reasons I might want each property. He says nothing, and I ask him every 2-3 hours to send me documentation on them and that if he’s still our agent, he’s obligated to do SOMETHING and that he cannot legally refuse to fulfill his contractual duties and still keep us in the contract.

He must choose. At this point, I’m building a pretty solid paper trail of begging him to do what he is contractually obligated to do and evidence of his refusal.

Agent D*uche has started to realize that I am NOT going to go away. I keep sending him properties and keep at him to send me info, which he never does.

Finally, mercifully, Agent D*uche texts me that he is terminating us as clients and that we are free to work with whoever we want.

Two days later, he finally sends me the contract cancellation. We are elated and sign quickly as it all is in order. After, though, I take a very close look at his actual signature on the page. He signed the cancellation “F*ckoff” instead of Agent D*uche. Guy’s a real class act.

Luckily, our attorney said through his laughs, that the cancellation is still binding, and if he did try to take us to court, he’d obviously have to explain to a judge that he signed a legal document with an expletive.

He assured us that we finally were done with him!

The real estate commission investigator had actually asked me to keep him updated on the outcome of the situation. So, after hearing back from the lawyer that we were indeed done, I called him back to tell him. I told him exactly what happened and that I just forced him to work with us until he realized he’d have 4 more months of me still not going away, so he canceled.

Mr. Nice Investigator could not stop laughing.

He told me Agent D*uche calls him regularly and uses him as a point of contact because none of the other investigators will speak to him. He tells me the guy “has a few screws loose.” I tell him I hope he will tell anyone else in our position what worked and to feel free to pass my info along if necessary. He readily accepts that offer, and we jovially end the call.

In the end, I’m very glad I stood up to this *****, ************and I have zero regrets.

We called his bluff, and I can pretty well bet that no one had done that to him before. He was absolutely used to bullying people into getting his way.” Vmizzle

Another User Comments:

“Honestly, I’m pretty sure if you talked with your attorney, you can figure out a way to sue him for not keeping his end of the contract, which stopped you from doing business with another realtor.

There’s no way that’s legal, and you have evidence and can make enough money to supplement the costs of the house.” AMP_Games01

16. My Hair Isn’t Acceptable For Work? What About Blonde With Spikey, Red Tips?

“This takes place in the early 00s. I was working in a video/dvd rental store at the time and was only a couple of weeks into the job but was enjoying my time there. At the store was me, 2 managers, another guy working the register, and the regional manager for the area.

I’ve always liked having a splash of color in my hair, and it had never been an issue with employment until this instance. At the time, I had my natural brunette hair short and spiked up with a blue patch at the front, which happened to be the same shade as our employee shirts, which pleased me.

One day, a few weeks into the job, the regional manager walked in along, a woman with a chip on her shoulder the size of her ego.

She did her checks on how the store was running, etc. and was talking to me as I was the newest employee there, making sure I knew what I was doing and stuff. As she finishes up, she says offhand to me, “By the way, you’ll have to take that color out of your hair. I want it gone before my next visit.”

This surprised me as I’d read the employee handbook to make sure I was following all uniform guidelines and made sure it wasn’t an issue with the 2 shop managers, so I asked her why I had to change my hair.

She instantly got huffy and puffed out her chest and said, “Because I told you to. Are you questioning me?”

Me: “No, I was just wondering what guidelines I’ve broken, as I’ve read the employee and uniform regulations and didn’t see anything about hair color in there and want to be sure I haven’t missed something?”

Regional manager: “Because I told you so, and it’s an unnatural hair color. You’ll have to get rid of it.”

That annoyed me as I’ve never liked having to do something ‘just because,’ So I told her, “Well, other guy at the register has bleached tips, Manager 1 dyes her hair blond, and Manager 2 has maroon hair.

None of those are their natural colours, so I don’t understand why I’m getting singled out?”

Regional Manager did NOT like this, and since she couldn’t give me an answer, she just repeated, “Because I’m your boss, and I told you so, and if you don’t want to change your hair, you can leave. I will be in next week, and I want that color gone!”

So, I said, “I understand. I’ll fix it, no worries. But just to be clear, so I’m in keeping with your guidelines, Other Guy, Manager 1, and Manager 2 have acceptable color and styles?” to which she said yes, and I asked, “And is my hairstyle ok? Did you want me to cut it a certain way or anything, or is it just the color?” She started getting annoyed again and said, “You can keep it like that, just get rid of that color!” So, I confirmed that I would have it sorted before she came in next week, which seemed to satisfy the beast, and she walked off in a cloud of smugness at having laid down her law.

As soon as she was out of the door, I told the shop managers what I was going to do, and they laughed but said they’d have my back when she came in again. So, my blue patch of hair had to go, no problem. Colored tips, dyed blonde hair, and maroon hair like the other staff had been all hunky-dory. So, that weekend, I did all 3 to be on the safe side – I bleached all my hair near-transparent blonde, with maroon tips, and spiked up in my usual style, as apparently, that wasn’t an issue.

Welp, turns out that’s not what the regional manager had in mind, quelle surprise. She came in the next week and lost it, took me in the back with the 2 shop managers, shouting about how I was blatantly ignoring her and that she was going to see to it that I was fired. I acted innocent and surprised and said that I had checked with her that this would be ok before she left: my hairstyle was fine, colored tips on the other guy was fine, and she had confirmed that the maroon hair the shop manager had was fine.

She was not backing down, and assured me she’d report me to the head office for my disrespecting a regional manager like that.

She stormed out of the shop on her merry way, so again, I told the 2 shop managers what I was going to do, which was getting in touch with the head offices HR department myself, as I was following all written company regulations, as well as the regional managers arbitrary rules, and she seemed to be discriminating against me personally for whatever reason, and I would be pursuing unfair dismissal as there was no reason to fire me.

I was d*mn good at my job and got on well with all the customers and staff; it was only the regional manager out to get me. So, I did just that: emailed the head offices HR saying what had happened, and the 2 shop managers also emailed on my behalf backing up that I was following all guidelines including the ones the regional manager made up and that I was a model employee (for them anyways, but I liked them), and they would attest that I was being singled out and harassed by the regional manager if I got dismissed because of this.

The next day, the shop managers called me in to say HR had been in touch and said that of course I wasn’t going to be fired, and there are no company guidelines for things like hair color and not to worry at all about it and that I can have my hair any way I wanted as long as  it wasn’t unkempt. Awesome, that’s all I wanted, happy ending!

………now, let’s do the super-duper happy ending! (diddle doo, diddle doo, diddle doo) Couple weeks later, the NEW regional manager walked in to introduce themselves! Turns out, I wasn’t the only one having issues with the regional manager being on a power trip after they had several complaints from staff and managers in different stores throughout the area, so she was demoted to a regular store manager.

I was the straw that broke their back, it seems!” DampSheetsAndDogHair

15. Make Me Cook Your Food Before Cleaning The Oven? Be Prepared For Burnt Pizza

“I’m the assistant kitchen manager in a gourmet pizza place where we have a giant brick oven. My station every night is manning that behemoth 600 degrees monster for hours on end.

