This is a story my mom told me about my grandfather that happened in the late 1950s. Keep in mind that it was a different time back then.

My grandfather worked as a milkman his whole life. His company’s brand of milk was considered one of the better brands available, and for a very long time, it was only available via milkman. It was not in any grocery store — much to the grocery store’s dismay. The local grocery store kept asking — and then begging — the dairy company to please let them sell the milk in their store.

Finally, an agreement was made. The milk would be sold in the store, but with a small markup compared to the cost of delivery, so people would have an incentive to keep using the milkmen.

Where the dairy company went wrong was that the agreement on price was not in writing. So, while the price of milk started with a markup, that markup soon went away. The dairy company complained, but nothing changed. The grocery store kept the price at a lower amount.

The milkmen in particular were not happy with this; this was threatening their livelihoods. So, they all talked amongst themselves and made a plan. Throughout the next day, they gathered up their wives and kids and all headed over to the grocery store. Every adult grabbed a cart and started filling it with anything and everything nonperishable they could think of, from as many different aisles and shelves as possible. As each one finished piling their cart as high as humanly possible, they’d wheel it to the front, leave it there, and simply walk out. Soon, half of the store’s items were now go-backs, piled in a ton of carts, with the shelves looking bare and ragged. 

The next day, the milkmen checked the price of their milk in the store. No change. Their little demonstration hadn’t worked. So, they felt they had no choice. They stepped it up a notch. 

They now started taking all the perishables and anything that was supposed to be kept cool, cold, or hot and started “redistributing” these items for the grocery store. The ice cream belongs behind all the cereal boxes, right? And this fish should be put behind the cans of peas. The leaking steak goes on the top shelf behind the chips. And so on.

By the end of the day, the grocery store was looking at a ton of wastage while praying that they’d found all the starting-to-rot meat and fermenting dairy before things started to smell too much. 

The next day, the milkmen went back to check the price of milk again. The markup had, for some reason, been added back to the price. Nothing more was ever said about it from workers of either company. But that markup stayed on the milk from then on.

I work as a casino dealer. I go out for a drink with a friend. We’re stopped by the guy at the entrance.

Guy At Entrance: “ID.”

Me: “Oh man, I don’t have it on me. But wait, you’re a regular at my table, right?”

Guy At Entrance: “Yeah, I know you perfectly well.”

He was not happy because two nights ago he lost a lot at my roulette table.

I had the immense pleasure to take some more of his money on his next visit.

The fast-food place I work at has an intercom at the drive-thru but the manager likes for us to take orders face-to-face. I have an angry customer pull up.

Customer: “I can’t f****** read the f****** menu!”

He keeps on swearing. I don’t know how to handle things like that back at this time, so I just keep my head down. I finally have had enough and say:

Me: “Sir, would you please not talk like that?”

How does he respond? He spits on my face.

HE SPAT ON ME AND DROVE OFF.

And the worst part is my manager thought it was funny.

I work in a tax office. In early January, before most people even get their W2s, a client came in with a 1099-NEC and some random bank statements that were not annotated. I asked her if she was still working her W2 job from prior years, and she said she was. I entered the 1099-NEC into the system, put everything in a folder, and told her to bring her missing W2 and we’d finish it then.

Over the course of the month, she kept scheduling appointments with us and not showing up for them. This was frustrating because it took up a time slot that a client could actually use. Every time we tried to call her phone, we got an answering service.

After four of these, I left a message letting her know that she was not a client of ours anymore and asking her to please pick up her documents. Any future appointments would be canceled.

About two weeks later, the client came in and complained that it “took too long” for us to do her taxes and she wanted to do them elsewhere. She wanted her W2 back. 

We didn’t have her W2. We’d never had her W2. 

She took home the rest of her documents. (I wasn’t present for this; this is what we learned in the after-event inquest.)

A week after that, the client came in again demanding her documents. Now, her documents were not present. Flummoxed, we turned over the whole office looking for them. Finally, we told her that they were missing, presumed shredded. (I still wasn’t present for this; this was also learned in the post-event inquest.)

She flipped out, saying it was “illegal” to shred her documents and that she was going to call the police on us. That should have gotten her barred and instructed to only talk to our legal department, but somehow, she was given an appointment with me, and even though I canceled it because she’s not supposed to have appointments with me, she knew I was working at that time, came in, and was allowed into the back to approach me and yell at me. A lot. She wambling about the police and “it’s illegal!” and stuff.

I’m autistic, I don’t deal with loud noises well, and this left me overstimulated and curled up in a ball sobbing.

