This one is a small victory but was super satisfying for me, so I wanted to share.

I worked for a large international accounting firm with offices all over the country. Our boss was well-liked until she became the boss. She was a smiling assassin type who only cared about her position and looking good in front of the higher-ups. She was all about “the numbers”, even if what we had to do to get to those numbers didn’t make sense.

My team — about twelve of us — was primarily based in the London office, but once a week (per my contract and everyone else’s), we were required to work in a remote office ages from London. This place was miserable. It was a building in the middle of nowhere, with one tiny corner shop for snacks, next to a motorway. The closest place to eat was a fifteen-minute drive away. We all hated it. But hey ho, it was only once a week.

When [Boss] got promoted, her sole life mission was to cut costs. She tried everything from stopping overtime, to telling us we had no stationery budget for pens and had to take from other teams stores, to allowing only one meal on social drinks — and making comments at the meal when someone chose theirs to be the more expensive option, e.g., “Are you really choosing that? It’s expensive. I’m not sure we are going to have enough budget.” This is considering that all other teams went for large fancy dinners all the time, unlimited drinks, etc.

At one point, [Boss] decided that the miserable location should be our primary office and she wanted us all to go there four days a week instead of one. All but one of our team was living in London. This meant, for me, a two-and-a-half-hour journey one way instead of an hour. After a few months, this really took its toll. The assistant manager (a friend of mine) told me [Boss] had said in passing to him that this office was less of a cost on our team budget than the London office. What a shock.

I decided to speak to Human Resources and see what my options were — maybe get an exception? Well… it turned out we had a policy that anything over your normal travel hours to the closest office location to your home could be used as your working hours. That meant the extra hour and a half each way would be considered working hours, so I could arrive at 10:30 am instead of 9:00 and leave at 4:00 pm instead of 5:30.

Also, if trains and things were delayed or cancelled, that would also be included in working hours. This happened often as this place was in the middle of nowhere, so trains were infrequent, so I would often arrive at 11:30. I forwarded the emails with HR to [Boss] and explained how I would be complying with this policy. She agreed — BUT, in a meeting, she tried to tell me this was an exception for me and to not tell anyone else.

Well… I told everyone else.

And we all began complying with the policy. This meant we spent less time in the office, and productivity dwindled. [Boss] mentioned this a lot in meetings. I would often (respectfully) point out that it didn’t make sense to force us to travel to this office, and I would point out its effects. I was the main one speaking up about this.

A few months later, [Boss] told me I could go to five days in the London office, but again, this was a “special arrangement” for me, she “appreciated me”, and she was “making accommodations only for me”. She also said she would tell everyone I had “special circumstances that allowed me this arrangement”, and I had keep our conversation confidential. I honestly think she just got fed up with me pointing out how our productivity was lower only because she made us travel there four days a week.

Of course, I complied, but the team noticed I wasn’t with them. Let’s just say that it caused a bit of a riot. I didn’t say anything, but they figured it out themselves — no special circumstances here. Slowly but surely, one after the other, my colleagues started joining me in London — getting their own “special arrangements” with [Boss].

At some point, the majority of us were in London. Eventually, it was just [Boss] and the only other local colleague at that office while we were in London. We all had a good chuckle about when [Boss] would cave. It took a good few weeks.

Then, we got an email informing us that our permanent location going forward would be London (five days a week), and the one local employee to that terrible office would work from home and come in once a month.

It may have happened anyway, but I’d like to think that me speaking to HR and finding that policy at least had a hand in getting us moved back to London.

As for [Boss], I could go on about so many stories with her, but I did eventually leave (for other reasons directly related to her). Unfortunately, she is still in the same position at that company. I do however enjoy seeing her checking my LinkedIn profile from time to time — and hopefully noticing that since I left I have gone from a junior to the same position as her.

Back in the early 2000s, I am working for a tax prep company call center. A super tech-savvy coworker gets a call from a guy who can’t get the tax software to work.

Coworker: “Okay, sir, we’ve exhausted all the troubleshooting issues, so my guess is it’s the modem.”

He starts taking the guy through the steps to figure out what’s going on with his modem.

Caller: “Okay, but I’ll have to unwrap it.”

Coworker: “Huh?”

Caller: “I wrapped it in tinfoil — you know, to stop the government from spying on me.”

Coworker: “How did you expect it to work?”

Caller: “…I don’t know.”

CONTENT WARNING: Bloody Injury

We’re a tax office. We have a special stapler that was originally designed to staple corrugated cardboard sheets together, but we’ve repurposed it to staple particularly large tax returns together.

One day, I’m working on some clients’ taxes. The clients have brought their thirteen-year-old boy with them. The boy is a little rambunctious and, eventually, asks permission to leave the office and wander around outside, which his parents grant.

A little later, we hear a very loud scream.

We walk out to see that the boy has used our massive stapler to drive a staple through the back of his hand.

The clients grab their son and leave for the hospital pretty much immediately, but that leaves us with quite a lot of blood to clean up.

After that, we set up a locking cage around the massive stapler.

We later come to an agreement with the clients: they won’t attempt to sue us for medical expenses from their son’s stupidity, and we won’t attempt to sue them for the expenses associated with shutting down the office and hiring an emergency cleaning company to clean up the blood. 

Honestly, I make it seem more dire than it was. They didn’t blame us, and they were actually more worried about us suing them for cleanup expenses than anything else, which we didn’t plan on doing in the first place.

Minnesota is offering a special payment based on your 2021 taxes of $260 per person. For some reason, the checks are being processed by a company in Montana and are being mailed out from Montana. It’s all over the news.

A client comes in with a check for $260 from Montana.

Client: “Why is Montana sending me a check and claiming it’s from Minnesota?”

I explain it to her.

Client: “I don’t believe you. This is some sort of scam, isn’t it?”

Me: “Well, I don’t see how.”

Client: “As soon as I cash the check, they’re going to empty my bank account, aren’t they?”

Me: “I’m not sure how that’s possible.”

Client: “There’s no way my check from that a**hole [Governor Of Minnesota] could come from Montana. This isn’t my [Governor] check.”

Me: “That is your [Governor] check. It looks just like all the other ones I’ve seen.”

Client: “You’re in on the scam. How much are they paying you?”

Me: “The only people paying me are [Tax Company], I promise.”

Client: “How much are they paying [Tax Company], then?”

Me: “Look… How about you take the check to your banker, and let them explain it to you, and if you still feel uncomfortable about it, you can just shred your check?”

Client: “But will I get my [Governor] check for $260?”

Me: “Not if you shred it.”

Client: “But I want my $260.”

Me: “So cash the check.”

Client: “But it’s a fraudulent check.”

Me: *Pauses* “I think I just heard my next appointment come in. I’m afraid we’re out of time for today. Have a nice day.”

My next appointment had not come in, but I was done dealing with this person. She left, promising to talk to her banker.

I work in a tax office that’s in an office complex shared with a couple of doctors’ offices. A guy comes in who can only speak Spanish. I grab my Spanish-speaking coworker to translate, and they chat for a few minutes.

After the guy leaves, my coworker comes back up to us, looking a bit exasperated.

Coworker: “Did you guys do that on purpose?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Coworker: “Did you put him up to that?”

Me: “No! What did he say?”

Coworker: “That guy just told me all about his swollen balls, in very graphic detail, like it was nothing. I had to tell him he was looking for one of the doctors’ offices.”

Me: “He thought we were a doctor’s office?”

Coworker: “Yeah! He just walked into the first door he saw; he didn’t read any signs. I had to tell him, ‘Sorry, sir, we do taxes, not testicles.'”