We have an open kitchen where, from the register, you can see the oven and whatever I’m doing behind the register.

Now, a big part of running a giant brick oven is that every possible chance you get, you want to sweep out the burnt semolina (course, wheat grain stuff that’s used to make the pizza slide off the peel into the oven) from the bottom of the oven.

If you don’t sweep out the burnt semolina, you’ll have burning and smoking, black dust covering the whole bottom of the brick oven. When you put the pizza in, the burning semolina attaches itself to the bottom of the raw dough, thus making the pizza look and taste burnt.

Today, my understaffed line is super busy, and I’m trying to keep up with all the pizzas coming in and out of the oven, as well as expediting every order.

A lady comes up to the register where she’s about 8 feet from me and can see my every move, and she asks me where her pizza is. I locate the order, and it’s on the counter for me to put into the oven. I tell her that I’m about to put the pie on the oven after I clean it, and she says to me, “Well, why can’t you put it in before you clean it?”

I try to tell her that if the burning semolina is on the bottom of the oven and that it will burn the bottom of the pizza, but she wasn’t having any of it and insisted on getting her food right then, no cleaning the oven, just immediately cooking her pizza.

So, I wait to clean the oven and put her pizza in, all the while this lady is watching me like a hawk from across the counter. A few minutes later, I pull it out, and sure enough, it looks burnt on the bottom. But *** it, she made her bed. I pan up the pizza and hit her buzzer number, and she comes to get her food.

Not even five minutes later, she comes back with such an attitude complaining that her pizza was burnt all to ***.

I told her that this is more likely to happen where the oven hasn’t been swept clean, and she kinda just muttered, “Oh.”

Ensue internal victory.

Of course, I offered to make her a new one after I cleaned the oven, but I hope that from now on, she will respect kitchen procedures and not to try and argue with the people handling the quality of her food.” eliseswl

Another User Comments:

Same, buddy, same.

“I get severe anxiety even if I have to ask for extra ketchup and some people straight up just get into it with the staff..” Wackipaki

14. Sure, You Can Pay More For Your Food

“For the past few months, I’ve been working under some lovely golden arches and dealt with some very rude customers.

One thing I’ve noticed is that lots of customers will order combos unintentionally (this is after I’ve asked if they’d prefer a combo or not). If they’re nice, and if I don’t see anything that might be part of a mobile coupon, I’ll put it into a combo to save them like 20 cents, a tiny bit of petty revenge if they’re rude and make them pay the full price.

On this specific day, the customer seemed very nice over the speaker, and I figured I’ll save them a couple of cents by making the order a combo.

Once they reached the window, and my coworker read the order back to them, they read it as a combo, and the customer was not happy.

Customer: I didn’t order a combo.

Coworker: This is your order though, right?

Customer: Yes, but I didn’t order a combo!!

Coworker: The person taking your order must’ve put it in a combo because it’s cheaper.

Customer: I. Didn’t. Order. A. Combo.

Coworker: I know, but it’s cheaper this way.

Customer: I’m NOT paying for a combo!!! I DIDN’T order a combo.

Coworker: Okay, I’ll remove the combo for you. Your new total has a higher total than the original.

Customer: Finally! Thank you.

My coworker and I just laughed as she drove off to the second window. This slowed down our drive-thru a bit, and when questioned by the managers, we just told them how the customer didn’t want to save money and argued over a combo.

Just to clarify there was nothing sneaky going on. When she ordered her breakfast sandwich, I asked if she wanted the combo and was told no, but she ordered a coffee and hashbrown as well.

She got a combo but didn’t order it as a combo, so I tried to save her like 30 cents. She just wanted to pay full price for some reason (and no, she didn’t have any of our mobile coupons).” mayflower53

13. Want Me To Speak The Truth? Okay, But It Won’t Make You Look Good

“During my school days, I was too naive, innocent, or stupid – whatever you prefer. I could never understand the real intentions of a person, and thus, I usually followed whatever I was told to do as I understood it.

I took admission at a new school in Grade 6 in the middle of the session due to my father’s transfer. I finished my admission test early. While I was waiting for someone to come and collect my paper, I started doodling on the extra sheet of paper I had. A cute teacher was sitting and checking notebooks. So, I drew her head hidden behind a pile of notebooks.

A teacher (who turned out to be my math teacher later) came to collect my paper.

He asked me what I was doing. I told him that I was drawing the lovely teacher. He asked me if the principal was sitting in the teacher’s place, would I draw her too? He had a friendly smile on the face.

Since I didn’t mean to insult the teacher, I said, “Sure, if that’s not against the rules here.”

The teacher collected my answer sheet along with the extra sheet I was doodling on. I don’t know what he told the teacher and the principal, but apparently, there was a great furor over my admission.

I had got all the answers correct, but I was considered rude, disrespectful, and a rebel.

I and my parents came to know about it later through another teacher (who was my father’s friend’s daughter) at the same school. I somehow got the seat with a few conditions. The principal told my parents that if I proved to be disruptive in class, I will be kicked out of school. That was the first time I had faced such a situation because I was a quiet, obedient girl.

On the first day, I joined the class, the math teacher gave us a test. One question was on a topic that I hadn’t studied before. I told him that I didn’t know the answer to that question, and since it was my first day, can I be excused from the test. He agreed. Then, as the class took the test, he sat down with me and asked me about what my parents did, how many siblings I had, where I lived, etc.

He kept talking to me for the entire class.

He went back to the teacher’s desk for only 5 minutes, and then, he asked everyone to submit their tests. I stood up and said that I haven’t done the test and do I need to turn mine in? He got enraged and asked me, “Why didn’t you do the test?”

I was puzzled. I reminded him that I told him that I didn’t know one of the questions and that it was my first day and had asked his permission to be excused from the test.

He said he refused to give me any such permission. He called my parents and took me to the principal’s office. He screamed at me and my parents with a red face and bulging eyes that I was trying to defy teachers on the very first day.

I was looking at him aghast. My mom looked at me calmly and asked me what happened. I focused on her and told her everything that had happened in class – including how he kept asking umpteen questions to me throughout the class.

The teacher tried to disrupt me saying, “Speak the truth, girl. Say the truth. Don’t invent lies.” I looked at him and said, “I am trying my best to say the truth, Sir.”

This happened 3-4 times until the principal told him to wait for me to finish what I have to say.

He told me to say the truth so many times that I searched my memory well and added questions that I had skipped earlier. I also came up with the story of what he did and said during my admission test.

My principal asked me if I had started doing the test before I sought my teacher’s permission to skip it. I answered in affirmative.

She asked me to run to the class and bring the test that I tore. I brought my diary which contained the sheet and the other page attached to it (that also came off automatically).

I was let off with a warning.

Later, there was an inquiry on the teacher, and it was found out that he had tried to bully many students with rich parents or parents with the least bit of power in the small city I lived in.

