This is a long time ago (over thirty years) so there will be some condensing of time and paraphrasing. Early in my career, I worked on a factory floor. We worked a basic assembly line, and it was loud, hot, and not too comfortable, but hey, it’s a factory so it was what it was. What we made in the factory wasn’t important, but there were legal requirements for the parts to be of a certain quality.

Management sat upstairs in their air-conditioned offices and would occasionally rattle out arbitrary work targets to make shareholders happy, without any consultation with factory floor staff to see if the target was feasible, or in some cases, possible. 

I see the factory floor manager coming down from the office with an angry look on his face.

Floor Manager: “Okay, so we have to get 2000 units complete by the end of the month. They have shareholders visiting end of the month and they want to show off.”

Me: “What! That’s impossible!”

Floor Manager: “You think I didn’t say that? But they said 2000 or there would be “consequences.””

Me: “If everyone pulls doubles, we might be able to just make that, but barely.”

Floor Manager: “I also explained that, but they said no overtime would be permitted.”

Me: “Then where are we supposed to just pull all those extra units from? Our a**es?”

Floor Manager: “Well they said if we didn’t do 2000 there would be consequences, but I said if we did deliver 2000, there would also be consequences.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Floor Manager: “I said they could have the units fast, well-made, or cheap, but they can only have two of the three. They’ve gone for fast and cheap.”

Me: “So…”

Floor Manager: “So quality control is out of the window, boys!”

Me: “I hope you got that in writing!”

Floor Manager: *Holds up a piece of signed paper, smiling evilly.* “Yup!”

For the rest of the month, we worked tirelessly to meet the impossible deadline. By the skin of our teeth, we made the quota, but our product was far, faaaaar below the standard required by the law, let alone our own internal quality control.

At the shareholder visit at the end of the month, the management team was proudly boasting about the efficiency of the factory and bigging up the numbers. What they hadn’t intended was that our Floor Manager had used his networking to indicate to a quality inspector what might be going on. The surprise inspection was spectacularly timed to coincide with the shareholder visit.

It was a bloodbath.

Every single one of our units failed the inspection, and this was stated louder and louder with each example. The management was left babbling in front of both the shareholders and the inspectors until they decided they needed a scapegoat.

Management: “[Floor Manager], do you have an explanation for this shoddy workmanship?”

Floor Manager: “I sure do! Remember that work order that you signed at the beginning of the month saying you don’t care about the impact on quality as long as we got 2000 units finished by the end of the month without overtime?”

Management: “Well, of course, we didn’t mean to sacrifice quality by such a degree!”

Floor Manager: “Well here is that very work order stating otherwise, with your signature. Please share this with the shareholders and the inspector for your required explanation.”

Management, shareholders, and the inspector were left in the corner hashing out the details and the “consequences.” I am talking with the floor manager.

Me: “That was a bit much.”

Floor Manager: “I told them there would be consequences.”

Me: “Yes, but did you have to laminate the work order?”

Floor Manager: “That’s me holding back. I almost had it framed!”

By the next month, the entire management team was gone. Heads were rolling and there were legal consequences. Within the year the Floor Manager was in the proper management circle, and we never sacrificed quality to appease distant shareholders ever again.

I have spent a few months coding a niche but powerful little tool for our office to use in our industry. I aim to complete the tool before taking a nice two-week vacation. I go away, enjoy some tropical beach time and I am back in the office to find management singing my coworker praises.

Turns out he found my tool in the company directory, changed some minor details, and claimed credit for the entire thing. There was talk of a bonus and possible promotion.

Policy stated that all work done on company time and using company resources had to be stored in the company directory. I don’t want to bog this story down with the technical details, but this stupid policy meant that it while it wasn’t easy, it was entirely possible for someone to steal someone else’s work and my coworker knew this. (This policy has since been rectified, due to what was about to happen.)

Fortunately, I had other ways to bypass this policy but stay within the rules.

In my coding, I would leave little notes that would sometimes describe why I did something or outline certain fixes I would make. They weren’t part of the code that ran the tool, but they were still present for future reference.

Sometimes I would also add fun little notes for my own sanity, and to ensure I could do what I was about to do.

My coworker was brazenly showcasing “his” new tool in a presentation to the management team. I got myself invited last minute and only knew about the presentation due to a sympathetic coworker. I admit he had done his homework; he knew the tool pretty well and gave a convincing show of how it ran, but he hadn’t looked at the code.

Halfway through the presentation, I ask for him to reveal the code of a particular UI screen he was demonstrating. He knows I am up to something but he doesn’t want to appear suspicious in front of everyone, so he brings up the code.

From there, I was able to point out the area of the code that contained the text “coding completed by [My Name] on [Date] ridiculously early in the morning. Noted here for sanity.”

When asked for an explanation my coworker claimed I must have added that at the last minute to try to sabotage him.

At this point, I also directed everyone to the sections of code that contained my wife’s recipe for a peach cobbler, a description of my cat’s attempt to step all over my keyboard, and the lyrics to my favorite song. I also indicated that these were time-stamped before I took my vacation.

My coworker was gone by the end of the week. I didn’t get the promotion or raise, sadly, but the credit was restored back to me and that was enough for me!

I’m a woman who works in an auto shop. I am sure you can tell where this is going. A customer drives his car into the shop.

Customer: “Can I speak to someone about my car?”

Me: “Let me know what you need and I’ll be happy to help.

Customer: *Blinks.* “I need to speak to someone about my car.”

Me: “Ooookay. What is it about your car?”

