I work in a pizza place that has large open brick ovens where the customers can see all the pizzas being cooked. I have just sat a family at a table and the mother speaks up.

Customer: “No, no this won’t do. We’re far too close to the oven.”

Me: “Is it too hot, ma’am? I can move you a bit further away.”

Customer: “No, it’s the gluten! I am deathly allergic to gluten and if I am this close to the oven I’ll breathe in the gluten particles!”

Me: *Not even attempting to engage with this level of stupid.* “Okay, ma’am, we can move to you to this table here.”

Customer: “No, this is still too close! I need to be as far from the oven as possible. I’ll take that table there.”

Me: “That table is already occupied with diners, ma’am.”

Customer: “So? Move them!”

Me: “I can’t do that, ma’am. That is their table until they have finished their meal.”

Customer: “So you want me to die, is that it? You want me to die from the gluten!”

Me: “No, ma’am, that isn’t what I am saying. I just can’t move you to that table.”

Customer: “So then you want me to die. Got it. I’ll be writing about this on Yelp!”

At this point I call my supervisor over, as threats of a bad review are usually “mitigated” by management. I explain the situation, he silently mouths a “wow” and then engages with the customer.

Manager: “Ma’am, I assure you that no one is trying to kill you. However if your gluten allergy is as severe as you claim, then I am afraid we cannot help you. You would be best served by another establishment?”

Customer: “What?! You’re not even going to try to accommodate my medical needs?”

Manager: “We always strive to accommodate as many allergies as possible, ma’am, but if gluten waves being emitted from our oven in the back of the kitchen might kill you then I fear what all the other diners tearing into their pizzas literally all around us right now might be doing to you.”

Customer: “I am the customer and you must accommodate my needs!”

Manager: “You haven’t sat down and ordered anything so you’re not a customer. You’re a liability. You threatened to write a bad review on Yelp so you’re the kind of customer who is just looking for something to complain about.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous!”

Manager: “No, what is ridiculous is faking a gluten allergy so severe it’s impossible, just to get the table you want. Well now you get no table. Please leave.”

The customer glares in outrage but complies. The level of awesomeness of my manager’s takedown was only matched by the level of weirdness of the customer’s family just staring at her behavior and doing absolutely nothing. Seriously, I don’t think they even blinked.

Related:

Free Of Gluten, Free Of Thought, Part 10
Free Of Gluten, Free Of Thought, Part 9
Free Of Gluten, Free Of Thought, Part 8
Free Of Gluten, Free Of Thought, Part 7
Free Of Gluten, Free Of Thought, Part 6

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.

This story is part of our Even-More-Highest-Voted-Stories-Of-2023-(so far!) roundup!

Read the next story!

Read the roundup!

Office Manager: “Hey, [My Name]. Can I get these legal documents sent to [Client], please?”

Me: “Sure thing, when does it need to reach them by?”

Office Manager: “Well, they need to sign each page and have it back here before I leave at the end of the day.”

Me: “That’s… that’s not possible.”

Office Manager: “Why?”

Me: “[Client] is in Hawaii.”

Office Manager: “And?”

Me: “And we’re in Manila.”

Office Manager: “So?”

Me: “If I have to explain this any further, I might get fired.”

We ended up getting it FedEx’d there in three days – still pretty impressive if you ask me!

Related:
No Vocation For Location, Part 27
No Vocation For Location, Part 26
No Vocation For Location, Part 25
No Vocation For Location, Part 24
No Vocation For Location, Part 23

I work in a high-end tobacco store.

Customer: “I want some Cuban cigars. It needs to be a nice set for a gift.”

Our gift sets are quite pricey, so I usually say the following spiel to alleviate any shocks about the price.

Me: “Certainly, sir! We have several fine collections, and every set is made with genuine Cuban tobacco that’s been grown in Cuba for hundreds of years, so you’re guaranteed the very best.”

Customer: “Cuba? These cigars are from Cuba?”

Me: “Well… yes? The Cuban in the name kind of gives it away.”

Customer: “But they’re communists! They tried to invade us once!”

Me: “I… don’t think the invasion part is true, sir. And communist or not they produce the finest cigars in the world, so…”

Customer: “No! Absolutely not! I will not be buying anything from communists, and you should be ashamed about peddling their goods! I would like to speak to your manager!”

I decide this guy is not worth my time, so I call my manager over. The customer is a bit shouty at first, but my manager not only calms him down but manages to actually sell him a set of cigars.

Afterward, I ask what happened.

Manager: “I assured him that the Cuban cigars are made by capitalists so they don’t support communism.”

Me: “Well… okay?”

Manager: “But he still didn’t want a set from Cuba, especially when he saw the price, so I sold him a nice-looking set from China.”

Me: “But, didn’t he say he didn’t want anything from communists?”

Manager: “Do you want to chase him down and explain that to him?”

Point taken! 

Related:
Choose Your Battles, Part 3
Choose Your Battles, Part 2
Choose Your Battles

I work at a mom-and-pop-style coffee shop. It’s fully independent and not a chain and enjoys a friendly series of regulars. Sadly, the owner’s son has recently taken over management, and he is a grade-A d****ebag. He’s lazy and always late, but he somehow seems to micromanage when he is around. He treats the staff like his personal minions and is always threatening to fire us. 

One day, he pulls up outside in a new sports car an hour later than he should have arrived.

Manager: *Walking in.* “Sweet ride, right?”

Me: “I suppose.”

Manager: “What do you mean, you suppose? That’s a $100,000 car!”

Me: “Oh, the car is beautiful, no doubt. It just stings a little that you got the car a week after you denied the entire staff raises.”

Manager: “It’s not my fault that you all scored average in your year-end reviews. Work harder and maybe you’ll afford a car like mine one day.”

Me: “It’s just that the entire workforce never failed a year-end review before, so—”

Manager: “—I don’t want to hear it. I can’t help it if I have higher standards than your previous management.”

He always calls his parents “previous management” to try to avoid any mention of nepotism.

Manager: “I’m going to be in my office for the rest of the day. Don’t interrupt me for anything, you clear?”

I just nod and let him go and snooze or browse the Internet in his office. My coworker comes up to me.

Coworker: “Ugh, he’s such an a**.”

Me: “Agreed, but I need this job, so…”

Coworker: “And that car, it’s so… so…” *Smiles evilly.* “It’s sooooo parked in a disabled parking bay.”

Me: *Looking again.* “Wow, so it is.”

Coworker: “It would be a shame if someone… reported it.”

Me: “Shouldn’t we just suggest he move the car?”

Coworker: “Don’t interrupt him for anything… remember?”

My coworker suddenly and mysteriously takes her “five-minute smoke break” almost immediately, and she comes back smiling and putting away her phone. Less than an hour later, a police car drives past the car, makes a note of the license plate, and leaves a ticket. My coworker suddenly needs some “fresh air.”

Coworker: *Coming back from her fresh air.* “They said if the car is still there by midday then it’s getting towed.”

Me: “Well, he already has the ticket. Should we tell him?”

Coworker: “Don’t interrupt him for anything… remember?”

Yes. The car got towed. No, the manager wasn’t happy. My coworker was, though! When the manager asked us why we didn’t get him when the car was being towed, my coworker simply repeated:

Coworker: “Don’t interrupt him for anything… remember?”