I recently got to nuke a former manager’s chances at my new job.

I used to work at a now-defunct bookstore chain, and a new manager was transferred into ours. All the employees believed that she was intentionally transferred there to tank our (previously well-performing) store so corporate could justify closing that location down. 

[Manager] drove away half the old-timers who had been there for years and knew what they were doing. She often took several hour-long lunch breaks. In an eight-hour shift, her record was four breaks. She also often left the store when there were no other managers on shift.

Three-quarters of our cafe staff quit (including me) after [Manager] fired the cafe manager over a minor incident. We all went in at the same time to submit our two-week resignation notice, and she swept everything off her desk in a rage. The result was a very heavy stapler hitting the wall hard enough to leave a dent. She had a screaming meltdown at all of us.

Immediately, our two-week notice became “effective immediately,” and we all gathered our things, punched out, and left. The entire time, we were serenaded by [Manager] growing increasingly more vile and personal in her freak-out.

A year or two later, I worked as an assistant manager for a competing chain.

General Manager: “By any chance did you work with [Manager] at [Former Location]? She’s applying for a management position with our company.”

I explained everything above, and then I added:

Me: “If you bring her on board, you will have my immediate resignation on your desk before the end of the day.”

Another coworker who had worked for her a few years before me at another location said the same.

Thankfully, the general manager took us seriously, and [Manager] was not brought on board. The sad part is that with people like her, you don’t even have to exaggerate; just telling the truth is enough to make any smart employer toss their resume.

I worked at a pub that was attached to and served the menu of a chain restaurant next door. The restaurant was known for breakfast and greasy food. The owner was an… interesting man. He was extremely strict, and if you were new or a customer watching the interaction, he would be seen as horribly rude. Thankfully, he didn’t care about the business whatsoever, and we would rarely see him.

[Owner]’s attitude made servers come and go in droves; I think there were only three long-timers. I was originally hired on for the pub side only due to my extensive bartending experience, but due to mass quitting, I got tasked with working the dreaded Sunday morning shift one week.

Between 6:00 am and 10:00 am, everyone was mostly friendly and left good tips, but once churches let out, all Hell broke loose — no pun intended. The churchgoers were the most hypocritical of all people; repent and ask for forgiveness, then come and scream at waitstaff making minimum wage, let their kids make horrible messes, and sit for an hour and a half even though they saw the lineup out the door for a table. And 99% of the time, they’d leave no tip — or they’d leave a note or pamphlet about how I was going to Hell, smeared with strawberry sauce that their kid splattered in a five-foot radius around the table.

I grew to like the early morning regulars, and I was the only person who volunteered for the weekend mornings at that point.

One glorious Sunday, I clocked in and saw [Owner]. Uh-oh. Both the manager and assistant manager, scheduled to serve that morning alongside me and one other server, called in sick. Due to [Owner]’s INCREDIBLE cheapness and distrust of us “peasants”, only the manager had a PIN to do discounts on orders — including for the fifty variations of coupons [Owner] sent out in flyers, newspapers, and online ads to try and drum up business. Yes, a manager was on call or physically in the building between 6:00 am and 2:00 am closing time. Absurd.

On top of that, there was a hockey tournament happening, so we had four reservations for tables of fifteen, PLUS the regular church reservations (five tables of six), PLUS the regular walk-ins. It was going to be insanity.

So, here was [Owner], rolling up the sleeves on his $295 shirt — yes, he told us how much it cost after he spilled jam on it — looking like he was going to work. Thankfully, the other server and I were rockstars and were doing pretty well, to the point that [Owner] decided he could expedite in the kitchen rather than interact with the lowly customers… until orders that normally took fifteen to eighteen minutes to come out were taking upwards of thirty to forty-five!

I went back to see what was going on when I had a minute to breathe, and I saw LITERALLY fifty-plus slices of toast on the counter, twenty-plus plates dying in the window, and [Owner] red in the face and dripping sweat all over everything.

Me: “[Owner], what’s going on? Why haven’t you called me or [Server] for pick-ups?! And what’s with the toast?”

Owner: “I know what the f*** I’m doing. I’m the owner, not you.”

Me: “Okay… Not what I asked, but all right. Can I get some of these out?”

Owner: “No! I tell you when to take them. Don’t you ever try to do something without being told!”