Customer: “I need to speak to a mechanic about my car.”

Me: “Congratulations! You found one. What issues are you having?”

Customer: *Looking around above me.* “Is there a manager or the owner around?”

Me: “The owner is around but he’s in his office. He’s not working the floor today.”

Customer: “Well, can you get him for me? I really need to speak to a mechanic. It’s about a problem with my brakes, y’see, so it needs a professional.”

Me: “I am a mechanic, sir.”

Customer: “Come on, dear. Are you going to make me say it?”

Me: “I really think I am, dear.”

Customer: “I need to speak to a man about my car.”

I silently go to the office and interrupt the owner. He understands the situation quickly and comes out to speak to the customer.

Owner: “Sir, I am understanding that you don’t want my mechanic here to look at your car?”

Customer: “Come on, guy! You know how it is. I need someone professional to look at the car.”

Owner: “So my professional mechanic here, who has told you numerous times that she is a mechanic and is available and willing to help you, is not worthy to do so because she what… has a uterus?”

Customer: “Well, I—”

Owner: “Also, and not that this is any of your business, she is my daughter and has been crawling around the insides of a car for as long as she could… well… crawl! So after all this information has been relayed to you I have only one thing left to ask.”

Customer: *Looking defeated.* What’s that?”

Owner: “Sir, are you a professional misogynist or is this just something you do for fun?”

While the customer is guffawing and making spluttering noises, I remind the owner (hi dad!) about the nature of the complaint.

Owner: “Sir, I have just been informed by my professional mechanic that your problem alludes to your brakes. If you have an issue with your brakes, I cannot legally let you leave this lot in case your car is a danger to yourself or others. I also won’t be looking at your car because you’re a human waste stain. If you leave, I will call the police with your registration. However, I am willing to tow your car to your home address for the standard $200 fee.”

After a bit more sputtering, the customer had his car towed to another mechanic (a friend of my father) who made sure that his car was roadworthy despite the driver not being worthy of anything.

Thanks, dad!

I am having a rough day with the “womanly issues” and so I am spending a bit more time in the restroom than usual. This, of course, does not go unnoticed by my micro-managing boss.

Boss: “What were you doing in there!”

Me: “You’re not allowed to ask me that.”

Boss: “I am allowed to ask anything I want pertaining to your productivity. You’re getting paid to sit at your desk and work, not sit on the toilet for hours playing games on your phone.”

Me: “That is absolutely not what is going on.”

Boss: “I don’t care. I don’t want to see you leave your desk outside of your allotted break time for the rest of the day, or it’s a write-up.”

He leaves before I can protest, so I sit down at my seat. I am a stubborn, vindictive, and petty person, and so I am willing to suffer a little to make a point. I grimace through the rest of the day and manage to leave without too many issues.

The very next day we have an “all-hands” meeting to close out the week, which is attended virtually by most of upper management. We get to the AOB part of the meeting and I raise my hand.

Company Big-Wig: “Yes, [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes, I was wondering if [Boss]’s policy to force the female staff to remain in their seats during heavy-flow periods could be put into writing somewhere? I don’t want to be blamed for making a mess of the office chairs, you see.”

For a glorious moment, everyone was silent. My boss’s face was, poetically, very red.

Company Big-Wig: “I… think this is something that [Boss] and upper management can discuss outside of this meeting. [Boss], please remain behind after the meeting is adjourned.

I left to enjoy my weekend (health issues aside) and on Monday my boss was absent for what would be two weeks of “retraining.”

From that day onward, every time I needed a restroom break, I would make sure to pass by his desk, even though it wasn’t on the way.

Customer: “I’d like a venti java chip frappe.”

Me: “We don’t have that, sir. This is a local coffee shop. Were you looking for Starbucks?”

Customer: “You’re a coffee shop, aren’t you?”

Me: “Well, yes?”

Customer: “Then I’d like a venti java chip frappe.”

Me: “Sir, we only have what is on the menu behind me. That item you’re asking for is a Starbucks item.”

Customer: “You’re not getting it. I want my coffee. You’re a coffee shop. What’s so hard to understand?”

My manager comes over after witnessing this exchange and talks to me.

Manager: “Don’t try to fight stupid, [My Name]. It’ll only make you dumber.”

My manager then turns to the customer.

Manager: “Sir, you’re right in that this is a coffee shop. That means we sell coffees. We do not sell chunks of chocolate floating in a mass of ice and flavoring syrups. Pick something off the menu or leave.”

Customer: “You can’t talk to me that way! I’m going to call your corporate!”

Manager: “We don’t have one, but you’re welcome to try.”

The customer then gets his phone out and starts to dial.

Customer: “Yes… is that Starbucks customer service?”

I just stare at my manager, who just stares at me.

Me: “I don’t… I don’t think he gets it yet.”

Customer: *On the phone.* “Yes, it’s your [Street] location!”

Manager: *To me.* “I have things to do. Call me back if he won’t leave.”

Customer: *On the phone.* “What do you mean you don’t have a location there!”

Manager: *To me.* “Although I am tempted to see how this plays out.”

Customer: *On the phone.* “What are you talking about! It’s a coffee place! That means you own it!”

Me: “Oh boy…”

Customer: *On the phone.* “I want to speak to your manager!”

He was on the phone for another ten minutes while I served other customers. He finally hung up, looked at me with the eyes of a man who just realized as an adult that other coffee shops exist other than Starbucks, and walks out with defeat.

Related:
What The Frappe?!