(I work at a franchise location of a national restaurant chain. After a looong renovation, it has finally reopened as a flagship store for the entire company. Because of this, our owner, district manager, marketing rep, etc. have been there every day during our busy period to help and to work out the kinks. Unfortunately, many of our old staff found other jobs during the six months we were closed, so most of our staff is new, and some are less than stellar employees. One morning, a newer employee calls to say he is going to be late, over two hours after his shift starts. He speaks to a manager with a common name, let’s say Dan. He keeps cutting Dan off and finally hangs up. He calls back a few minutes later, and our district manager — basically the highest authority other than the owners — answers. Our district manager is also named Dan.)

District Manager: “Thank you for calling [Store]; this is Dan.”

(Pause.)

District Manager: “Yes, this is Dan. What’s up, [Employee]?”

(Pause.)

District Manager: “No, you didn’t speak to me earlier… No, you really didn’t… No, I’m not messing with you,[Employee]; you didn’t talk to me… Yes, this is Dan, but I think I’d know if I’d spoken to you in the last ten minutes… You didn’t talk to me, man…”

(Pause.)

District Manager: *perfectly calm* “I’m sorry, but there’s no one here named B****-A**-Motherf***er.” *hangs up*

(The district manager walks over to the other Dan, still completely calm, and says in a conversational tone of voice:)

District Manager: “[Employee] no longer works here.”

(I’m a woman, and I’m in the feminine product aisle. I hear a loud noise behind me.)

Old Woman: “AHEM! Where are your [items]?”

Me: “I dunno. Try [the section likely to have said item].”

(I turn back, still trying find my preferred item.)

Old Woman: “EXCUSE ME! I ASKED YOU WHERE [ITEM] WAS!”

Me: “And I told you that I don’t know. Here’s a pro tip. Go find it yourself, or go ask someone who actually works here.”

(It is worth it to note that I am wearing a black shirt with [horned Disney Villain] on it. It is very much NOT a uniform employees would be allowed to wear. I find my necessary package of product and put it into the basket on my arm, before turning around and walking away. I’ve moved on three more aisles when an enraged-looking manager suddenly looms over me.)

Manager: “What the f*** did you think you were doing?”

Me: “Beg pardon?”

Manager: “What. The f***. Did. You. Think. You. Were. Doing?”

Me: “I would appreciate some context, please?”

(While this is delivered in the most non-sarcastic, genuinely confused tone of voice I can muster, it sets him off.)

Manager: “Maybe you’re new to this, but the Christmas season? You know, the time when we have a bunch of customers pouring in to buy presents for their kids? Yeah, that’s happening right now, and you’re sitting here f****** around with your g**d*** baby wipes! And a customer who asked you an honest question doesn’t need your attitude.”

(I look to him, then the basket in my hand, then at my black [Disney villain] shirt, and back to him.)

Me: “I don’t—”

Manager: “I don’t care what you think!”

(He gets really close to me at this point, and actually backs me into a corner.)

Manager: “You need to work on your customer service skills!”

(I try to say my side, that I don’t work at this business, and that I’m trying to shop, and all that gets an explosion before I get two words out.)

Manager: “I’M NOT HERE TALKING TO YOU SO YOU CAN ARGUE BACK! YOU WILL LEARN RESPECT! YOU WILL SHUT UP AND ACTUALLY LISTEN TO ME! YOU WILL NOT ACT LIKE A SPOILED F****** BRAT TO CUSTOMERS—”

Me: “I didn-“

Manager: “STOP. TALKING. I DON’T WANT TO F****** HEAR IT. SHUT! UP! NOW! YOU’RE A WASTE OF SPACE! YOU’RE GOING TO GET YOUR F****** A** INTO MY OFFICE!”

Security Guard: “Excuse me. Just what the h*** is going on over here?!”

(This situation looks bad from every angle. I’m a woman, backed into a corner by a much taller, screaming man. I have this man in my face, screaming obscenities and abuse. Tears streaming down my face, I look at the security guard and scream hysterically:)

Me: “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GET HIM AWAY FROM ME!”

