(An online order to pick up in store comes in. My manager goes to check it. Traffic is slow at the moment. I am 4’11” tall.)
Manager: *sighs* “That’s a heavy piece of furniture; I’m going to need help to get it to the loading bay door.”
Me: “I can give you a hand if you like.”
Manager: “Thanks, but I need something higher.”
(Later, I’m replacing a large basket on the top shelf of one of our displays.)
Me: “[Manager], help! I’m not high enough!”
(I’m a Canadian immigrant working for an American company, and one of my jobs includes copy editing and writing for various projects. One of the things I playfully gripe about is my boss’s insistence that I use the Americanized English, for example, “color” instead of “colour”, across projects for consistency. It’s sometimes a struggle for me, because after ten years in the US, I still instinctively use British English spelling while typing and have to manually correct myself for work. He calls to check in since I work remotely, and I’m editing a batch of text while listening to a randomized playlist. We joke around with each other a lot.)
Boss: “Now, don’t forget. None of this extra ‘U’ nonsense.”
Me: “You’re so mean. I won’t stand for this.”
Boss: “Oh, I think you will. Don’t forget to kill the extra British ‘L’ in ’fuelled,’ there.”
Me: “This oppressive American regime isn’t going to last, you know.”
Boss: “Whatever. Just do it.”
Me: “I want it on record that this is detrimental to my emotional well-being. This makes me very sad.”
(Right on cue, my playlist randomly switches over to one of the saddest, most depressing songs known to man: Gary Jules’ “Mad World”.)
Me: “There, you see?! Even the soundtrack to my life is sad because of you.”
Boss: “You’re ridiculous.”
Me: “Everything’s gone all rainy and black and white, [Boss]. The ennui, [Boss]!”
Boss: “I’m hanging up.”
(I work at a “natural” personal care products manufacturer. There is no dress code, aside from just not showing up in your pajamas. I normally don’t wear make up, as it irritates my skin. I come into work wearing a little iridescent eyeliner and mascara that I purchased on a whim. My boss, a man in his 70s, comes in and sits down to go over something. I notice he stops responding and is just staring at me.)
Me: “Is something wrong?”
Boss: “What is that on your face?”
Me: “Uh… make up?”
Boss: “[My Name], you look like a fish! It’s awful!”
Me: *dumbstruck*
Boss: *turns to female coworker* “Doesn’t she look like a fish?!”
(My coworker, who wears more makeup than I do, turns.)
Coworker #1: “What? No. She’s looks beautiful.”
Boss: “Well, I think it looks awful.”
Coworker #2: “No, she looks fine.”
Me: *holding back tears of embarrassment* “I… I was just trying something new. I guess it didn’t work.”
Boss: “I should say so. We only like NATURAL women here.”
(I went to the bathroom to wash off my makeup. Later that month, [Coworker #1] dyed her hair from honey blonde to platinum, and [Boss] refused to look at or speak to her all day, even going so far as to hold up folders to block her from his vision as he mouthed, “Oh, my God!” to the rest of us.)
I worked at a franchise location of a sandwich shop that was owned by a husband and wife who were notoriously cheap.
In early July, right after Independence Day, the air conditioning broke and they priced it out to be a $300-500 repair. They decided that because summer was “almost over” we should suck it up, and they would fix it in the autumn or winter when they could get a better rate.
The weather continued to get hotter and more humid. On several occasions, my coworkers had to leave shifts early because of heat sickness. It was regularly over 90 degrees, and with the bread ovens going, we were left working with sweat dripping down our faces, pools of sweat under our armpits, and our shirts sticking to our backs. We made a point of babysitting each other to watch for signs of dehydration and to remind each other to drink water.
Then, the freezer stopped working; we lost several hundreds of dollars of frozen stock because the freezer broke from running too hard. The icemaker in the soda fountain broke. Then, one of our service fridges. In order to serve customers, we had to walk back and forth from the prep room for sandwich meats. Then, the toaster oven overheated. One of my coworkers finally actually passed out on shift one afternoon, and my bosses were pissed that I was called in to cover her, because I ended up with overtime. Customers stopped coming into the building because of the oppressive heat.
By September, my bosses were out several thousand in repairs, stock replacement, and new equipment, all because they wanted to pinch a few pennies.
(I work at a department store that is infamous for coupons. The coupons can be pretty amazing if used correctly, but they can’t be combined with each other on the same items. This is printed on the backs of all the coupons, and most customers are pretty understanding of this. It should be noted that customers who have the store credit card can earn cardholder-exclusive coupons, that take $20 off a purchase of $50 or more, which have the same rules about combining. One weekend, we have a special coupon that takes $50 off a purchase of $100 or more. It’s always popular, so we get a rush of people. One of the customers in my line gets around $100 worth of clothes, and uses the coupon, and then hands me a cardholder-exclusive coupon.)
Me: “Oh, sorry, these coupons can’t be combined, but you are saving over $50 as it is.”
Customer: “No, I spoke to [Newer Manager] over the phone, and he said I could use them. That’s the only reason I came here; I don’t want any of this otherwise.”
Me: “I’ll go ahead and give him a call just to double-check, then.”
(I call the manager, who has been known to make policy-bending decisions in the past.)
Me: “Hi, I have a customer here who says you told her she could use the $50 coupon and the $20 coupon all at once?”
Newer Manager: “Yep! I remember talking to her!”
Me: “Okay.”
(Because of the way the computer was set up, I had to manually take off the $20 first before I could apply the $50 coupon, since it would only allow one coupon per item. The customer went on her way, happy that she got more than $100 worth of items for around $30. I spent the rest of my shift hoping that no other customers overheard the conversation, and that the newer manager didn’t tell anyone else they could do that. Thankfully, it didn’t happen again the rest of the time I worked there.)
