I work at a fast food restaurant and we have a scanner machine to check if money is real or not. One day, I touch the machine’s sensor and notice that it still scans my hand as money. I do this with a piece of paper, as well, and conclude that the machine is broken.

During the same shift, I have a manager that does nothing but sit on her a** all day and only helps us with orders if we are behind orders by twenty-plus minutes. I tell her about the machine and she says she’ll check it later. I’m supposed to scan every ten- and twenty-dollar bill, and for fifties and hundreds, I have to give it to a manager to check.

A few hours go by, and my manager still hasn’t checked the machine, and by this point, I’m checking every ten and twenty by holding it up to a light, which can be seen as rude to a customer. One customer complains to me and calls my manager over.

Customer: “This employee is discriminating against me! Checking my ten-dollar bill like I’m a criminal!”

Instead of defending me, as the machine is broken and she still hasn’t checked it, she begins yelling at me in front of this customer.

Me: “[Manager], the machine is still broken, and I still need to check each bill the same as I would if the machine was working.”

Without even checking the machine, my manager just says:

Manager: “Just use the machine. Who would even use a counterfeit on a ten- or twenty-dollar bill?”

I decide the argument isn’t worth $9 an hour and just comply. I quickly scan every bill until I see two shady-acting women.

The first woman hands me a twenty-dollar bill that is obviously fake; I don’t even have to check it. It feels and looks like paper. I decide I will just follow orders and scan it. Since it goes off, I put it in the register. The second customer comes and hands me a similar counterfeit bill. I do the same thing.

Later, when my shift is about to end, my manager counts my drawer, finds the two counterfeit bills, and freaks out at me. I zone out for most of it, but most of it consists of her calling me dumb for not noticing these obvious counterfeits and telling me I’m going to get fired.

Well, what actually happened was the regional and general managers called me in to fire me on my next shift, and then I told them the story. They then checked the cameras and listened to our conversation about the machine being broken and concluded that the manager was in the wrong for: one, not letting me check the bills visibly, and two, telling me to use the machine that I explained as broken.

She was fired, and I later saw her working the cash register at a grocery store. Hopefully, she checks if she gets any counterfeit bills.

Source: Reddit (Credit: CosmosOfTime, Original Story)

I am about five years old when a book I read inspires me to start stamp collecting. When my dad sees me putting envelopes in water and carefully removing the stamps, he happily gives me his old stamp album containing thousands of stamps from all over the world. Though some are clearly postmarked from the 19th century, the vast majority of them are common and practically worthless. Still, I treasure them all the same; I love every stamp in that stamp album. Studying the postmarks and the designs of the stamps gives me little snapshots about the history, geography, and culture of so many different countries, and while I have favourites, I never take interest or “specialise” in any particular country or theme, as I know some collectors do. I just collect anything and everything.

Unfortunately, my family life takes a bit of a chaotic turn in my late teenage years; I am bouncing back and forth between both parents during their divorce and my dad moves house a few times. At some point during this mess, I lose my stamp album. It takes me several years to actually accept that the stamp album is gone, not hiding in a box somewhere or shelved away in some dusty corner of my mum’s garage. It’s gone.

Finally, I come to terms with it and decide to get a new stamp album. I have no idea where to start, but I know that I want to have something as close as possible to what I lost: a large collection of stamps from all over the world. The monetary value doesn’t matter; I am just sentimental about my childhood pastime and keepsake, and I want to recapture it as best as I can. I’ve also been feeling incredibly guilty about losing something my dad kept in good condition and passed down to me.

There aren’t that many brick-and-mortar stores that sell stamp collections in the twenty-first century, but I decide to take a look around the few shops that I can find in the city. The first one I visit is the biggest one and is a little overwhelming, although as I browse it, I do find some albums and loose collections that seem like what I’m looking for and are affordable enough. I decide to keep looking, though, just in case.

The next shop is a tiny little suite tucked away on the sixth floor of what looks at first to be an apartment building; I almost get lost trying to locate it. I hesitantly knock and enter the room which, while filled with albums and bags of stamps, also looks a lot more like an office than a store, and I’m not sure if I’m in the right place at first.

Me: “Hi… is this [Stamp Shop]?”