(Somewhere in my hysterics, I vaguely recall reality had apparently snapped back into the manager’s brain, as he jumped back from me and spluttered something that sounded vaguely apologetic and explanatory. I have flashes of a lady leading me away from the scene, flashes of the security guard planted between myself and my assailant, and a single, crystal clear image of a box of tissues getting pressed into my hands. It took quite a bit of time to get me back into a position of “functioning human” and away from “blubbering, traumatized mess.” By the time I was stable again, police were very much involved. Statements were taken, and yes, I wanted to press charges against this psychopath. This couldn’t possibly be his first incident, after all. The company got in contact with me right away, doing a frantic dance of appeasement, apology, and PR rescue… but regardless, I don’t think I want to shop there again for a long while.)

(I finally complete a job that has taken weeks to complete due to other work being of higher importance, and due to the fact that the manager pulled some of my work apart because she couldn’t understand the written instructions. I spend five hours completing the final stage. Our company has strict display regulations; everything has to be exactly how they specify. My manager seems to have it in for me, usually degrading my work after she’s given me the wrong instructions, and then telling me off for not doing it exactly to company standards. I get back in after a few days off work.)

Manager: *takes me to the section I had been working on* “I didn’t like what you did here; it’s not logical so I pulled it apart. I’ve had to start rearranging it, which was a complete waste of my time, because you don’t think about what you do. I should have been completing my work for [inspection visit].”

Me: *shrugging* “I know it’s not logical.”

Manager: “You know it’s not logical, so why did you do it this way?”

Me: “Because… you realise it was done exactly to [Her Superior]’s specifications?”

Manager: *deer-in-headlights look* “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes, I can show you the paperwork.”

Manager: “Oh.”

Me: “Yeah, I was going to wait until after the company inspection in two days to put it in a more logical order.”

I am shopping in a very touristy shop in a major tourist area, and have piled my arms with souvenirs, some of them quite pricey. I spot a rack of bottles of different flavours of grappa, each with a spout hanging down with a button to express the liquid. Underneath the rack is a shelf containing dozens of tiny, plastic shot glasses of the type commonly used for free samples — some used — as well as giant signs reading, “FREE SAMPLES.” It is completely commonplace for places like this to offer free samples, and in fact, I’ve never seen one that didn’t.

I press the button on one bottle and help myself to a sample — literally about a teaspoon — of some grappa.

Suddenly the owner rushes up to me and snatches the glass from me, screaming, “NO SELF SERVICE!” before pushing me out of the door.

In his rush to get rid of me for committing the crime of tasting one of the free samples, he doesn’t notice my hands are still full of the products I’ve been intending to purchase.

I am not a thief, so I don’t leave with them, but I am not willing to go back inside the shop. I leave the products on the pavement outside. Oh, well, rude shop owner. I hope no one else comes along and steals them!

(My brother goes to university while working part time in a small restaurant. His boss is a middle-aged man who constantly gets angry over the smallest things, but all in all is a good guy. His restaurant is in a mostly French-speaking area, but his French is bad and he usually communicates with his staff in English. He recently had a lot of trouble finding and keeping waiters. His wife is also sick with cancer and hasn’t got long to live.)

Boss: “Hey, [Brother], do you think you could work the night shift on Wednesday? [Other Waiter] just quit and didn’t give notice, and we have nobody to cover that shift.”

Brother: “Hm… not really. I’ve got a final exam the morning after, and I need the time to study. Can’t [Other Waitress] work it?”

Boss: “No, she’s already scheduled at her other job. You’re sure you can’t do it? It’s just…” *at this point he starts tearing up* “I would work the shift myself, even if my French is bad, but it’s my wife last chemo treatment on Wednesday and I can’t make it back in time. It won’t cure her but it will give her a little more time with us. I’d close the restaurant for the night but business hasn’t been very good lately, and I can’t afford to turn away customers. Please…”

(His boss actually starts sobbing. He’s someone with very conservative values, the kind of person who thinks men should not be seen crying.)

Brother: “Okay, I’ll work the shift under two conditions. First, I serve the customers and nothing else. I’ll bring my books and study during the down times, if there are any. And after we close, I do the bare minimum cleaning and will leave the rest to the morning guys. How is that?”

Boss: “Okay! No problem. You bring your book, and you study while you work! Thank you so much! You have no idea how much this means to me.”

(Since then, his boss has always been very thankful towards my brother. My brother ended up not being able to study much during his shift because there were too many customers. He studied after his shift and barely passed his exam. He never did regret that decision, though. As he told me, sacrificing one good grade was worth it to bring a little peace to someone in a very difficult situation. The only thing he regrets was not being there for the wife’s funeral, as he moved to another city before she passed away.)