Nothing.” Mybaresoul

12. Want Me To Call IT For A Minor Issue While We’re Busy? Sure

In their defense, they probably figured the issue would be resolved a lot sooner.

“This is currently happening, and it’s both frustrating and a lesson to those who may be looking to start a company with strict password requirements.

So, I work in a company that handles personal financial info. Due to this and the thing we all know is happening to force most of us to work from home, my company has become security-focused bordering on the ridiculous.

One of the things that ISNT very secure is the fact the password into our computers acts as a type of master password for everything from my email to my job-related websites and functions. I guess they do this to make it easier on IT, but my spine itches when I think about it. Whatever, not my circus.

Well, recently, the CEO decided to push a mass password update across all computers, both in-office and out. Last week, I was randomly kicked from the system due to this password requirement and, while annoying as it messed up my flow, I just shrugged and plugged in a new password.

Everything gets updated to the new password and works perfectly.. except for the company’s business messenger program.

This program is only there so those with access to it can message those in company with “work-related” (spoiler: it’s never work-related) issues or concerns. You know, the very thing your work email can accomplish very well with less than half the issues.

The main reason that my management staff wants to have us on it (but will never admit to it) is because the messenger is set up to automatically kick you into idle status if your computer doesn’t sense movement for 5 minutes.

Basically, it’s a very **** sleep mode function that also keeps time for how long your idle and announces that time to anyone who scrolls over your name.

Normally, this isn’t a big issue as even before WFH people would need bathroom breaks or a quick snack, except currently, my workplace is dealing with a massive wave of new work as the current economic climate is causing everyone and their mothers to suddenly want their financial history spotless and in perfect order.

Huge workload = pressure on management = suddenly everyone’s manager is very **** about your production. It suddenly becomes mandatory to ALWAYS be logged into the messenger while on the clock.

That leads us back to the password change and messenger no longer working.

I shoot an email to my manager letting her know my messenger is down so she knows why, and I go back to work. I think, “Whatever, it’s not important to my job, so they probably won’t have me worry until crunch is over.”

Nope.

I get an email back asking me to call our IT number. The problem is, as you can imagine, our IT has been swamped since March as they suddenly had 1,000+ employees suddenly applying to WFH (I got lucky as I’m pretty decent with computers and could do the transfer without them walking me through it, so I was out of office by early April), and they had been dealing with staffing issues even before it became a hazard for all 3 of them to be in an office the size of a closet.

It’s also a problem as they can no longer pop into the elevator to come to visit me, but it now takes remote logging into my computer, trial, and error, then seeing what sticks.

As an example, the last time I called them, it was due to my mic not working on the program that they wanted us to use to train new hires. In the past, this would have maybe been a 20-minute fix. Now, fixing it took over 2 hours.

Cue me frantically emailing manager why I didn’t need to do that/why it was a bad idea and her firing back with, “Company says it’s mandatory to be logged on.” Cue me putting it off till today as the response of “call IT” came late on Friday, and I was desperately hoping it would end up being a “time will fix it” issue. (Yes, I know that’s stupid, but I was desperate, ok?) Cue me getting an email from management a few hours after clocking in telling me I had to get this issue fixed.

FINALLY, cue malicious compliance (thank you to those who stuck around). I shrug my shoulders, close down my work, and dial-up IT on my phone. I get an answering machine and leave my details, secretly hoping they are too swamped to get to me. They call back an hour later, and it goes as follows:

IT: We got a message you can’t log in to [insert messaging program name] due to a password issue?

Me: Yeah, that password update last week forced me to update my password, and I did.

Everything else transitioned to the new one fine except for the program.

IT: Ok, should be an easy fix. Can I get your computer ID number?

Me: Ah. Yeah, see I’m working from home on a personal laptop, so..

IT: Hm, ok, no problem. I’ll just need you to walk me through the steps to let me remote into my laptop.

-Cue about 45 minutes of trial and error, trying different passwords and email combos, awkward silences broken by the occasional muffled curse on his end, and him needing to unlock my account every 5 minutes due to security locking my account-

IT: Ok.. Good news is I figured out what happened.

Basically, during the forced password update, your messenger used the wrong username and updated with the new password, causing a mix up that I’ve fixed with a new password.

He gives me a new password.

Me: Ok, sweet. So, bad news?

IT: The bad news is as everything is connected, I had to change your password for everything to the new one… and it can take at least an hour for the new password to be recognized, and it might not work the first time.

Me: -silence as it slowly dawns on me-

IT: -sighing- I’ve already sent a transcript of this to your manager and the floor manager. I suggest trying the new password to see if something stuck faster, and if it doesn’t work in an hour, call us back.

We hung up, and I tried the new password and nope! It’s not been updated yet, and for “security reasons,” my old one is no longer accepted. I get a call from my manager asking about the email she just got, and I give her the quick version.

She demands I try the new password. I do, still nothing. She asks again. Nothing. She tells me she’s going to call IT and hangs up.

I get a call from my floor manager (my manager’s boss) asking why I haven’t worked anything in by now in what has been an hour. I explain. She asks if I can come into the office. I tell her that A) I am not comfortable with that and B) even if I was, the password would still not work for my desktop.

She tells me she’s going to call IT.

So far, I haven’t gotten a callback, and I really hope the IT guy who called me went to lunch to avoid the *** show my managers tried to drag him into. Meanwhile, I get to sit on my thumbs for at least an hour, then go on my legally scheduled lunch, and come back with the hope the password took effect. If not, I call IT again and hope they answer.

The best part, I’m still getting paid as I cannot clock out, and they can’t require me to make up lost production as it’s been documented my manager requested me to do this (not the first time something like this has happened, and I’ve learned to document EVERYTHING).

Moral of the story to those looking to run a company: DON’T have stupid security methods that tie everything into one password.” LivyKitty2332

11. Okay, We’ll Play By Your Rules

“I was an English teacher in Moscow.

At the beginning of the school year, I asked for a week of time off around a holiday, so I could travel some. I got denied, so the week it came around, I was pleased that most of my classes had been canceled because the students had the same idea I had and were all going on vacation.

I get an email from the administration stating that I was to cover classes for another teacher who was taking vacation for the week I had asked for.

So, I was already a bit upset about that they’d approved him but not me – especially since I’d asked for it like 5 months ago. Anyway, I accept the hand that was dealt and start preparing lessons.

The day of the first class, I leave home a few hours early so that I had plenty of time to make sure I could find the place (it was at a location I’d never been) and that I had all the necessary equipment I needed to read the lessons.

It was pretty easy to find, but when I rang the bell, there was no answer. I had some time, so I went off to get a snack. I come back to the school about 30 minutes early and ring the bell again.

No answer.

I try calling the school’s administrator.

No answer.

I try calling the administrator who assigned the classes.

No answer.

For over an hour, I rang the doorbell and called multiple times to no avail. My contract stated that I had to wait 30 minutes for students to show up before I could leave.

