Around eight years ago, my wife and I were at a big box store buying the stuff to make a pizza. When I have time, I prefer to make the crust from scratch, but I buy premade when I’m in a hurry. We were hungry now, so we were looking at said premade crusts.

I went to grab our favorite type but noticed that they were all expired. I knew from having previously worked at a different location of this store that they would not be noticed by staff any time soon, so they wouldn’t be reordered, so I took the entire selection and sought out an employee.

Luckily, just as I left the aisle, I saw a manager speaking with someone. I stood nearby waiting to speak with him. He saw me with my armful of crusts.

Manager: “Yes? What?”

Me: “These crusts are all expired.”

Manager: *Angrily* “Then take them to claims!”

I looked at him for a second.

Me: “Are you sure?”

Manager: *Even louder* “TAKE THEM TO THE D*** CLAIMS AREA! AND PICK UP YOUR F****** VENDOR BADGE WHILE YOU’RE BACK THERE! Also, I don’t think that a band shirt is part of your company’s dress code!”

I was wearing my favorite Dead Kennedys shirt that day. I stared at him, just waiting to see how this would play out. He stared back for a moment, and then realization slowly dawned.

Manager: “You… you do work for the crust company, right?”

Me: “No, I just thought you’d like to know that you have expired product on the shelf so you can get it replaced.”

He apologized repeatedly and offered to comp a different crust option for me. I took it, but from then on, my wife and I shopped at another store.

My girlfriend is excited about a job interview she has at our favourite sub shop. I decide to go with her on the promise that if she takes me, I’ll buy her a sub. 

She gets in and we go separate ways. She’s in business attire, and I am in casual — not a good look, so I sit on the other side of the store.

Interviewer: “I’m glad you applied; you really look like a great fit for the store! Now, we offer eighteen-hour shifts seven days a week, and we can provide an area in the staff room to sleep in if you want to do overtime and don’t have long until your next shift.”

Cue me waving my arms around and shaking my head.

Girlfriend: “That… that doesn’t sound legal?”

Interviewer: “Oh, it isn’t! Aren’t you willing to break the law? Even to work for us? We’re the best!”

Girlfriend: “No, I don’t think I’d be willing to break the law for a job.”

Interviewer: “Then this interview is over and we have no further business to discuss.” 

We left.

A few years ago, my wife was an EMS worker in our local township. She got home from work one night after a long day and posted a picture of herself holding an unopened beer and saying, “I needed this.” (In the picture, you could tell the beer was still closed.)

A few minutes after she posted her picture, a major storm decided to suddenly roll through. My wife, being the good employee she was, called her supervisor and asked if he needed any help. 

Supervisor: “No! You can’t come in; you posted a picture of yourself drinking alcohol!”

Wife: “The can wasn’t opened; any idiot could see that.”

He wouldn’t relent, but he said something about how it could be construed wrong.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. It had been a stupidly busy day for my wife, and when she finally got home, she ran over to the shelf that we had a bottle of whiskey on and literally tossed me her phone.

Wife: “Quick, take a picture of me ‘drinking’ this!”

The cap was obviously still on the bottle, but she tipped it up like she was drinking it and she posted it online as soon as I gave the phone back.

Her boss called her ten minutes later.

Supervisor: “We need you to come back in; we are short-staffed tonight.”

Wife: “Sorry, boss, I can’t. I’ve been drinking. Check online.”

Supervisor: “I see it. The cap is on! You’re not drinking!”

Wife: “The last time I posted a picture like this, you wouldn’t let me come in because it would set the wrong precedent. I wouldn’t want to do that to you this time.”

You can’t have it both ways.

Many years ago, I worked for an outdoor activity centre/playland in the retail department. Throughout the park, there were many different shops that we manned, and I absolutely loved working there despite it being hard work for little pay.

One day, I had a run-in with a manager who seriously berated me in front of the entire team along with others from different departments. I was advised by a manager from a different team to make a formal complaint, which I did. Others came out with similar complaints and the manager in question was advised to find employment elsewhere but not sacked. Now, unbeknownst to me, I triggered the chain of events that would lead to me leaving the company.

There were a few rules in place that were designed to prevent theft, including that no more than £10 in personal money was to be allowed on the shop floor, which was to be checked before your shift. Anything over this must be declared to management and left in your locker, and all staff had to agree to random locker/pocket searches.

In the two years that I’d worked there, I had never been picked for a random search. There were several hundred employees, so the odds were incredibly slim. As soon as our disgraced manager left, I suddenly found myself picked at random for a search. This involved turning out my pockets, removing my shoes/socks, and then being escorted to the locker room to empty the contents. Nothing was found, so I was sent back to the shop floor. The following week, I was again picked at “random” for a search, which again turned up nothing.

Rumours soon started making the rounds that I had upset my department’s remaining management team after instigating the action against my former manager, and they were going to force me out using any means necessary. I realised that I needed to act, so I started job hunting and then began my malicious compliance. I started taking a backpack to work filled with £20 in pennies. Every morning, I declared the amount in my locker as required and, sure enough, after a couple of days, I was once again selected for my weekly “random” search. I got paid to watch a security guard and supervisor count 2,000 pennies. As expected, I passed said search, and off I went. This happened a second time with now £30 in pennies, and I decided to up my game.

At the start of the following week, I patiently awaited my “random” search with glee, knowing what awaited them. The day soon arrived, and off I was marched to the lockers, ready for their treat. I lifted out my backpack and passed it to the security guard and supervisor, who dove straight in without any gloves.

Oh, how they retched as they discovered what was in there. I had several pairs of my period-soaked pants waiting in there, especially for them. They were gingerly laid on the floor beside my bag as they counted my bag of pennies. The smell from the pants was unreal; they’d been festering in there for days in anticipation. Once again, the search revealed nothing, and off to work I went.

After that, I was not picked for another search again. I left after a couple more weeks for a new job. Keeping in touch with some people, I discovered that a new rule was introduced that tried dictating what you could and couldn’t take to work with you. This soon led to a mass walkout of staff, and after a year, the place shut down due to unrelated matters.

Many moons ago, I was a Registered Nurse working in aged care at a brand-spanking-new facility owned by lawyers and run by clowns. In the short time that I was there (around eighteen months), we had eight or nine managers, each wanting to put their own stamp on the way things were run.

One such manager started cancelling already approved leave and implemented a rule that we had to provide a full week of notice for sick leave.

Umm, what? I challenged this because, like most of us, I often don’t know I’m going to be unwell until I wake up that day. Nope, the rule stays!

Well, about that cancelled leave…

I had booked four days off for my brother’s wedding. Instead of haggling over it or simply not turning up, I decided to follow the rules.

Exactly one week before the wedding, I called in with notice for sick leave.

Manager: “What’s wrong with you?”

Me: “I’m not sure yet.”

Manager: “What do you mean, you’re not sure? You need a reason for sick leave.”

Me: “You require a week’s notice, so I’m giving that to you. I’ll be sure to bring in a medical certificate when I return.”

I had an amazing time at the wedding, had my doctor sign off on sick leave as they viewed my time off as essential for my mental health, and about a month later, I handed in my resignation. Funnily enough, I heard the policy was revised not long after I left.