I work at a university. I worked as an administrative assistant in the physical science department for just over a year before transferring to an advising position for incoming freshmen.

My (now former) boss had a nasty habit of: 

1. spreading gossip (which I hate) about anyone and everyone to anyone and everyone, 
2. refusing to respect my boundaries and being both verbally abusive and emotionally manipulative,  
3. taking personal offense at any action they deemed “against” them, and 
4. taking those offenses and turning them into personal vendettas they tried to spread around campus by making up exorbitant lies.

I joined their vendetta list when I changed jobs without their “permission” (their words). The lies that have thus far gotten back to me include, but are not limited to:

1. I was a spy and was reporting all of their doings back to the dean so that they would get in trouble all the time.
2. Because of my excellent spy work, they are being demoted from department head to regular faculty — despite the fact they wrote an official memo requesting that they be allowed to step down.
3. I spread rumors all over campus that they hated the dean (their boss, whom they do hate) and undermined both their relationship and the dean’s position (which my former boss does all the time to anyone they talk to).

The best rumor, though, came through recently. My former boss claims that I am under investigation by both human resources and the campus police because I have been demanding/extorting money — a felony — from instructors and other staff to do work for them, despite the fact that I look like I’m eighteen and am about as intimidating as a dandelion. And apparently, I am about to be fired for it (I’m not).

All in all, it’s just free — if sometimes inconvenient — entertainment for me, though I did report that last one just in case it made its way to people who don’t know me and became a real issue. Transferring jobs was one of the best things I’ve ever done; I’m not struggling with depression as much and am doing much better emotionally overall. 

And to be honest, it makes me smile every time I remember that I’m living rent-free in their head with the rest of their vendetta collection.

Customer: “I want to get these balloons blown up for my son.”

He hands me two very large balloons that were purchased at a different store. 

Me: “I’m sorry, but we only blow up balloons that are purchased in our store. Luckily, we do have some that are similar to these.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous. I don’t see why you can’t do this for me.”

He argues with me for a few more minutes before he goes to the register with his other items. 

Customer: *To the cashier* “You guys really should learn better customer service. That heartless girl won’t blow up these balloons for me.”

Cashier: “I’m sorry, sir. It’s store policy not to blow up any outside balloons.”

The customer remains angry and combative but leaves without another word. Once he’s gone, I explain the situation to a coworker. Little do I know, the customer forgot something and has come back in. 

Customer: “I can hear you, stupid b****.”

Me: “Sir, I was just explaining to my cashier what happened earlier. There’s no need to be angry.”

I proceed to scan his items and give him his total. 

Customer: “I’m going to report you. What’s your name?”

I give the customer my name and spell it for him, reminding him that the number he needs to call, as well as my name and employee number, are on the bottom of the receipt. 

Customer: “I don’t need to know how to spell your name!”

At that, he left. I never heard anything about a complaint, but soon after, a different customer came up to me and apologized for his behaviour, thanking me for behaving so calmly.

Related:
A Ballooning Sense Of Entitlement, Part 2
A Ballooning Sense Of Entitlement

I rent a room in a house with a few other women. It’s a typical setup — a communal area and a small bedroom each. I don’t spend a lot of time in the communal area, but even less when [Roommate]’s boyfriend is there.

We shouldn’t even have visitors, but everyone looks the other way, especially if it is only for a night. But [Roommate] has him around for almost a week at a time. He’s creepy and obnoxious and I’m sure he steals food from the fridge. I only have one more year left at uni and then I will move, so I kind of switch off and just keep a distance.

I grab myself something to eat and cannot find my spatula anywhere. It’s a big, pink, silicone one, so it’s hard to miss. I make do without, but I’m keen to know where it is or if I need to replace it. I’ve asked everyone, aside from [Roommate], so I ask her when I see her next.

Me: “Hey, you don’t know where my spatula is, do you?”

Roommate: “Oh, we used it, sorry. I’ll wash it up.”

Me: “No worries. I just couldn’t find it in the kitchen anywhere. I don’t mind washing it. Where did you put it?”

Roommate: “Oh, yeah. It’s in my room.”

Me: *Oblivious* “Why would it be in your room?! You can’t cook in there with the smoke alarm.”

Roommate: “Well, sometimes we borrow it. Well, not all the time, but when he’s over, we—”

Me: “Oh, God, I cook with that!”

Roommate: “I’ll wash it!”

Me: “You will buy me a new one and never borrow anything from me again!”

Disgusted, I stopped talking to [Roommate]. A couple of weeks went by and she still hadn’t replaced the spatula. I reminded her and reminded her. She eventually refused, as the one I bought was “too expensive” and “no one needs a spatula as expensive as that.” 

I was going to leave it there, but she lied to the rest of the house and made me look like the bad guy. I told them what actually happened and they “banned” her from having guests around.

While pushing my cart through the aisles, I heard a woman screaming for a manager at the top of her lungs. I saw the woman standing at the deli counter, which was obviously closed; the lights were off, no food in the cases, nothing. She stood there for several minutes, screaming for someone to come serve her, because “she’d made a special trip.”  

Eventually, an employee emerged from the back and told her the deli counter had closed half an hour before. She continued to yell abuse at him until he finally went in the back and returned with what she wanted to buy.

I felt so sorry for that guy and kind of wished he’d felt free to tell the lady to take a hike.

A customer who has been through the drive-thru comes inside and yells at me.

Customer: “I had pickles in my meal, and I said no pickles!”

My manager is also my sister; she comes to talk to him.

Customer: “You again?! I wanted to talk to a manager!”

He thinks we were the same person.

Sister: “I’m a manager, and I’ll fix your problem for you.”

She got him a brand-new meal, fries and all. The man was not happy. He took the old sandwich out of the package and threw it onto the counter. He took the extra fries my sister had given him and threw them at us, too!

After that, he walked out, mumbling about how he wouldn’t come back.