So at the 30-minute mark, I sent a text to all parties that read something along the lines of: “I was here on time. I waited a half-hour after the scheduled time, but nobody answered the door. I’m going back home. It will take me 20 minutes to get to the metro, but if you call me before I board, I will turn around and come back.”

When I got home, I got a call:

“Where the **** are you?”

“At home.”

“You have a class.”

“I’m aware.

I was there, and nobody answered the door. I called, and nobody answered. I also left a text.”

“Texting is not an approved form of communication.”

Now, this was before I had a phone with a data plan, so texting was the only way I could message someone. They tried docking my pay for this, but when I told the owner what had happened and showed him my call logs and the text I left, he made sure that didn’t happen.

Fast forward a few months, I’d been having a lot of issues with the administration, so I’d become an expert on the finer details of our contract. One of those details was that the administration couldn’t assign a class with less than 72 hours notice. So, when they called on Saturday to give me a class for Monday, I told them no. Again, they tried to dock my pay. The owner sighed at me and told me I was right.

My favorite part, though, was receiving a text that said I was to teach a class on a given day. They made special mention of the 72-hour rule. I ignored the text. When the time for class came around, I got another call:

“Where the **** are you?”

“At home.”

“You have a class.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I sent you a text. I have it saved.”

“Texting is not an approved form of communication.”” Otchayannij

10. Can’t Eat Around Residents? Okay, Then I Can’t Answer Call Lights

Can’t be two places at once.

“I work in a nursing home on the 3-11 shift as a Certified Nursing Assistant (CNA). What happens a lot is the CNAs will go to get food around 7:30 or 8:00 after they’ve put the majority of the residents to bed. Some of the residents figured out when we normally eat lunch and come out to passively beg for our food or try to give us money to go get them some (legally, we can’t touch their money), ESPECIALLY if we have pizza.

Don’t even mention the word pizza in a nursing home unless you want a mob of people around you.

A few residents complained about the CNAs “teasing them with food that they can’t have by eating in front of them.” The facility made it a rule that we could not eat where the residents can see us. The problem is, the break room is a side room attached to the dining room. Sometimes when we’re in the break room eating, we could look up and see residents staring at us through the glass door.

That means we can’t even eat in the break room.

The CNAs didn’t even talk about this compliance. We just all did it. The facility put in a rule that we absolutely had to take our lunch break about a week before this happened because CNAs would put that they didn’t have lunch at the time clock which led to them paying overtime.

Even if there was one CNA on the hall, that CNA still had to take a lunch break according to their rules.

When I was the only CNA on a hall, I would pick up my lunch and eat while still answering call lights because I was the only CNA to answer them, but since I couldn’t eat where the residents saw me, so I stayed out of the building for my lunch break.

Because we stayed gone the entire time, they started getting complaints that call lights were being ignored. The nurses were doing their own malicious compliance because the Director of Nursing (DON) was jumping down their throats for answering lights while they were passing out medicine.

“You can’t lock up the cart to answer a light during med pass!” is what she would screech at them, so when the aides were on lunch, the nurses weren’t answering the lights either.

No residents were harmed during this malicious compliance.

This lead to a lot of complaints and phone calls to the DON’s cell phone at night because the residents would call their family members who would then call the DON. One night at around 7:45, the DON stormed up to me while I was eating lunch in my car.

She was in her pajamas, so I knew she wasn’t happy.

DON: “Why aren’t you in the hall? I’m getting phone calls about call lights not being answered!”

Me: “I’m on my lunch break.”

DON: “You can’t leave the hall unattended!”

Me: “According to the in-service AND the write up that YOU made me sign, I have to take a lunch break whether I’m the only aide on the hall or not, AND I’m not allowed to eat in front of the residents, so I can’t be in there.

We’re also not allowed to work while off the clock.”

When she realized the corner her rules back us into, she practically short-circuited. She wasn’t even making words anymore. She looked around and saw two other CNAs eating in their cars. These ladies were kind of sassy and weren’t going to take any crap from her, so she didn’t even bother. She stormed into the building, and I didn’t see her again until my lunch break was over.

She apparently answered the call lights in her pajamas.

For anyone that is curious, the call lights that she answered were for little things like a resident who was on a fluid restriction wanting water or wanting their tv turned to a channel that the tv was already on.

Those were the only two lights that were on according to my nurse. The DON was furious that she had to drive down there to answer those lights since they didn’t even need anything.

Welcome to CNA work, ****!

The next day, we had a new in-service that said we can take our lunch in the break room, and they put a sad excuse of a blind on the glass door of the break room. They also put a sign on the break room that said “Staff Only.” This didn’t stop residents from going in it, though. The in-service also said that if there is only one aide on the hall, that aide can not leave the hall unless they find another aide to watch it while they’re gone.

Sadly, she didn’t stop bothering the nurses.

I know some people would think we went too far with our compliance, but they were threatening termination for eating in front of the residents and for not taking a lunch break. I was suspended for three days before this compliance for not taking a lunch break, so there was nothing left to do but malicious compliance. The DON and the administrator of the facility kissed up hardcore to the residents, which is why we had stupid rules like that.

Thankfully, both of them are gone. I was told by the next DON that the write-up and suspension would not be on my record, and they paid me for the 3 days I missed because there was no wrongdoing.” VeryAngryCNA

9. Want Me To Clock In And Out At The Same Time Each Day? I Can Do That

“So, this was a few years ago, and I worked on the floor of a logistics facility. This job was about an hour drive from my home, and it started at 6 am.

Not really a problem for me, but I liked to plan for unexpected delays in my commute, so I tended to be 15-20 minutes early each day. That was just easier and less stressful for me. One of my bosses noticed and gave me key privileges and taught me the morning routine of opening the facility as I was often the first person there. Cool, I like to get started when I’m there anyway, so why not?

I got in the habit of clocking in whenever I passed the clock we used for that.

Then I continued with turning on the lights and other parts of the morning routine. This worked like a charm. I still had to work a full day, but my boss was very flexible whenever I asked to leave early or take a day off. We were all happy. But then that boss quit.

New boss wasn’t as flexible or practical. After a month, he called me into a meeting and basically told me off for clocking in early.

Even after I had made it clear that this wasn’t a scheme for me to get extra overtime, I worked full day from 6 am, and that it helped the facility start-up process each morning, I was told not to clock in early. Why not? Oh, that was simple enough. Whenever I clocked in early, my boss had to make three extra clicks on his mouse when approving the hours to be paid. If I only clocked in and out at the correct time each day, he wouldn’t have to do all this extra work.

At first, I was like, OK, I get it; you have many more employees than me and still did the unlocking and morning routine. I just made sure not to clock in before 6 am. But then my boss started behaving more and more like an a** towards both me and my colleagues, and my will to help out evaporated.

The opening and closing routines each took about fifteen minutes, and we were a group of five people who had done this whenever that was needed and practical.

