This is a story from my first year of high school. A young boy with mobility issues attended a number of my classes; some days he would get around using a pair of crutches, and on bad days, he would use a wheelchair. He was also well below average height and suffered from what is known locally as “Wee Man Syndrome”. In other words, he would regularly try to pick fights with people much, much bigger than him for little or no reason. Although, he was fairly safe in the knowledge that nobody wanted to be known as the person who fought the small kid in a wheelchair.

That is, until the events of this story.

One day, in the middle of a class, our teacher had to step out. I don’t know why, but we were left unsupervised for what felt like a really long time, and most of us kids started to have a laugh and carry on.

Now, I forget what started it but the kid, who was using his crutches on this occasion, took exception to something a much taller boy said and made a critical error of judgment.

Wee Guy: “I want to fight you.”

Tall Kid: “What did you say?”

Wee Guy: “You heard me: I want to fight you. Square go, right now!”

His error of judgment here was that the kid he was speaking to had a reputation for being a bit wild and for not taking crap from anyone, not even from teachers (hence having spent a fair bit of time in detention).

Tall Kid: “Aye,. Okay, then. Let’s go.”

At that point, he got out of his seat and walked over to the Wee Guy’s desk. The Wee Guy promptly panicked and tried to hit him over the head with one of his crutches. The Tall Kid snatched the crutch out of the air, threw it away, and then picked the Wee Guy up by his collar.

Tall Kid: “Listen very carefully because this is the only warning you are getting. I don’t care that you can’t walk. I think you’re a coward because you pick fights knowing people don’t want to fight you. Well, the next time you talk crap to me or any of my pals, I am going to make you eat your crutches.”

Then, he shoved the Wee Guy back into his seat, picked the crutch up, slammed it onto the desk in front of him, and walked back to his own seat.

The teacher came back to class not long afterward, so that was pretty much the end of it, but funnily enough, I don’t recall the Wee Guy picking any more fights after this incident. I don’t remember what the class was, but I do remember the lesson.

Many years ago, I worked in tech support for online banking. We were based in an office in Glasgow.

One evening I get a call from an irate man. I give my opening spiel, with an obvious but fairly soft Glasgow accent.

Caller: “F***’s sake! I can’t understand you! Where are you?”

Me: “We are based in Glasgow, sir.”

Caller: “F*** that. Everyone in Glasgow is stupid and addicted to heroin. I want to talk to someone English!”

Me: “Unfortunately, sir, as we are based in Glasgow, all of the staff here are Glaswegian. There are no English people employed in this centre.”

Caller: “Is there another centre?”

Me: “Yes, there is another centre that handles these calls, but—”

Caller: “F*** you! I’m going to hang up and call back until I get the other centre! Then I can speak to someone English!”

He hung up. What I was about to say before he hung up was that the other centre was based in Wales.

We are in a training session on Teams; we can’t see each other.

Coworker: *Coughs*

Trainer: “What was that, [Coworker]?”

Coworker: “Sorry, just a frog in my throat.”

Trainer: “Why have you been eating frogs?”

Me: “The car broke down and was toad away.”

Trainer: “Oh, dear, [My Name], a pun before five o’clock. I was hoping to get later into the evening before having to deal with any puns.”

I had a brief stint working as a barman in one of Glasgow’s trendier pubs, and as I didn’t drive at the time, I relied on buses to get to and from work. I met some interesting characters on the night buses after midnight, but this story is about the one time somebody tried to mug me, and I’m only telling it because it was utterly bizarre.

After one particularly long shift, followed by a drink with my colleagues, it was about 1:00 am, and I was mentally and physically exhausted. I was standing at my usual bus stop listening to music on my headphones. After a few minutes, somebody walked over, stood in front of me, and smirked at me from an uncomfortably close distance. 

Me: “What is it?”

Would-Be-Mugger: “Phone, wallet, headphones. Now.”

Now, I don’t recommend what I did next but, as I said, it had been a long day and the guy didn’t have any obvious weapon.

Me: “F*** off.”

Would-Be-Mugger: “What?!”

Me: “You heard me. F*** off.”

I was ready for a fight at this point, so I had taken my headphones off, but I wasn’t expecting what happened next.

Would-Be-Mugger: “Oh, umm, hahaha! I nearly got you?! Aye, you’re right. I watched a show today about a guy who pretended to mug people just to see what reaction they would get, but you’re right. It’s late, it’s dark, and people are going to think I’m serious. Would you like some chewing gum, by the way?”