Me: “‘Kay.”

I walked away and continued apologizing to my tables for the delays. Thankfully, most people were understanding, but it definitely took a toll on morale in the restaurant. Another ten minutes or so went by, and I still hadn’t been called to drop food. [Server] came running up to me with a panicked look on his face.

Server: “[My Name], oh, my God… Please. Do something.”

What had been fifty-plus slices of toast had now become THREE four-foot-tall piles of various types of bread, toasted and now stale, piled up on the counter. The plates that had been under the warmer were now flooding every flat surface, and the window was full again.

I started checking plates and calling out remakes, and then I felt a hard bump right on my spine.

Me: “Ouch! What the h***?!”

[Owner] had just jabbed me with the corner of one of the square plates.

Owner: “I SAID I GOT THIS! GET OUT!”

The restaurant fell silent as everyone heard that, and almost everyone was now focused intently on the doors to the kitchen 

Me: “[Owner], this is insane. Table thirteen has been waiting an hour for bacon and eggs! Please just go to the office and let me sort this out!”

Owner: “F*** YOU, STUPID B****! I NEVER SHOULD HAVE HIRED YOU, F****** KNOW-IT-ALL! I. AM. THE. OWNER. I WILL ALWAYS HAVE MORE EXPERIENCE AND KNOWLEDGE THAN SOME DUMB SLUT WAITRESS! IF I TELL YOU TO F*** OFF, IT MEANS F*** OFF AND GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN!”

I stood shocked for a moment. Then, I took off my apron, tossed it on the ground, and started collecting my belongings from my locker to leave. [Server] followed behind me, as did two of the cooks and the dishwasher.

As we made our way out of the kitchen, [Owner] continued screaming, swearing, and hurling insults at us all. Slowly but surely, tables of shocked patrons got up and followed behind us, loudly proclaiming how they’d leave bad reviews and post in the community groups about what they had witnessed and how [Restaurant] had gone downhill since [Owner] bought it six years prior.

The community groups were full of almost exclusively posts about [Restaurant] for the next week. Their Google rating went from a 4.6 to a 2.8 within that same amount of time, with only friends of [Owner] leaving positive reviews and comments in the Facebook groups, calling all of us who’d walked out “entitled brats who haven’t worked a day of real work in their lives”.

Eight other staff members (five servers and three cooks) quit that week after hearing what had happened. [Owner] was down to three front-of-house employees (a manager, an assistant manager, and one server who was a relative of his) and only one back-of-house employee. He left me a voicemail saying more horrible things, begged me to come back halfway through, and ended it with more insults and comments about how I’d never amount to anything in life.

A decade later, I own a successful business in the same town, and [Owner] is riding off of investors’ money and begging for customers, but everyone remembers what he is!

I work on the register at a clothing store. A coworker with whom I have a budding friendship works Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. I work Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday.

I come into work on a Tuesday, and my manager informs me that I’ll be handling the registers alone.

Me: “Did [Coworker] call in?”

Manager: “She quit after yesterday.”

Me: “Quit? What happened?”

Manager: “A long line of customers demanding returns without receipts who don’t understand the return policy. The stupid b**** started crying when they began yelling at her.”

I’m caught off-guard by his remark.

Me: “I’m sorry, you’re insulting her for getting upset because the customers were yelling at her?”

Manager: “Return policy means they had no argument against her.”

Me: “And did you punish these customers for making a scene? For abusing your worker?”

Manager: “Abuse? Some idiot yelling isn’t worth getting upset over.”

I was so infuriated by his blasé attitude that I quit on the spot. I called up [Coworker] and found that she had gotten a new job with less apathetic management. They still had an opening, and we found ourselves working together again.

Back in maybe 2006 to 2008ish, I was a tax associate at the most well-known tax service in North America. I did very well in the class you take, which determines your eligibility to be hired as well as teaching you how to do taxes, and was hired. I bounced from office to office as newbies do, and I was doing well enough that I was always the first to be called if a shift needed covering.

After my first season with them went so well, I was invited back for the next year, and the class was free because of the invitation. In case you wonder why the class is every year, it’s because tax rules change every year and we have to keep up.