In fact, the new boss hadn’t needed to do this much at all, as somebody had always done it for him. We got together and compared scores. Nobody was getting any benefits or flexibility out of this boss for doing the extra work. And absolutely no overtime pay for any of us. It didn’t take us long to agree to stop doing this for the company without at least getting some favors in return.

Next Monday, I arrived at 05:40, but decided to sit in my car and listen to music, waiting for 6 am.

At 6 am, there were 40 cars and about 60 workers wondering why the building was still locked when I got out to open. I merely opened the doors and clocked in, went to my work station, and started working. This meant that many of the workstations were delayed 5-20 minutes before they could even see how much work was lined up that day. And since there was a rule that you had to change into work wear before you clocked in, many people were late that day.

All day long, I was waiting for a response from my boss, but he worked 9 – 17. Fun note: the facility closed at 21, and by then, my boss was usually at home. So, when they were about to clock out, one of my colleagues called him and asked who was locking up tonight. Because he couldn’t do it as he too had been told to clock out at the exact time.

So, my boss had to drive for 20 minutes each way to lock up.

He was furious at having his evening interrupted like that. Tuesday went much the same way as Monday, except that boss reluctantly had to approve fifteen minutes of overtime for the guy locking up. No mention of the morning routine yet.

Turned out, the boss didn’t notice the delayed start and reduced productivity until his boss asked why the first trucks leaving the facility tended to be 20 to 30 minutes late all of a sudden. This meant they got stuck in rush hour traffic more often and even more delayed throughout the day resulting in more delay-fees and lower customer satisfaction.

My boss’s boss knew that I had opened the facility for a while, and he actually asked my boss why I no longer did it. When my boss evaded him and didn’t give him a clear answer, he sought me out and asked me himself.

I told him straight out that I had been told to not clock in early, and since I wasn’t on the clock, there was no reason for me to work. The boss had in effect deprived the company of 15 – 20 minutes of free work each day from me, and the rest of the group of five by insisting that we clocked in and out at the exact times, not to mention the cost of the delays caused by the late start.

And all this because he couldn’t be bothered to make three extra clicks on his mouse to overrule the clock when approving the pay.

The very next day, we were informed that opening and closing routines were now a part of the job description for the group of five and that we would get paid for the extra time spent. Next payday, the group got together and calculated that we were in effect paid almost a full hour for re-adding the opening and closing routines to our work.

Two weeks later, my boss was laid off/quit or something. We were never told the details and were told not to ask about it. Next, my boss just groaned in exasperation when he heard what had happened. He was a good guy and an even better boss. I was sad to quit the job when he was there, but another opportunity came along, and it was too good to pass on.” PugC

8. I Let The New Employee Fail

“I worked in a pharmacy dedicated to sending medications to nursing homes.

Since this is often difficult to do just by hand, there were machines that could help out. I often helped use the machines to package the meds.

A new coworker joined my team. She was pleasant enough, but for some reason, I could not tell you, even to this day, I hated her on sight. Apparently the feeling was mutual, though we were able to work together cordially enough.

Since the machines, while super useful, were also prone to breaking down, a lot of manual intervention was required to ensure smooth operation.

Since it’s a pharmacy, we also had to keep track of the medications being used on it (which means counts, often done nightly, particularly with more expensive medications).

This information is relevant.

I had been at this job for a few years, so I was reasonably experienced with the use and maintenance of the machines. My coworker wasn’t. This is also where I point out that my coworker is older than me.

So, my coworker had been at the job a few weeks and had received some training, so my boss at the time told me that it’d be okay for her to shadow me while I worked but also to make sure she did some of the work on her own, so she’d learn via hands-on experience.

This also meant I couldn’t leave until my coworker did since she hadn’t been given the go-ahead to be alone with the machine. Goody.

It went more or less okay for the majority of the shift. I let my coworker do some of the work, as ordered by my supervisor, and she seemed to be getting it.

However, for some reason, she wasn’t relying on the computer, which had kept track of all the medications used (and their corresponding slots) to do the nightly count.

Instead, she was literally writing down every single slot and medication by hand, to count later.

“Coworker,” I said, “you know the computer keeps track of that-”

“I know it does, YarnAndMetal, but I don’t seem to get how to do it!”

This is toward the end of the shift.

My nerves were fried from having to deal with her, and I was tired.

“You do it like THIS, Coworker.”

(shows her)

“I don’t get it, YarnAndMetal, so I’m just going to do it by hand.

You younger people don’t seem to have a problem with computers, but I do! Let me do it by myself!”

People. The process to see what had been used was literally two clicks of a mouse button. I had shown her once at the start of our shift. Our supervisor had shown her during initial training. Another coworker had shown her while she was training.

I. Was. DONE.

So, I let her do exactly what she wanted. I let her write down every canister by hand, every med by hand, and let her count by hand.

I even offered, as a show of good faith, to help with the counting, but again, “NO, YarnAndMetal, I’ll do it! Let me do it by myself!”

Fine.

As a result, we ended up leaving an hour after our shifts were supposed to end. That’s an hour of OT that we hadn’t been authorized to take, for the record.

The next day, my supervisor asks me why I’d stayed so late last night, so I told her very honestly that my coworker didn’t want my help finishing out the necessary counts last night.

My supervisor, being what she was (yes, my wording there is deliberate), immediately went and ripped my coworker a new one.

The day after, my coworker didn’t come in. We all found out she’d quit, effective immediately.

Good riddance, I guess.

BONUS AFTERMATH: I also found out the day after I had to stay so late that the counts my coworker did were wrong. All of them.” YarnAndMetal

7. Just Get You What You Ordered? Sure, But It’s Your Bill

And they’ll soon find out.

“I used to wait tables at an upscale restaurant that was known to be the place to have your holiday or office parties.

Great money if you got the right group. The menus were pre-set, the grapes and spirits were pre-set, and it was all auto-grated at 18%.

All of it was in the contract the host signed pre-event. Usually, the host would make themselves known fairly early on so you would know who to talk to if there was an issue and who to give the check to at the end of the night.

One night, I am splitting a party of 30-40 with another server.

This event had top tier food and mid-level grapes and spirits. Very nice. A small group of 5-6 people arrives a bit ahead of schedule. 2 guys and 3-4 women. Not a problem, it’s actually nicer if they slowly roll in so we can get drinks started. I walk over, introduce myself and the other waiter, and ask for drinks. Now this was back in the early 2000s and chads weren’t a thing yet, but the 2 guys were the Chaddiest Chads.

If they could have popped their collars in their suits, I’m sure these guys would have found a way.

Superchad1 – “Me and my bro are going to start with a round of Johnny Walker blue, and these ladies are going to have (expensive red grapes)”

Superchad2- (turning to the girls) “Once you have Johnny Blue, you just can’t drink anything else. It changes you, bro”

Me- “If you like, I can put those on a separate tab, the event contract has Johnny Walker Black, but not blue, and the red grapes selection for tonight is (less expensive grapes)”

Superchad1 – “This is our party, just get me what I ordered and don’t question me again!”