Then, we had a whole inquest to figure out how a disabled employee (me) wound up in that state, where the failures had happened, and how to fix them in the future. It was determined that the return of the client’s documents should have been noted in her file, that she should not have been permitted to make an appointment with me after she was already agitated, and that the notes saying she had never given us her W2 should have been ACTUALLY READ.

I wish I trusted that my coworkers would actually follow the recommendations of the inquest.

I’m the author of this story. This story takes place about three months later in the same upscale spa in a five-star hotel.

Management has recently decided to overload all therapists with more bookings than we are legally allowed to do, with almost no turnaround time between clients, while constantly running out of supplies. As such, every single therapist is racing to get rooms set up for long and complex treatments.

On this particular day, I begin with a thirty-minute facial and a two-hour package afterward consisting of a foot bath, body scrub, body massage, and facial. I’ve managed to set everything up in with seconds to spare and take a deep breath to steady myself after such frantic running back and forth.

My moment complete, I head out to find my client.

Me: “Hello, [Client]. My name is [My Name], and I’ll be your therapist today. Are you ready to come in with me?”

She shifts her designer sunglasses and literally looks down her nose at me.

Client: “What is wrong with your voice?”

Me: “…I’m sorry?”

Client: “Your voice. I don’t like it. You sound breathy. Do you actually want me here, or should I come back another time?”

Me: “I’m so sorry, ma’am, I absolutely did not mean to come across that way. I have everything ready for your treatment, however, so if you’d like to follow me—”

Client: *Interrupting* “No, I don’t want you. I don’t like your voice. It’s too breathy. You don’t sound right.”

She looks me up and down with obvious contempt and points.

Client: “I only want this spa at its best, and it’s clearly not today if someone like you is here.”

Me: *Forcing a smile* “I’m sorry about that, ma’am. If you’re not comfortable with me, then you are free to speak with my manager.”

The client hightails it to the front desk and starts demanding her appointment be changed this instant. The manager explains that this is not possible, as we tend to book out a month in advance, this will mean a two-hour slot will be wasted, and her not liking my voice isn’t a valid reason. After all, I simply need to ask some basic questions such as allergies, etc., and then we don’t have to talk. Therefore, changing her appointment is really quite difficult and unreasonable.

To say the client is affronted would be an understatement; she looks as though someone has suggested she go bathe in garbage water.

Client: “That is unacceptable. I want my appointment changed now! I only have spa treatments every two weeks, and it’s important that I only get the best! This therapist…” *points to me* “…is clearly not the best.”

Manager: “Ma’am, her voice is not a valid reason to change your appointment so suddenly.”

Client: “Are you refusing to do what I want?!”

Manager: “Not exactly, but I’m just saying that it’s not—”

Client: “I want to talk to the manager!”

Manager: “Well, that would be me.”

I should point out that my manager is Mexican. The client is white.

Client: *In a tone of absolute revulsion* “You? Someone like you actually owns this place?!”

Manager: “…No, I don’t own the business.”

The client marches over to a seat and parks herself.

Client: “Fine. I’ll just wait here while you escalate my case to your superior!”

While she waits, two more women come in screaming about the hotel sauna being closed for cleaning, even though that has nothing to do with the spa, and the delightful woman from before starts commiserating with the newcomers about how incompetent we are, etc.

They go on more about my manager’s accent and so forth, pretty much being exactly the kind of people you’d cross the street to avoid. While I’m standing there questioning every single thing that has led me up to this point, the two sauna clients leave amid more shouting, and the first woman is told that the owner has agreed to switch her appointment.

Client: “About time. Don’t worry, I’m not going to make a complaint or anything!”

She is FINALLY gone, and the next thing I know, my manager is rounding on me.

Manager: “HOW COULD YOU LET THAT HAPPEN?!”

Me: “What are you saying?”

Manager: “You should have taken charge of that situation! You should have done more to reassure that woman! You should have done more to calm her down!”

At this point, I am barely holding back tears.

Me: “…she said my voice annoyed her. How was I supposed to calm her down when that was her issue? And she insulted me right to my face. I don’t want to deal with that kind of rudeness!”

Manager: “YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE MORE TO CALM HER DOWN! YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE LET HER GET THAT UPSET!”

Despite saying that she wouldn’t complain, the client called the head office to complain before she’d even left the building. As compensation for her unspeakable trauma, she received free products, free treatments, and free upgrades.

That was the beginning of the end for me. Thanks to this woman, all levels of management proceeded to chew me out throughout several meetings over multiple weeks over the incident, and they cut my hours as punishment for not “calming and communicating with the client”.

They were utterly shocked and furious when I left a few months later, and I have since left the beauty industry entirely thanks to that place.

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