A woman approaches the counter carrying a jacket.

Customer: “I’d like to return this.”

Me: “That’s fine as long as you have the receipt and it was purchased within the last fifteen days.”

Customer: “I don’t have the receipt.”

Me: “Okay. When did you buy it?”

Customer: “A little over two months ago.”

Me: “Unfortunately, without the receipt and outside our fifteen-day return period, I can’t accept it.”

Customer: “But it doesn’t fit me anymore.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t change the return policy.”

Customer: “So you’re refusing to take it back just because I gained weight?”

Me: “I’m refusing the return because it was purchased more than two months ago, you don’t have the receipt, and our return period is fifteen days.”

She becomes angry and demands a manager, so I call mine over and explain everything.

Manager: “Just honor the return.”

Me: “I can’t. Without a receipt, I need to find the original transaction, and the system only lets me search back thirty days.”

Manager: “Use my PIN. It’ll let you search back more than three months.”

Me: “You’re authorizing me to override the policy and refund it?”

Manager: “Yes. Just take care of it.”

I use his PIN, locate the purchase, and issue the refund. Two days later, the owner of the company calls me.

Owner: “Why did you refund a jacket that was purchased two months ago?”

Me: “[Manager] instructed me to. I told him it was outside the return period and that I couldn’t access the transaction. He gave me his PIN so I could override the system.”

Owner: “You should have known that the return violated company policy.”

Me: “I did know. That’s why I refused it until [Manager] ordered me to process it.”

I received a formal write-up. The manager who ordered the refund, authorized the override, and supplied the PIN receives no punishment at all, but there were consequences:

I told all my coworkers what happened, and now every time a refund was requested (which was often), we all called the manager over to do it, even if it was out of the refund period.

Manager: “Just do it. Use my PIN.”

Me/Coworker: “And risk getting written up? Not happening. Please come down and deal with the customer directly.”

Funnily enough, the out-of-scope refunds dropped dramatically after that…

When I was seventeen, I worked in a clothing store. One day, I wore an older light jacket that the store used to sell but discontinued about two years earlier. A customer notices it.

Customer: “Where can I find that jacket?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we don’t sell this one anymore. It’s an older style.”

Customer: “Can I try yours on?”

Me: “No, sorry. This is my personal jacket.”

Customer: “I only want to try it once, in case it ever comes back into the store.”

Me: “We haven’t sold it in two years, so it’s unlikely to come back.”

Customer: “I still want to try it.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but no.”

She becomes angry and demands my manager. He comes over, and I explain that she wants to try on the jacket I am currently wearing.

Manager: “Just let her try it on.”

Me: “Absolutely not. This is my clothing.”

Manager: “She’s a customer.”

Me: “Yes, but my clothing is not for sale. What if she runs off with it?”

Manager: “She’s not going to do that. Just let her try it on, and then find something in stock that’s similar so you can make a sale.”

My manager is a large, intimidating man who fires people on a whim. Since I am only seventeen, I reluctantly hand the customer my jacket. She puts it on, looks at herself, and starts walking toward the exit.

Me: “Ma’am, where are you going?”

Customer: “I forgot something in my car. I’ll be right back.”

She power-walks through the doors and then breaks into a sprint. I look squarely at my manager.

Manager: *Shrugs.* “Well, at least she’s not stealing from the store.”

I report him to upper management and quit on the spot. A week later, the regional manager calls me.

Regional Manager: “Your former manager has been reassigned. Would you be interested in coming back?”

“Reassigned” means demoted and transferred to another store. I need the money, so I accept.

However, I will never again let a manager strong-arm me into surrendering my own property for the sake of making a sale.

Me: “Hey, [Boss], you said in the meeting that you were considering [Local Resort] for the team retreat?”

Boss: “Yeah, my neighbor recommended it. It sounds great.”

Me: “Is your neighbor often… uh… in a state of undress?”

Boss: “Uh… why?”

Me: “I’m on Google, and it’s telling me that [Local Resort] is a nudist colony.”

Boss: “What?!”

He Googles it himself.

Boss: “Wow, that explains why my neighbor is always only in his underwear when we’re talking across the yard.”

Me: “So… no [Local Resort] for the team retreat?”

Boss: “Definite no. I know the whole point is for the team to get to know each other better, but not that well!”

We ended up choosing a regular local resort for the retreat. At most, I saw some male coworkers’ knees and shoulders, which was scandalous enough for me!

Our town is experiencing the worst snowstorm in a decade. Luckily for me, it’s my day off… or so I think.

Manager: *Calling me in a panic.* “You need to get to the store to open!”

Me: “It’s my day—”

Manager: “—day off, I know, but everyone is calling out, and I need you.”

Me: *Looking out the window.* “You know why everyone is calling out, right?”

Manager: “Because your generation has no work ethic.”

Me: “Awfully brave of you to insult the generation I’m a member of when you need my help.”

Manager: “Just get there to open and—”

Me: “—I’m going to do it for $10,000, and I’ll email you a waiver to sign right now saying that [Store] is liable for any injuries I might experience as a result of driving in this storm to get to work… and back.”

Manager: “What?! That’s ridiculous!”

Me: “Almost as ridiculous for asking someone to drive forty minutes in the snowstorm of the decade just to open a convenience store for minimum wage, and when she’s not even on shift. Have fun opening the store!” *Click.*

I settled into my warm and cosy Netflix binge and ignored the next three calls from my manager that stopped after five minutes…

This happened in the late 1960s, when I was 20 and working for a major Government Department in Central London. I had just moved to a new group and was chatting to my new manager, a man in his early 40s.

Manager: “Whereabouts do you live?”

I tell him it’s a suburb, population roughly 10,000, eleven miles from central London and the office.

Manager: *With a reminiscent look in his eye.* “I had a girlfriend who lived in [Suburb].”

Me: “Where in [Suburb]?”

Manager: “[Road Name].”

Me: “I live on [Road]! What number?”

Manager: “Seventeen…”

Me: “I live at fifteen…”

Flashback: Fifteen and seventeen are a pair of semi-detached houses, in a quiet suburban road. My bedroom is over our front door, next to a similar bedroom in number seventeen, occupied by a young woman I shall call Jolene; in her early twenties, attractive, who works for a major Government Department. 

On this night, about five years earlier, I am woken up by a woman shouting outside, shouting up at Jolene’s bedroom, accusing her of being a hussy, having an affair with a married man, and various other insults. After a few minutes of this, I open my window to inform her that people are trying to sleep around here and are not interested in her rant. All falls silent. When I next see Jolene, she thanks me. End of flashback.

Me: *Awed by coincidence.* “You were Jolene’s boyfriend?”

Manager: “Yes…”

I did wonder if either Jolene or the manager’s wife had ever mentioned the incident to him. At work, we never spoke of it again, and it did not affect our working relationship. He was an excellent manager.