Superchad2- “Who do you think you are? You’re just some waiter, we have MBAs.

Just get us our drinks!”

I walk over to the other waiter and tell him we are in for a **** of a night, but the check should be nice. For those that don’t know, Johnny Walker blue is 3-4x the cost of Johnny Black. So one round of drinks for these people is over $100. The whole night goes exactly as we thought. Nothing was good enough, the appetizers were crap, the food was horrible, not enough bread, too many bread plates, drinks were taking too long, why do some people have food and others don’t (it’s 40 people man, it takes a minute to get that much food out).

To make it worse, chads and co are all over the place, moving seats and making others move so they can talk to who they want.

This makes serving **** because we did everything by seat number.

Surprisingly, most of the table was normal, not entitled people and who knew that waiters are people too. They were impressed by the food, and graciously ordered the drinks that were in the contract. One older gentleman at the other end of the table from the chads apologized for their behavior, saying “they might have fancy degrees and good jobs, but you can’t teach class.” Love that guy.

Finally, they are winding down and after drinking almost a full bottle of Johnny Blue along with all the other food and drinks they have a VERY hefty check, and the other waiter and I are excited to get paid. We start picking up the dessert plates and asking for last drink requests.

The nice older guy at the end of the table says to bring him the check. Not wanting any more interaction with the chads than necessary, I bring it to him.

I tell him I can take care of it whenever and go about clearing the table. A few minutes later he calls me over

Nice guy – “Maybe there was a mistake in ringing up the drinks? There is almost $600 for Johnny blue when the contract I signed only included Johnny Black. And there are some single glasses of wine that are different from what we agreed upon.”

Me – “No mistake sir, that is what was ordered and drank.” (He is being awesome, and I feel bad)

Nice guy – “Why did you give the drinks to them when we clearly had a contract?”

Me – “I apologize, sir, they told me that this was their party and since I was just a waiter to shut up and do as I was told.

So I did. I’m sorry, I took them at their word.”

I point them out and he calls them over. What follows was the singularly greatest a*s-chewing I have ever been witness to. He goes on about how he was doing something nice but apparently that wasn’t enough. About how horrible their behavior was that night and how he is ashamed for them. But my favorite line was how you see a person’s true colors in how they treat people that work for them and they had shown theirs.

Then he calls me back over.

Nice guy – “Apparently I thought this was my party. I guess I was wrong. This is their party and they will be taking care of the check.

Oh, and up the gratuity to 25%. You earned it.”

He turns around and walks off, leaving the chads with the check. All in all, it was about $3K. I have never seen 2 grown men look so defeated.” Exs_in_Texas

6. Ace The Final, And Our Missing Work Will Be Waived? Count Me In

“This was many years ago when I was in high school, but it is still one of my proudest academic coups.

Backstory: I was a gifted kid in an IB (International Baccalaureate) program. I also had undiagnosed ADHD and tested well but didn’t consistently complete homework, especially if it was busywork.

I’m in IB History class in my sophomore year. We get assigned pages upon pages of reading and notes for homework every night, and the notes are THE most tedious *******. There’s a really specific format we have to use that involves splitting the page in half, writing a fact from the text on one side, a couple of sentences of “analysis” of that fact on the other, and 2-3 sentences summarizing everything you’ve written at the bottom of the page.

We also had quotas for how many pages of notes we had to do. (I don’t remember the exact ratio because I never ever hit it but it was like a 40-page reading needed 20 pages of notes.) They took FOR-EV-ER, there often weren’t actually enough “key facts” to analyze, and everyone BS’ed the *** out of them to hit their page count. They were also the first thing on the chopping block if we had too much homework (which we always did).

And we would get graded down for not hitting the quota, not following the format, or for having poor quality content. Everyone hated them with a passion, especially me.

Our teacher got sick of people BSing their notes, b*tching about their notes, or just not turning them in at all, which happened more often than not.

So, she announced at the beginning of the new term that anyone who missed a notes assignment would get an incomplete instead of a zero, so it wouldn’t affect your grade, and if you did well on the final, any missing assignments would be waived.

But if we didn’t do well, they would become zeros, and our grade would drop.

She intended this to just be temporary grace for the good students, so they could afford to miss an assignment here and there and not ruin their GPA. But she was not prepared for the unintended consequences I was about to inflict.

This announcement was absolute music to my ears. You see, not only were our notes busywork, but they were POINTLESS busywork because all the material from the reading would be covered on the PowerPoint in class the next day.

So, I would always just pay attention and take notes in class, only do some of my homework, ace the final because I had still learned the material, and because homework was only 35% of the overall grade, I’d still usually scrape a B in the class, which was fine by me.

So, naturally, when I hear we don’t “have to” do notes, I accept the *** out of that challenge. I decided right then and there that I would be doing no history homework for the entire term and basked in my newfound liberation from hours of *******.

About halfway through the term, my teacher comes up to me and the convo goes something like this:

Teacher (Valley Girl voice – she was only 24 and very immature): “Um, Ginger, I noticed you haven’t turned in any notes at all yet this term.

I’m like, kinda concerned about that.”

Me: “Well, you said if we did well on the final we would get our notes waived.”

Teacher: “Well, I mean yeahhhh, but if you don’t do well, you’re going to lose a huuuge chunk of your grade.”

Me: “Okay, and…?”

Teacher (bothered): “I mean, you should reeeeally turn in SOME notes so that doesn’t happen.”

Me: “It’s okay, I’m good.”

Teacher (REALLY bothered): “Are you seriously planning on, like, just not doing ANY notes all term?”

Me: “Yep.

Because they’ll be waived anyway when I do well on the final.”

Teacher (getting condescending): “Oooo-kayy, well don’t blame ME when your grade goes down.”

Me: “Yeahhh…Can I get back to work now?”

I proceed to stick to my word and not do any notes assignments all term.

The final comes around, and it’s our typical format: 120 minutes to write two essays chosen from three prompts. I could have crushed any of them, but I picked the two easiest for me and got to writing.

I finished the first one about Columbus’s problematic historiography and realized it only filled one piece of notebook paper front and back (single-spaced). But I had said everything I needed to fulfill the prompt. Cool, onto the next one. I don’t remember the topic, but it too was clear and concise, taking up only a sheet and a half.

I was the first one done (not unusual for me; I often hyperfocus on essay tests) and walked up to turn it in.

The teacher thought I had a question.

I informed her I was done. Her eyebrows shot through the roof, and she asked if I was sure. I said yes, left class, and went and enjoyed my early lunch.

It’s next week, and we get our graded finals back. She stiffly marches up to my desk and slams my test papers down. The longer essay got a 98. The page-long one about Columbus got 100. She muttered something sarcastic about, “Well, I guess that little gamble paid off for you, huh?” “Yep, just like I said it would,” I said.

She was FUMING as she walked away.

She had been SO hoping to catch me in a big-a** “gotcha,” but as it was, I ended up getting the highest score in the class.

