My mother tells this story of her “horrible” boss:

Boss: “Fax a report to [number].”

Mom took the document immediately to the fax machine, loaded it up, dialed the number, and walked away. After a few minutes, she heard the chirp indicating it was done. She got distracted by other responsibilities and hadn’t cleared the fax machine when the boss came back into the office, screaming:

Boss: “I TOLD YOU I NEEDED THAT FAXED IMMEDIATELY!”

Mom: *Quietly.* “I did fax it.”

Boss: “WELL IT’S STILL THERE!”

Apparently, the boss fully expected the documents to be physically teleported to the other office like something out of ‘Star Trek.’

Related:
Taxing Faxing, Part 31
Taxing Faxing, Part 30
Taxing Faxing, Part 29
Taxing Faxing, Part 28
Taxing Faxing, Part 27

“Fat Bob” had his nickname well before he was so overweight; even as a skinny teen, he ate so much that they called him “Fat Bob”. I guess his eating habits caught up to him and the nickname stuck.

No one — including Bob — used it maliciously. Bob would regularly introduce himself as “Fat Bob” and ask people to call him that. That was his name.

This, however, caught the attention of a new Human Resources person; they ruled that there would be no nicknames used across the company. We largely ignored this for Bob because it was his name and everyone knew it was in good spirits.

Eventually, someone got called into HR because of Bob’s nickname. The new HR woman sat in the meeting and gave a long speech about how bullying and victimisation are against company policy and how fatphobia is the worst form of abuse.

Bob asked why his opinion wasn’t being considered and why he couldn’t have people call him what he wanted.

There was a lull while some of the other managers asked the HR person why this was even a meeting and if she knew that Bob was fine with this.

Human Resources: “I know he likes it. But it’s still against the rules.”

Senior Manager: “I’m not sure I’m… comfortable enforcing rules blindly — especially when employees ask to be called a certain name.”

Human Resources: “Well, I find it disrespectful.”

Senior Manager: “I’m not sure that is the issue here. Let’s reconvene.”

Human Resources: “No, [Employee] has broken the rules and must be punished.”

Senior Manager: “I’m pretty sure this meeting is to evaluate if that is the case and to decide if discipline is appropriate. It should not be a forgone conclusion. Gentlemen, thank you; you may leave.”

No further action was taken against Bob or the other employee. The HR woman lasted less than a year and was quietly replaced.

At my job, I have two managers: [Smart Manager] and [Jerk Manager]. [Smart Manager] is above [Jerk Manager] and can overrule his decisions at any time, thank all the gods of retail.

I got really sick at work — sick to the point of spending more time kneeling in front of the porcelain throne than actually working.

[Jerk Manager] happened to be the manager on duty. 

Jerk Manager: “No. You can’t leave. We need you to do your job.”

I struggled on for another half-hour. I’ll admit, I’d considered vomiting on [Jerk Manager]’s shoes to help change his mind, but at the time, I was still (perhaps foolishly) holding onto a thread of being a nice person.

[Smart Manager], by pure chance, happened to walk in, even though he was not on duty. He saw the condition I was in.

Smart Manager: “[My Name], go home, and don’t come back until you’ve stopped puking.”

Jerk Manager: “No, we need him to stay and work.”

Smart Manager: “You’re an idiot. He’s completely nonproductive in this state. He needs to get healthy.” *To me* “Now get the h*** out of here before I call you an ambulance. And if dummy here tries to write you up, I’ll write him up instead.”

Jerk Manager: “But—”

Smart Manager: “But nothing! HE… IS… TOO… SICK… TO… WORK.”

I managed to stop vomiting by the next morning.

[Smart Manager] called me that same afternoon to inform me that he had told his boss about [Jerk Manager]’s behavior. Apparently, the big boss man laid into [Jerk Manager] about not letting sick workers go home until they recover. The brunt of the big boss’s argument was that he didn’t want me getting all my coworkers sick because then we’d be REALLY up a creek.

So, no compassion for me, just concerns over being a vector for illness. Sigh. I love working in retail.

My supervisor was sleeping with an associate. Eventually, as most work shenanigans do, theirs burned out and got ugly. [Associate] was at the register next to mine with several people in line waiting to check out when [Supervisor] approached. He stepped between the woman finishing her transaction and the one waiting to start. When the first woman left, [Supervisor] handed [Associate] a piece of paper.

Associate: “What?” *Looks at the paper* “A drug test?!”

Supervisor: *Smiling* “All employees agree to remain drug-free throughout employment. Drug tests may be performed at any time for any reason.”

Associate: “Are you serious?”

Supervisor: “I scheduled you an appointment at [Nearby Clinic] in twenty minutes.”

[Associate] left, took her drug test… and did not come back. [Supervisor] left at the end of his shift and also did not come back. Rumor has it that before [Associate] left for her test, she told Human Resources that [Supervisor] had sold her cocaine and marijuana at a discount for sleeping with him and allowing him to steal things when he went through her register. Security reviewed the tapes and he was consequently fired.

I handle all the incoming toys and kids’ stuff at our thrift store. I have difficulty working with numbers due to autism, so the pricing is done by either our store manager or the owner’s mother, who mostly works the clothing section.

I’d rather have the store manager do it. She’s fast, thorough, and good at guessing prices based on the condition of the item and such. This is not the case with the owner’s mother. She has been reprimanded for pricing items too high several times, and the manager told me to call her to do the pricing if she was available.

Today, the store manager is very busy and not present in the back room where I’m working. The pile of toys to be priced is growing, and I need to step out for a bit to use the bathroom. When I return, I see the owner’s mother at my table, price gun in hand, working her way through the pile.

Owner’s Mother: “Hey, [My Name], I saw that you had a lot that needed pricing so I stepped up to help. Nice of me, isn’t it?”

Me: “You did get the memo that [Store Manager] would rather handle the pricing herself, right?”

Owner’s Mother: “She’s busy, and I had some time on my hands, so I thought I’d help you out. I’m sure she doesn’t mind.” *Holds up a game box* “Oh, what’s this?”

Me: “It’s [Well-Known Board Game], as you can see.”

Owner’s Mother: “And what does it do? What should I price it as?”

Me: “I don’t know. Erm… two euro… fifty?”

She does this with almost every item she has in her hands. That’s one of the many reasons I’d rather not have her do the pricing. After she asks me for the umpteenth time, I get fed up.

Me: “Look, most of the games have the name and an image on the box that tells you what it is. You can use your eyes.”

Owner’s Mother: *With a sugary sweet smile* “That’s true, but asking you is so much quicker and more convenient for me. Ooh, what’s this, then?”

She’s almost worked her way through so I’d rather just have her be done so I can go and shelve the items. Once she’s done and I wheel my cart of priced goods out to the shop floor, I bump into [Store Manager].

Store Manager: “I’m on my way to price your stuff, [My Name]! O-oh… it’s already priced?”

Me: “Yeah. [Owner’s Mother] couldn’t help herself.”

Store Manager: *Sighs* “Right. Okay. Your shift’s almost over, is it? Just… shelve the items, and the first thing you do tomorrow is take a price gun, compare the prices on similar items, and see what you can fix, okay? I’ll have a word with her. Again.”