Shortly after the class was over, which I aced, I was approached by the lady who ran the district. She wanted to open a seasonal office in a [Retail Chain] 50 km (about 31 miles) outside the city I worked in. She wanted me as a primary associate there: in part because I’d done so well in the previous year, in part because I’d aced the class, in part because of my background in security, and in part because I lived 20 km (about 12 miles) closer to this [Retail Chain] than anyone else on staff.

I wasn’t to be a manager, but I was going to be the only full-time associate. (Full-time associate for the location did not mean actual full-time hours; this “office” would be open four hours on weekends and six hours on weekdays.) I’d open and close almost every day and often be the only associate on-site. It was basically my baby to take care of. There were hints that it might lead to advancement in the company, as well. I was pretty excited about the opportunity.

At first, everything was great. The [Retail Chain] staff liked me, the customers liked me, and my boss liked me. I was blasting through customers. Only maybe five people walked away due to having to wait out of the few hundred who approached my little “office” beside the produce section.

Two months in, right before the tax season really heated up, I had a weekend I’d booked off the same day they’d hired me. I was going out of the province to see family. The trip had been set long before they hired me, and I’d made it quite clear that I wasn’t going to be around. The schedule accurately reflected that. So, the weekend arrived and I went and had a good time. I came home Monday evening so I could be back Tuesday morning.

When I got home, I checked my answering machine and found three messages. Two were from my boss, the district lady, and one was from the scheduler. I don’t remember everything word for word, so I’ll paraphrase.

Message #1, from [Boss], was on Saturday morning at approximately 7:00 am.

Boss: “Hi, [My Name], sorry to do this to you, but we need you in today. [Employee] who we scheduled to replace you had their car break down.”

Message #2, also from [Boss], was on Saturday afternoon at approximately 2:00 pm.

Boss: “I’m very disappointed in you for not responding to me and not showing up. I’ll be making some changes.”

Message #3, from the scheduler, was on Monday morning at approximately 9:00 am.

Scheduler: “Hi, [My Name], this is [Scheduler]. Your hours have changed this week. Call me when you get this.”

Now, at that point in my life, I was not a kid out of high school and I’d had enough experience with screw-jobs that I was absolutely not going to crawl on my hands and knees apologizing and begging for my job. If you’re going to be petty and mean just because you f***ed up, then we’re going to have problems. And so we did.

I called [Scheduler] and was told that I had been suspended for a week and should call [Boss] after a week to get back on the schedule. She said [Boss] was trying to put me in my place and teach me how to be a good manager. I’d get back on the schedule after the week was over. I brought up my pre-planned and scheduled time off, and I also pointed out that I wasn’t a manager; I was a regular employee. [Scheduler] was very uncomfortable, but she was only doing what she was told. They did need me, she said. I just needed to call [Boss] in a week.

I said sure — and then didn’t call. I was furious, and I wasn’t the one who was going to be put in her place. I called a few of the customers whom I’d been working with and explained that I was no longer working there, and they chose to keep me as their tax gal regardless. It really wasn’t intended as revenge, even though it sounds that way; the company wasn’t going to make more than it cost to have someone do their taxes anyway. This was purely a customer relationship thing. I like to finish what I start.

The real revenge was accepting my suspension. For the entire week that I was suspended, I made sure to stop in at the [Retail Chain] to see if I knew who they’d scheduled for my shift, and if we were friendly, then I’d help them out with the quirks of this location. But there was never anyone there. I confirmed with the [Retail Chain] staff; all week, they had no one working there. They were paying [Retail Chain] to rent space and getting nothing but a bad reputation for it because the heavily advertised new location had zero employees. It remained that way for the rest of the season — two months.

[Boss] never called me, and I never called her. Pride. I have no idea how it impacted her professionally; I’ve stayed far away from taxes ever since. I got another job before my suspension was over and never looked back.

Just last week, a coworker left the company. He put in his two-week notice on a Tuesday afternoon but actually worked (I use that word loosely) for two and a half weeks. [Coworker] should have been gone after ten business days, and his last day would have been a Tuesday. However, he asked our supervisor if he could finish out the remainder of that week and end on a Friday. Our supervisor said that was fine. Were he an upstanding worker, it would have been great to have him around for those extra three days, but he’s not and he causes more issues than he’s worth.