She had to waive EVERY SINGLE notes assignment, and I ended up with an A for the term.” gingergirl181

5. Of Course You Can Talk To Wendy… Our Manager

“My first job when I was a teenager in the late 1990s was at a certain fast-food restaurant whose mascot is a red-headed girl.

The pay was horrible, even for those times, and management was generally belligerent and incompetent, but it was a job and gave me lots of stories.

Now, given that we were a restaurant named after a person whose founder became the face of the restaurant in television commercials up to his death, we frequently had jerks come through who thought it was cute to say things like, “Is Wendy there?” or, when they’re angry, “I know Dave Thomas, and I’m going to get you fired!” It was so annoying because it wasn’t cute since it happened dozens of times a day, especially late at night on second shift.

Now, at the time this takes place, a new manager had just completed her training, and it was one of her first times managing by herself. I was working on drive-thru when a couple of guys start going on the speaker, “Is Wendy there? We want to talk to Wendy!” I try to ignore them since, as I said this is a frequent occurrence, but these guys just don’t know when to stop and just keep saying it all through their order.

I was having a bad night; I hated working drive-thru more than any other station at the restaurant so their antics, which would probably just make me roll my eyes today, were beginning to make my ***** boil.

They get to my window, and they’re these two redneck-looking twenty-something guys who just keep giggling about how funny and clever they are. I really don’t think they were high or drunk given their demeanor. I just think they thought they were delivering comedy club-worthy material.

I’m trying to hand them their drinks, and they just keep asking for Wendy.

“Where is she?” one asks.

“We want to talk to Wendy!” the other one says.

I’ve finally had about enough, and that’s when I get a plan for malicious compliance.

I go over and get my manager and tell her that there are two guys at the window who want to talk to Wendy. She grins, knowing exactly what I’m thinking, and walks over, opens the window, and looks at the guys.

“Hi, I’m Wendy, the manager here. I heard you want to talk with me? How can I help you?”

The guys just think this is the most hilarious thing ever and start erupting in laughter, when she looks at them dead serious and points at her name tag.

“No, really, my name is Wendy. How can I help you tonight?”

They get really quiet and look at each other. You can tell this wasn’t how they expected this to go, and they seemed to have no witty retorts in them for if Wendy was actually there.

“Uh, can we have some ketchup?” one of them finally asks. Wendy smiles, puts some ketchup in their bag, and hands them their order. The two drive off without another word while Wendy and I break down in laughter at what we just did. In the long run, what we did that night didn’t stop other amateur comedians from asking for Wendy, but it sure did feel good nonetheless.

In a generally sucky job that could be really hostile at times, Wendy was a pretty cool boss.

Wherever she is today, I hope she’s living her best life!” Throwaway39981

4. Ask For Less Money Than What We Were Going To Give You? We’ll Oblige

A true Karen of a woman.

“This conversation occurred after a lady (let’s honor the tradition and call her Karen. Sorry to any actual Karens..) called in the evening with all services down. We found a problem and scheduled a tech dispatch for the morning two days later. Karen was rude throughout the interaction.

“So, you gonna give me my money back for the time without the service right?!”

“We can certainly offer you some adjustment. I can credit your account with a $5 flat rate for each day without service including today and the day the issue is going to be resolved, so for 3 days that would be $15.”

“Oh **** no! I pay a fortune for your service and a measly 5$ per day ain’t gonna cover it! Is this how you treat your loyal customers?! Do you think this is fair? Shove your flat rate up your a** and give me back what I’m actually paying for your d*mn services!”

Well, I was fairly certain that she is not paying us $150 per month.

Just very few customers do, and I knew what services she had, so I was happy to oblige with a huge grin on my face.

“I’m sorry Karen, of course, if you prefer, I can calculate the exact amount for you. I’m pulling up the bill as we speak.”

*in sarcastic tone: “Yeah, great! Now you are finally doing what was supposed to happen in the first place! Good job!””

“So, Karen, I have your bill in front of me.

I see here that you pay us $90 each month. If we divide that by 30 days, that’s $3 per day, and the total adjustment would be $9. Would you like to go ba-” (was gonna offer the original $15 but got cut off).

“Oh, *** you, you smart a** piece of ***! Who do you think you are? How dare you?! I want to speak to your supervisor!”

Well, it was a really busy evening (as most evenings are), and we waited about 20 minutes for some tier 2 (“supervisor”) to take over the call.

For the entire duration of the wait, she refused to talk to me (like I care, lol, 20-minute break).

Finally, I was next in the queue for tier 2 and was assigned to a dear friend of mine who was well known for being ****a smart but also not taking customers crap. I gave him the customer and continued working.

Later that day, I met my friend on a smoke break, and he told me the rest of her story: “Yeah, she was like an angel when she got to me.

(They often are to seem more credible like they are the victims.) She told me you were rude, blah blah blah and that you offered her $15 and then refused to give it to her. (He of course knew what happened; we give them brief recaps.) So, I told her that while agents can give flat rate adjustments to streamline the process, I as a supervisor need to adhere to the rules more strictly and $9 is the fair and the only adjustment I can offer.

She said that’s fine because she doesn’t care about the money. She wanted to help us improve our customer service by kindly letting us know about a rude agent in our ranks.”

So yes, after more than half an hour on the phone with us, she walked away with $9 and we laughed about this one for a long time.

BIG MOMMA OUT!” UnicornSpaceStation

3. You Want Your Food Extra Spicy And Extra Well Done? Got It

It started as malicious compliance, but the customer ended up liking it…

“So, quite a number of years ago, I worked at a large pizza chain.

The one with the red roof.

Every Tuesday evening, a group of 12 people would come in to eat usually within 30 minutes of closing time.

They would order 1 large vegetarian pizza with hot peppers and ask for the pizza to be well done. They would also ask for chilies on the side.

You might think, ok, what is wrong with that? Well, a large pizza would be cut in 12 pieces. This group would come in, take up a large space, only have water, order the one pizza, each person would have one slice, leave a mess, and then not tip.

They started asking for more hot peppers and complaining that the pizza wasn’t spicy enough. They also started sending the pizza back to be cooked more (it was already pretty dark).

Well, one day, they sent the pizza back, but this time asked for it to be remade not just cooked more.

At this point, it was 15 minutes to closing. I had cleaned everything and was pretty much finishing up my shift. Of course, the manager has to appease the customers.

So, I start making them another pizza.

They want it spicy? Let’s give them spicy. I added a coating of chilies to the tomato sauce. I covered it with toppings and added lots of hot peppers. They want it well done? Fine, let’s put it through the oven twice. (It was a conveyer belt oven. Normally well done is put in the oven 1.5 times.)

This thing came out dark and just smelled spicy.

I cut the pizza and give it to the waitress.

I’m now waiting to get an ear full after the customer complains, all prepared with my reasoning that I’m making what the customer asked for.