Me: “No, I don’t want any chewing gum. Get lost.”

He ran off down the street, never to be seen again. It was a bizarre end to a long shift.

Related:
When They Act Tough, You Call Their Bluff, Part 2
When They Act Tough, You Call Their Bluff

In my early twenties, I took a job as the deputy manager of an offsales (liquor store) in Glasgow. I had worked in retail before, but this was my first management role. I was nervously excited about joining the team, but things went pear-shaped very quickly. My boss (the store manager) and I were the only full-time employees. The other four staff members were part-timers, all of whom had very constrained availabilities around their other commitments.

About a month after I joined the team, my boss took a holiday for a week, but whilst she was away, she quite seriously hurt her back and thus went on long-term sick leave. I can’t remember exactly how long that lasted, but I think it was at least a ten-month-long absence.

I was told that our area manager would find us some additional support, and if I was ever in a pinch, then I could phone around the other stores in the area and try to borrow their staff. As you might have guessed, the extra support somehow never quite happened, but I’m proud to say that, with the help of our part-timers pitching in to pick up extra hours, we managed to keep the store open. We routinely placed as one of the best performing stores in our region, sometimes even placing first in sales.

However, there came one week when all of the part-timers were unavailable, and the only way I could make it work was to pick up three consecutive open-to-close shifts by myself on top of my other shifts. At the end of the week, I had something like twenty extra hours on my time sheet.

Finally, the area manager took notice — but only to reprimand me for all of those extra hours! I explained what had happened and he professed ignorance of the fact we were short-staffed. I’m not quite sure what he thought losing the store manager and one of only two full-time employees meant, but clearly, our shop had been a victim of our own success by muddling along.

At this point, the area manager finally organised a temporary manager, and it was actually surprisingly quick to get sorted out. It was only three or four weeks between that call and my meeting our temporary manager on his first day in our shop.

[Temporary Manager] was a bit of a strange character. He was friendly enough but could become very serious and officious about things with little warning. This led to him trying to discipline me, only to get in trouble himself.

Our franchise required us to cash out our till (register) drawers at the end of each shift and put the large notes in our safe after everything was counted. During the shifts, there was a lockbox beneath both of our two counters so that we could safely store paper money and cheques if the drawers became full, and obviously, those needed to be counted at the end of each shift, too.

[Temporary Manager] didn’t believe me and thought the lockboxes stayed where they were until the shop closed. I told him that wasn’t our training or policy, and he quite bluntly told me I was wrong. Then came this conversation.

Temporary Manager: “Hey, [My Name], I need to have a serious word with you.”

Me: “Oh, okay. What’s wrong?”

Temporary Manager: “You didn’t cash out my lockbox last night; it was full overnight.”

Me: “Oh, I wondered why the count was out. Did you see the note I left about it? I didn’t think to check the lockbox on till one because it wasn’t used during my shift.”

Temporary Manager: “I’ve told you before that they get emptied when the shop closes, not at the end of each shift.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, but I explained that isn’t store policy or how we’ve been trained.”

Temporary Manager: “I told you you were wrong and you were warned. I’m putting in a written warning about this, and the area manager will be in touch. You can get back to your shift now.”

Fuming, I went back to my shift. I decided that I’d just take it up with the area manager when he spoke to me, but days turned into weeks and I never heard anything more about it. I also noticed that [Temporary Manager] had started clearing the lockboxes after his shift.

Eventually, one of my colleagues had to cover a shift where the area manager was working and came back to me with a story the next day.

Colleague: “Hey, [My Name], I’ve got a funny story for you. Do you remember [Temporary Manager] threatening to discipline you?”

Me: “Remember? I was furious! I never heard anything about it, though, and I noticed that he started cashing out properly, so I assumed that he finally checked the training manual and realised I was right.”

Colleague: “Nope! He really did try to report you. [Area Manager] told me but asked me to keep it quiet. [Temporary Manager] phoned to ask him how to submit a written warning so, obviously, he asked him who it was about and why. As soon as he explained, [Area Manager] told him you were right and that if he didn’t drop it immediately, he would be the one getting a warning.”

Me: “Amazing! I do kind of wish that he had been given a warning, though.”

[Temporary Manager] didn’t stay with us much longer. Our manager recovered about four months later, so he was thanked for filling in and shown the door.