The two older men in the office look up at me from their desks; they seem equally surprised to see me. I assume that they own and manage the shop together, and I suppose it’s a little unusual for someone my age to be a customer interested in stamps.

[Owner #1] speaks, his voice sounding as uncertain as mine was.

Owner #1: “It is. Can I help you?”

Me: *A little nervously* “Um… hi. I’m just looking for some world stamps to try to make a new collection.”

The second man goes back to his computer. [Owner #1] continues to speak to me.

Owner #1: “What kind of stamps were you looking for?”

Me: “Um, I don’t really have a preference. I used to have a world collection of stamps when I was little, and I lost it a few years ago. Now I’m just hoping to build a new stamp collection similar to the one I lost. I’m not really fussy. If you have any mixed bags of world stamps, I’d gladly take a look.”

Owner #1: “If you’re building a world collection, it will be very expensive and you’ll probably need an entire basement to house all the stamps. It’s better to narrow it down a bit.”

Me: “Oh, I’m not thinking of a complete world collection! God, no, that would be impossible. No, my collection was only about 6000 or 7000 stamps at most. Just something like that would be fine!”

Owner #1: *Looking at me skeptically* “You should still narrow down your collection so that it’s manageable. I suggest you start with Australian stamps; that’s a practical goal for a beginner collector.”

Me: *Disappointed* “Oh, well, I did have a lot of Australian stamps, but… I used to collect all kinds.”

Owner #1: “Here, let me show you.”

He leads me to the back of the store and takes out an album of Australian stamps.

Owner #1: “See here, this is a complete collection of Australian stamps.”

He hands me a catalogue.

Owner #1: “Here you can see the date each stamp was issued and the value of it. As you can see, this collection is ordered from oldest to newest, with sets grouped together. And it’s not that many stamps, you see? It’s not too big of a scope for you to handle. Now, some of the stamps are rarer than others, and if you want them in mint condition, then the price will go up even higher, but if you have a catalogue, then you know exactly what stamps you have and what stamps you need to complete the collection.”

Me: “Well… I appreciate you showing me this and this is all very nice… but it’s not really what I’m looking for. I had stamps from Poland, from Japan, from Morocco… I know they weren’t worth much but it was very sentimental for me. I’m just hoping to recreate the album I lost, that’s all. I know it won’t be exactly the same; I won’t be able to get back every single stamp that I lost, but… I could get something similar, at least?”

Owner #1: “But if you try to collect stamps from everywhere, you’ll never get a complete collection! You’ll need a whole library of albums, and it will cost you a fortune. You see what I’m saying? Narrowing down your scope will allow you to be systematic in your approach. Here, I’ll give you this catalogue for free. Take it.”

He pushes the little catalogue book into my hand.

Owner #1: “Unfortunately, I don’t have an album today with fresh leaves to sell to you. But I’ll have one for you if you come back on Monday. But see, look at this album.”

Again, he takes out the Australian album and flips through the pages.

Owner #1: “This is how you’re supposed to order the stamps: by date and by set. You see?”

Me: “Yeah, that’s definitely not how I ordered my album when I was little. I did order them by country, but other than that, I just arranged them in whatever way I thought looked the nicest.” 

I laugh nervously. The owner stares at me.

Owner #1: “Yes, well, I understand that’s what you used to do. But if you want to be serious about stamp collecting, this is the way to do it. This way is systematic and logical, and you’ll finally be able to say you have a complete collection!”

This goes back and forth for some time. I’m doing my best to be respectful towards someone I recognise as far more experienced than I am, but I increasingly feel like I’m being talked down to.

Me: “I see where you’re coming from, but it was never about having a complete collection for me, or how much a full collection is worth. It’s just something I loved doing and was very sentimental about… You know?”

Owner #1: *Long pause* “So, for you, it was just a form of mindless entertainment? A hobby?”

I feel like I should be ashamed for answering, like I’ve somehow been disrespecting the sacred art of stamp collecting my entire life.

Me: “Yes?”

Eventually, I left with the free catalogue, with the owner urging me to come back the next Monday so he could sell me a blank album with which I could start my new, “proper” Australian stamp collection. I was very confused and frustrated. I know the man was probably a very experienced collector who took his passion seriously, and I’m sure I was and still am hugely ignorant about stamp collecting compared to him, but I couldn’t help feeling very condescended to. I never did go back to that little shop.