I finish my shift, and the manager calls me over. Turns out, the customer did ask to speak to a manager… The customer said it was the best pizza they have had since they started coming, and it was just how they wanted it. They asked if it could be made this way each week and left a nice tip.” Clueguy

2. You Asked For A Deep Tissue Massage

“So, I am a massage therapist, and I have a reputation for my firm pressure and deep tissue.

Tonight, I had a male client who came in, and off the bat, was extremely rude. He was someone I had never seen before, and from the start, he felt my establishment had not met his needs.

I start with the usual verbal conversation and set up to cover our ground rules due to current health standards. I calmly explain that the rules are there for his safety as well as my own. He tolerates my going through the details, but I can just feel it is far from over.

He tells me about his problems in which I begin asking how he feels about certain areas being worked that require permission. Again, he cuts me off and starts telling me that I’m the therapist and should know what he needs and wants. Again, I explain its protocol for his and my safety. Jerk then goes off about it being a waste of time and that the entire spa is useless. Overall, just rude comments that I finally tuned out.

I can feel my ***** boiling, and I’m about to just refuse the service when I catch the last of what he’s saying.

“I come in here needing a deep tissue, and they give me the timidest therapist they can. You obviously have no idea nor the ability to give me the pressure I want. ”

I take a deep breath and give him the biggest smile I can muster and say, “I’m sorry, sir, but could you tell me again what kind of pressure you wanted today?”

“Firm and heavy.”

“Deep tissue?”

“Yeah, but if your hands are as soft as you look, then you probably need help.

Maybe you should bring someone in with you who can show you what to do.”

I just smile and leave the room, informing him I would return to perform the service giving him time to get on my table.

I tell my boss what is going on and learn he was rude to the front desk staff as well, and she asks me if I wish to refuse service because his behavior is unacceptable, and I tell her I’ll take care of it.

I go back into the room, and the first thing he asks me is if I brought someone with more experience. I smiled wickedly knowing he was prone and could not see my expression, “Sir, I assure you that I am more than capable of meeting your request.”

“Maybe if you’d lay off the sugars and work on your structure, you probably could. Tell you what, sweetie, just give me everything you got, and maybe it will tickle.”

Now, I am not a small or muscular person by any means.

I am about 5’7″, and I don’t consider myself fat, but I have a big stature. I come off nice and pleasant as well, so most don’t know my capabilities.

At this point, I ***** for the back, lower the table as low as I can, crack my knuckles, apply gel to my hands, and press down into my first stroke with every ounce of pressure I can muster. I hear him gasp for breath in surprise.

I do my entire warm-up like this until he finally manages to hiss out, “Too much…too much.”

I stop and say, “Well, sweetie, these are just the warm-up strokes. Is the pressure bad, or do I need to get someone more qualified, or can I start the massage now?”

He was defeated and said he got the picture. He now knew I was more than capable of the task. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t apologize to me, but the front girls told me he did apologize to them for his behavior and asked to never see me again.

He also stiffed me on my tip.

My boss asked me what happened, and I told her. She laughed and said, “Well, he did ask for deep tissue.” I suppose the moral here is to not mess with the massage therapist who is nicknamed Amazonian Hands.” SeriaHawk

Another User Comments:

“I had a massage last weekend that was somewhere between a sports and relaxation massage. I’d say it was around a 7 out of 10 for pressure/pain. At one point, the therapist pressed her thumb against my shoulder blade and just held it there.

I could feel my nerves exploding all the way from my neck to my arm. I’d specially said I needed shoulder blade work doing due to an injury, and the therapist did a great job, and I felt so much better afterward.

Never be rude to people that know where nerve endings are because they can cripple you with just their thumb.” matej86

1. Write In My ***** If I Have To, You Say? Yes, Ma’am

“This took place in Turkey.

This happened to a classmate of mine, and I was lucky enough to witness it.

A couple of years ago in high school, we were going to take a regular exam for a class I don’t remember. The exam was right after recess. Unlucky for us, the teacher that would supervise us during the exam was one of the worst teachers most of us have ever seen. This teacher was also a sub coming from another high school where teachers could abuse students as much as they liked.

My high school had a much higher pay than hers, so she wanted to be a good sub and get hired as a full-time staff member.

Let’s call my friend Frank and my teacher Karen.

We sat down, attendance taken, and Karen gave us the green light to start the exam. Suddenly, Frank says, ‘D*mn it,’ which gets the attention of Karen, and the following conversation ensues:

Frank: Ma’am, my pencil is broken. (He was using a mechanical pencil.) Can I get one from a friend?

Karen: No, you can’t.

I told everyone before the exam that I would not allow a pencil or eraser swapping. You should have listened. (She told us this during our recess time, so unless you came 6 to 7 minutes early, you wouldn’t have heard.)

Frank: It was working. It broke when I was solving the first question. Look, I even wrote my name with it.

Karen: I don’t care, not my problem.

Frank: Soooo, what am I supposed to do then?

Karen: I told you, I don’t care, write with ***** if you have to.

At this point, there is a small silence, and Karen has a small smile on her face, thinking she has won over a high school student and satisfied her ego.

At my high school, we had 2 vice principals, and one of them would check every exam room at the beginning of an exam to make sure everything is ok (attendance, missing exam sheets, etc). And we had glass walls, so you could see outside pretty easily.

Frank looks over and spots the vice principal about to enter the classroom.

Frank: Ma’am, can I get up to take a pin from pinboard? (We had one in every classroom.)

Karen: What? Why?

Frank waits for a few seconds for the vice principal to enter to continue the next conversation.

Frank: You told me to write in ***** if I have to, and since you refuse to let me borrow a pencil from a friend, and I don’t want to get a zero on this exam, I would like to get a pin, so I can ***** a hole in my finger and write with my *****.

The vice-principal is shaken, looking horrified, and just frozen.

Vice Principal: What are you talking about, Frank?

Frank: Ma’am, my pencil broke during the first question, so I asked permission from Karen to borrow a pencil from my classmate, but she said I can’t. She doesn’t care and said that I can use my ***** if I want to. So, I wanted to use my ***** to write, so I wouldn’t get a zero on the exam.

The vice-principal looks at the class with a puzzled face as we all nodded our heads confirming Frank, and some even say, “He is right, ma’am.”

The vice-principal looks mad but won’t say anything during an exam in front of an entire class.

The vice Principal: Frank, take a pencil from your friend. Of course, you can’t use your ***** to write in any case. If anyone else needs, they can also borrow pencils or erasers.

The vice-principal storms off the class as Karen throws a death glare to Frank.

We learn a couple of weeks later that the vice-principal tore Karen a new one for being so stupid. Karen was overall a very bad teacher and had a ton of complaints about her within just a semester.

At the end, she was sent away 1 week before the semester ended. We were already done with the curriculum, so there was no missed material, and of course, she wasn’t hired as a full-time staff member.” Dawedef

I’m all about complying with the rules and doing what I’m told to do, but malicious compliance is just so much funnier! Carry on with the malicious compliance reads here.