I’m scanning a customer’s groceries. It’s a sale weekend, and some items are coming in at weird, random percentages cheaper than the shelf price.

Customer: “Wait, stop! How much are those checking out at?!”

Me: “Uh, those are… they’re $6.67.”

Customer: “That’s awfully close to $6.66!”

Me: “Haha, I guess.”

Customer: “On the shelf, they were $7.67!”

Me: “Then I guess… It’s a good thing?!”

Customer: “How is it a good thing! It’s bringing me closer to The Devil! Change the price!”

Me: “Only a manager can do that, sir.”

Customer: “Then get one!”

I call my supervisor over, and the predicament is explained to him. I’m amazed he was able to keep a straight face.

Supervisor: “I’ll be happy to adjust them back to the shelf price for you, sir.”

He does so, and because the customer is buying five of the items, his total goes up by five dollars.

Customer: “Wait, stop! Why did it go up?”

Supervisor: “$6.67 to $7.67 is an increase of a dollar.”

Customer: *Squinting.* “Oh. Well… can you put it back?”

Supervisor: “And risk putting you into contact with The Devil? I wouldn’t dream of it, sir! Will that be cash or card?”

Customer: “…”

The customer pays and sullenly walks out. I’m not sure what price he was reading to get him so numerically confused, but I’m glad he survived his test of faith!

Related:
A Price For The Devil To Pay, Part 10
A Price For The Devil To Pay, Part 9
A Price For The Devil To Pay, Part 8
A Price For The Devil To Pay, Part 7
A Price For The Devil To Pay, Part 6

In 1990, I was employed as a customer advisor in the UK’s largest DIY Company. I was doing the usual, advising customers on the shopfloor. We had shelving that was eighteen feet tall. The top two shelves had pallets holding stock. I should add that the pallets on the top shelves are supposed to be fastened to the shelving by zip ties.

A customer asked if I could get a ladder from the second shelf. I got the ladder down, but she decided it wasn’t what she wanted.

I started replacing the ladders, as I pushed them into place on the shelf, I caught the top shelf pallet. Normally, this is okay, but for some reason, the pallet had not been secured.

It was only when a scraping noise made me look up that I saw the pallet sliding off the shelf. I managed to push the customer to one side as the pallet hit me, knocking me out.

The customer ran and found another member of staff. The next thing I remember was being walked out of the store and into my line manager’s car.

She rushed me to the hospital, as it was just down the road. She sat with me throughout my being checked out and being admitted to a ward. She also contacted my wife and gave her details of what happened and which ward I was in.

I was in the hospital for four days. Every day, my manager came to see me and see how I was doing. On my discharge, she told me I had time off until I felt able to return to work. Every day she rang to check how I was doing.

After two weeks, I felt able to return to work; the only problem I had was that I felt uneasy on the shopfloor. My manager was able to relocate me to a customer service desk.

When it came to claiming compensation for my injuries, my manager backed me up regarding the unsafe pallet, as did the customer I was helping. The company settled within eight weeks.

I continued working for the company for the next five years before moving into a new profession.

I still see the manager every time I go to the store for my DIY needs.

I usually get my lunch on my way to work from a little deli that sells salads, burritos, wraps, that kind of stuff. Recently, I approached the counter, and I saw the owner was training a new girl about the general stuff, when an order came through the webpage

Owner: “Good. See this order? It’s special. This guy is the CEO of a big company; he’ll just send a sandwich list and nothing more. Just take the order and send it to the kitchen, and no talking whatsoever.”

New Girl: “What do you mean, no talking?”

Owner: “Don’t ask him who he is, where this is heading, payment method, how the delivery boy should announce he arrived, how would he like the sandwiches… don’t answer at all, or he’ll call screaming that you are disrespectful.”

New Girl: “So, how would we know—”

Owner: “—on this paper is every piece of information you need about those questions.”

I look at the owner with a pitiful face:

Me: “Why do you tolerate it?”

Owner: “Sincerely, he spends huge amounts daily, and I even overcharge him because I know he never looks at the price, but I wish every night that he’ll swallow rat poison.”

While I was working for this company, we sometimes had to file papers in person at municipalities. If they were close enough to our office, someone from the office would go; if they were further away, we would ask engineers in a good relationship with us to do it for us and invoice us for the time.

The thing is that the owner, thinking of being smart, would always forget to pay those invoices within the agreed terms and would always ask us to “check that [Engineer] has been paid before asking him to go to [Town] again”. Not being large amounts, it wasn’t worth the trouble for the creditor to go beyond sending reminders for the outstanding debt.

A few weeks after the owner let me go (again, because paying a new hire is cheaper than paying someone with three years’ experience), I received a call from my former senior in the office:

Senior: “Hi, [My Name], we need to file some papers at [Town A, 60 km south of the office], can you do it for us?”

Me: “I live in [Town B, 13 km West from office], I am nowhere close to there.”

Senior: “Don’t your parents live in [Town C, near Town A]?”

Me: “They do, I don’t. Me going there would be even further away than you going there. I suggest you find someone else.”

I mentally added while waving a symbolic middle finger:

Me: “And I am not going to fall for the owner’s penny-saving trick and chase my money for months.”

I work in a BBQ restaurant as the pitmaster, so I run the smokers and handle all raw meat preparation. I have to get there by 5 or 6 AM, depending on the day, in order to have food ready to open the restaurant at 11 AM.

The General Manager decided she was spending too much on labor and needed to cut my hours. As such, she told me at around 2 PM on a Thursday the following:

General Manager: “I need you to clock out by 1 PM every day, no matter what.”

I asked for it in writing and got it.

So, the next day, I went to the Head Chef when I got there and said that the General Manager said I had to be out by 1 PM no matter what, and showed him the signed note.

I set an alarm on my phone and got to work.

I got through all the prep for the next day and was starting on the cleaning when my alarm went off. Now the pit area looked awful. The walls had some smoke stains that come off pretty easily with degreaser, but build up over time, the cooler floor had some blood on it that needed to be cleaned up before it spoiled and started smelling bad, my table had some seasoning left on it from where I seasoned the pork for the overnight load, the walls still had bits of skin, gristle, etc stuck to them, the trash can was full.

I told the head chef:

Me: “Well, it’s 1 PM, and I have to go.”

He looked in the pit and said:

Head Chef: “Yep… This is what I expected…”

But he let me clock out and go.

This goes on for about a week, with the pit looking worse and worse each day. Then the District Manager comes in on my day off… The Head Chef told me that the District Manager immediately started on the General Manager for the pit, looking awful, and how the pitmaster needed to stay until the pit was clean no matter what.

So I got it in writing and am now currently working until about 2:30 PM every day, doing the full cleaning I was doing before again…