I ended up purchasing some mixed bags from the first store and online, and a few months later, I found a closer stamp shop that I began to frequent. The owner of this shop was a very friendly and helpful man. I did ask him once if I was “wrong” for not specialising in anything, and he assured me there were many casual “world” collectors like me, and there was no wrong way to collect stamps. As an example, he recently came across a collection of nothing but camel stamps from all over the world! Some collector really had a thing for camels, apparently.

I now have a collection much bigger than the collection I lost, housed in fancier albums, and eventually, I did take interest in a particular theme on my own accord — not Australian stamps, though, but Disney-themed ones.

During a busy day at work, I decide that I don’t feel like cooking tonight, so I decide to try ordering a pizza online from a new pizza joint in town. Like most restaurants, the website gives you the choice of when you want your order to be ready for pickup, so I enter my usual dinner time. It’s about five hours into the future, because I still have four hours to work for my own shift.

After work, I run some other errands to kill time and then pick up my pizza and head home to eat. With the first bite, I realize that something is off; this is definitely not a fresh, hot pizza at all. I call the pizza joint to complain and ask for a fresh pizza.

Employee: “Hello, [Pizza Joint]. How can I help you?”

Me: “Hi, I ordered a pizza online earlier today. When I picked it up and tried to eat it, it was almost stale. I would like to return it for a fresh pizza.”

Employee: “Okay, can I please get your name?”

Me: “[My Name].”

Employee: “Okay. You ordered a [specialty pizza], correct?”

Me: “Yes.”

Employee: “And what was wrong with the pizza?”

Me: “It’s barely lukewarm, and the crust tastes like it’s gone stale.”

Employee: “I see. Our records show that you were almost five hours late picking up your pizza, so unless there’s something actually wrong with it, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Me: “How could I be five hours late when the pizza wasn’t supposed to be ready until 6:00 pm?”

Employee: “Our records show that you placed your order online at 1:00 pm; is that correct?”

Me: “Yeah, but I chose to have it ready at 6:00.”

Employee: “Um… sir, that’s not possible. We don’t have that option on our website.”

Me: “Yeah, you do. I’m literally looking at the receipt for my order right now. It says 6:00 pm pick-up.”

Employee: “Well, the order came in at 1:00 pm, so we made your order at 1:00 pm. If you wanted a later pickup time, you should have ordered later.”

Me: “Is there a manager I could speak to, please?”

Employee: “Sir, the only person above me here is the owner. I guarantee you he will only tell you the same thing. You were late picking up your pizza. If there was nothing wrong with it, we can’t replace it. Goodbye!”

The employee actually hangs up on me. Frustrated, I drive to the restaurant, pizza in tow, to speak to the owner, who turns out to be the employee’s father. He sides with his son/employee in claiming that I was just too late picking up my order, even after I show him the email receipt that very clearly shows I wanted my order at 6:00 pm. I decide to just get my money back, and after ten minutes of arguing, the owner finally gives me my money back.

But wait… there’s more! When I get home, I leave an extremely negative review on the restaurant’s Facebook page — nothing nasty, just a thoroughly detailed account of what happened — and end up reading similar negative reviews from other customers. About an hour after I leave my review, the owner chimes in on the post, in true Not Always Working fashion, to try and refute my order. Of note here: I am a black man while the owner is white.

Owner: “[My Name], for the last time, we do not have that option on our website. Never have, never will. Maybe if you used regular time instead of [racial slur] time, you would get fresh pizza.”

I chose not to respond any further, but I did report the owner’s response to the local Chamber of Commerce. I live in a very politically liberal area where racism is absolutely not tolerated by local authorities. The pizza joint’s business license for our county was revoked, and they were forced to shut down.

I used to work in an engineering lab that was near an alarmed emergency exit. Because it looked like you could go out that door, cut across the field, and enter the next building — even though the door on the other side was also an emergency exit and couldn’t be opened from the outside — way too many people ignored the red “Emergency Exit, Alarm Will Sound” sticker on the door.