[Coworker] hasn’t been the best worker or the most reliable one. More times than I can recount, he has come in late by an hour or more, he’s left early, and he’s aimlessly wandered around the workplace not doing anything other than wasting time to pad his hours. He has never been open to the idea of putting in any overtime (our work is usually okay with five to ten hours of overtime if he wants to, for the position he worked in) or even working past 2:00 pm. In any given work week, he has actually had trouble getting a full forty hours because of showing up late and leaving early, and he constantly complains about not having any money.

The last three extra days that our supervisor okayed for him to stay around and work pushed me over the top of tolerating this guy’s work ethic.

On his final Wednesday, [Coworker] texted our supervisor that he was running late and would be in soon. He finally showed up at 8:30 am; his starting time was 6:00 am. He got his material loaded onto his delivery truck and was gone until about 1:30 pm. After he got back, I gave him an earful about being late and being unreliable, and he assured me that for the last two days he worked there, he would be on time at 6:00 am.

Thursday came. My start time was 7:30, but I was there by 7:15 (like I am every day). I found out that my soon-to-be ex-coworker hadn’t shown up yet. I went to our supervisor and suggested that she call him and tell him not to bother coming in that day or the next because he was unreliable; she should just fire him. She told me that he had already reached out to her and said he was on his way in, so she’d let him come in and work still.

By 7:45, [Coworker] still hadn’t shown up, and we had material to deliver, so I made the decision to start shipping orders out via couriers. As I finished calling in pick-ups at 8:00 am, [Coworker] showed up, grabbed the delivery paperwork out of my hands, and tried to walk away with it for his delivery runs.

Me: “Give the paperwork back. You’re not taking it.”

Coworker: “I can do it.”

Me: “I already called a courier because you weren’t here and the material was expected out this morning.”

Coworker: “I’m here now. I’ll do it.”

He tried to walk out the door.

Me: “I’m not f****** around here. Give the paperwork back now. You were extremely late yesterday and today. You are unreliable. I can’t count on you to do the work that needs to be done, so I called in couriers for this material. Congratulations; you’ve now cost the company a few thousand dollars to pay for other delivery vehicles to do the work you were supposed to be here doing two hours ago.”

Coworker: “Oh… uh… okay.”

And he walked out of the office.

Fifteen minutes later, he walked back into the office after talking to our supervisor.

Coworker: “I heard you told the supervisor to fire me. Why do you have a problem with me?”

Me: “Seriously? You’re constantly late, you’re unreliable, you’re slow, you don’t want to work past 2:00 pm — and you throw a fit when you do. You complain about not having any money, yet you don’t want to work. And to top it all off… you asked our supervisor to let you work these couple of extra days past your original two-week notice, and you can’t even show up on time! That’s downright f****** disgusting and disrespectful to our supervisor who bends over backward to accommodate you and your constant tardiness. Yes, I told her to fire you so we wouldn’t have to deal with you anymore.”

[Coworker] just kind of chuckled at my comment — probably a nervous laugh more than anything.

Me: “It’s not f****** funny. I’m not joking. I’m serious. If it were up to me, you’d have been fired a long time ago.”

Coworker: *Pauses* “I… I appreciate your honesty about it all.”

Me: “No, you don’t. If you actually cared about doing your job, I wouldn’t have to talk to you like this, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t care, do you?”

Coworker: “Well… I do, but not really. So, yeah, that’s part of the problem.”

Me: “I don’t have time for you anymore. Since you’ve been working here, we’ve constantly ridden you about your tardiness and how bad it looks. If you’re going to be here, be here on time and do your work. If you’re not going to be here on time, then just get the f*** out and leave. Do us a favor and don’t bother coming back tomorrow. Get out of my office; I’ve got nothing more to say to you.”

[Coworker] just kind of hung his head and walked out the door. Our supervisor let him do some other delivery run for the day, and the same thing happened when he got back around 12:30; he was done for the day. He didn’t want to do any more work.

Friday came around and, yep, you guessed it: he showed up late again! No surprise here, though. He came in around 7:45 am, almost two hours late. I didn’t have any words for him anymore. I handed him the deliveries our supervisor said he should take that were due, and he got loaded up and out the door. He got back around 12:00 pm and had plenty of time to do another delivery run, but it was his last day, and he didn’t want to work anymore and left.

Good riddance.

For as many years as I’ve been working, it still baffles me how so many people can survive in this world with such lazy attitudes and lifestyles.