The alarm was so loud that it was nearly impossible to work in the lab while it was going off. It also took security a long time to reset the door because it was far enough away from them that they weren’t bothered by it so it wasn’t a priority for them. It was going off at least once a week, management was doing nothing, and we’d had enough.

Someone in the lab created a large sign and posted it on the door.

Sign: “Atten-shun: This here door be for emergencies only. It will make an infernal racket if you be tryin’ to open it. Then there be engineers waving them rubber mallets at you!”

For six weeks, there was blessed silence. People were observed coming up to the door, bursting out in laughter, and turning around.

Unfortunately, someone in management decided that the sign was too unprofessional, even though the whole building was employees-only behind badge-locked doors, and down it came. The alarms started right back up again.

Eventually, after about a quarter of us had transferred out and another quarter had put requests in the system, they decided that the best solution was just to disable the alarm, even though that created a security hole. Gotta love management.

One day, [Shift Leader #1] informs me that [Assistant Manager] wants us to close down the grill at 9:00 pm — no more food orders after 9:00. I am mildly puzzled since we are open for another hour, but I don’t question orders.

Several months later, a couple of regulars want to order something grilled, and it is 9:30. I apologize and tell them that I am sorry, but we closed the grill at nine. They demand to speak to [Shift Leader #2], who comes out and gets in my face.

Shift Leader #2: “WHY DID YOU TELL THEM THE GRILL IS CLOSED?! IT NEVER CLOSES! ARE YOU STUPID?! WHY THE H*** WOULD YOU TELL THEM IT CLOSES?!”

I’m near tears from being yelled at.

Me: “[Shift Leader #1] said [Assistant Manager] told us to!”

Shift Leader #2: “YOU ARE A G**D*** LIAR! She would never tell you that! I’m writing your a** up, and you’re getting suspended for this!”

I nearly hyperventilate right then. I keep insisting that I was told to do it and was just following orders, but she won’t have it. I finish the night out, break down crying, and run to my car and leave. I seriously consider quitting.

[Shift Leader #2] and I both have the next day off. [Shift Leader #1] goes in and sees the write-up I was given and the notice that I am to be suspended for “insubordination” because of my “lying” to [Shift Leader #2].

The following day, I go to work and I’m not looking forward to it. To my shock, [Shift Leader #1] runs in — she usually doesn’t run, so wow! — and takes me into the office with her and the manager. She asks me what the h*** happened.

I break down all over again, telling her how [Shift Leader #2] yelled in my face. She storms out and practically drags [Shift Leader #2] in by the ear.

I am asked to wait outside for a second, but [Shift Leader #1] is so peeved that I can hear the chewing out through the closed door.

Shift Leader #1: “[Shift Leader #2], your behavior is inexcusable. First of all, you never get into an employee’s face like that or yell at them. Second of all, I did tell [My Name] to close the grill at nine. You wrote [My Name] up for following orders.”

Shift Leader #2: “How was I to know that?!”

Shift Leader #1: “It would have taken you less than a minute to call me to confirm what I had said. Even if I didn’t pick up, you could have asked me at a later date.”

Manager: *Equally loudly* “Furthermore, [My Name] would be fully in her rights to bring down the thunder on your head! You need to take one huge step backward on your attitude and behavior, because if this is how you’re going to treat employees, you’re a liability to the company.”

The chewing out does a lot to put a soothing balm on my heart, even though the conversation quickly quiets down and I can’t hear them anymore.

When I come back into the room, [Shift Leader #2] is very quiet and won’t look me in the eye.

Manager: “[My Name], I am very sorry that you were treated this way by [Shift Leader #2]…”

He issues a number of platitudes about [Shift Leader #2]’s behavior not being in line with company policy, etc., but at least his apology seems sincere.

Shift Lead #1: “Now, I admit that I am at fault in that I misunderstood [Assistant Manager]; we’re supposed to close the hotbox at 9:00 pm, not the grill. So going forward, please keep that in mind. But I promise you that you did not do anything wrong and the misunderstanding is on me.”

The manager rips the write-up to pieces in front of me and then runs it through his shredder.

Manager: “If you would like to take the day off and just breathe, I’ll make sure you’re paid for the whole shift.”

I decided to take him up on the offer, and though that job had its usual retail headaches, from then on, [Shift Leader #2] avoided me unless it was directly work-related.