It is Christmas and the office has a raffle. I don’t normally bother with it, as the prizes can be a bit naff. But this year, I get pushed into it and buy a ticket.

As it happens, the draw is held the day after I leave for the year, so I tell a bunch of my coworkers to hold on to anything I might win.

Fast forward to the new year, a week or so in. The subject of the raffle comes up.

Coworker: “Oh, did you pick up your prize?”

Me: “Wait, I won something?”

Coworker: “Yeah, a case of [popular beer].”

Me: “Oh, great! No, I didn’t. Who put it aside for me?”

Coworker: “I was going to, but [Human Resources Manager] volunteered. He was pretty insistent.”

I manage to catch up with him a few days later. He seems fine until I bring up the subject of the raffle.

HR Manager: “Did I? I can’t remember. Beer, was it?”

Me: “Apparently so. I was on holiday.”

HR Manager: “Some would say if you missed the draw, you miss out.”

He laughs, but I just stand silent.

Me: “So, if you could bring it into the office when you get a chance…”

HR Manager: “Sure, sure. I am sure I put it somewhere safe.”

A week or so passes. I don’t see him in the office much, so when I do, I take the chance.

Me: “Any luck on that beer? We’ve got a poker night next week that it would go towards.”

HR Manager: “Oh, that. No, sorry. I keep forgetting. I will bring it in Monday.”

It’s only Wednesday, but whatever. I’m not in the mood to argue. Tuesday comes around.

HR Manager: “I have that beer for you.”

Me: “That’s a four-pack of [cheaper beer]; the prize was a case of [export beer].”

HR Manager: “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have mistaken it and drank it.”

Me: “So, you will replace the beer.”

HR Manager: “Well, isn’t that enough?!”

Me: “No, could you replace my beer, which I won? With that same beer that you took and drank?!”

HR Manager: “Fine!”

He snatches the beer out of my hands.

Yet another couple of weeks later, I get the feeling that he has been avoiding me. I see him in a meeting with his boss. As politely as possible, I knock on the door and stick my head around.

Me: “So sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to remind [HR Manager] that he was going to replace the beer he took from me over Christmas. I’m sure he would appreciate the reminder as it has been several weeks.”

Big Boss:  “From the raffle? That was your beer?”

Me: “That’s right. Unfortunately, [HR Manager] forgot that he didn’t win it, then forgot it wasn’t his, and has now forgotten to replace it.”

Big Boss: *To [HR Manager]* “Very forgetful all of a sudden. I seem to recall you saying that you were hoping to snag that one, weren’t you?”

HR Manager: “I don’t recall saying exactly that…”

Big Boss: *To me* “Well, I’m sure [HR Manager] has no issue replacing your beer and perhaps a little more as an apology for his ‘forgetfulness.’”

HR Manager: “I don’t think that’s—”

Big Boss: “Tonight.”

Me: “Thank you, and sorry for interrupting.”

I got my case, but no extra and no apology. But I wasn’t really expecting one. I almost feel sorry for dropping him in it. Almost.

This story is part of our Best Of January 2021 roundup! This is the last story in this roundup, but if you’d like to read more of our favorite stories, you can always check out December’s roundup next!

Read the next Best Of January 2021 roundup story!

Read the Best Of January 2021 roundup!

I’ve just bought my first house. It is a starter home and needs some work, but it’s livable. When the move-in day comes around, I am shocked to find carpet missing from some of the rooms, light bulbs removed, and the place absolutely filthy.

I am devastated. I spend the rest of the day cleaning and replacing all of the light bulbs. But I have to live without carpeting for months until I can afford the cheapest carpet, and then I fit it myself.

I am told that I could take the previous owner to court; however, the cost of doing so is too expensive.

Over the next few months, I get mail addressed to the old owner. It looks like mostly junk or bills, but I dutifully mark them all as “return to sender” and put them back in the mail.

One afternoon, I get a knock on the door and I see a man I don’t recognise. 

Man: “Did you get a letter for me?”

Me: “Depends: who are you?”

Man: “I used to live here.”

Me: “Oh. Well, anything I got for you was marked as ‘return to sender.’”

Man: “But did you get a certificate? It’s big and has ‘do not bend’ on it?”

Me: “I haven’t seen it, no.”

Man: “Look, just… Here. Call me if you do, okay?”

He hands me a scrap of paper with his number on it.

Me: “Yeah, sure.”

What should arrive the next day but a letter with “Important,” “Certificate Enclosed,” and “Not a circular!” printed on it and with a guy’s name on it. I put it straight back in the mail, marking it “Return to sender, person not known at this address.”

It’s the annual Christmas raffle at work. I’ve missed the last three, as I always book the week of the draw off. The prizes are always naff things bought by the HR manager, things that she seems to like — flowery soap, sayings on signs, cheap perfume, etc. So, I tell whoever will be there to make them redraw the ticket if I win. For some reason, this really annoys the HR manager!

Unfortunately, I have had to use up my holiday early this year and end up working. I am getting on with my work while they perform the spectacle of the prize draw; I almost don’t hear my name. I go up to claim my prize, and it’s a bunch of flowers. Great.

As a single man who doesn’t even own a vase, I pretend to graciously accept the prize. Then, I try to give it away to anyone who will listen when it is all over. I get no takers, so on my way to the car, I ditch them in the dumpster. 

I arrive the next morning to an email from the Human Resources manager; she wants to see me. I dutifully visit her office.

HR Manager: “What is this?”

She has the flowers on her desk.

Me: “Looks like a bunch of flowers.”

HR Manager: “No, these are the flowers you won in the raffle — the flowers you threw in the bin.”

Me: “Oh, yeah, that’s where I’ve seen them before.”

HR Manager: “You are very lucky I don’t write you up for this.”

Me: “For what? Putting my rubbish in the bin when I was off the clock?”

HR Manager: “Rubbish? Just go.”

I can see from my desk that she goes right up to the director. She gestures at me, but he seems less than interested and motions to the door. He does, however, come see me later.

Director: “[HR Manager] was… upset with your actions yesterday.”

Me: “To be frank, do you want a flowery soap, a bunch of cheap flowers, or a reed diffuser?”

He stares at me for a while with a deadpan expression.

Director: “Well, I’m sure the others don’t feel that way.”

Me: “I’m not trying to be rude, but the staff talk, and most of what is won ends up in the bin. The raffle is a great idea, but no one wants it because no one wants to win.”

Director: “Okay, well, thanks for that.”

I didn’t hear much more of that. The next year, the HR manager made a big fuss of not having time to do the raffle, perhaps expecting some big reaction. But she did it anyway; we at least got a few better prizes in the mix.

We just had our offer accepted on our new home. The price is good largely because the owners’ decorating tastes are… interesting to say the least.

The smaller rooms are all dark colours, making them feel even smaller, yet some of the larger rooms are nearly neon! Many of the rooms are cluttered; oddly no attempt to put up shelves or storage was made.

The strangest room of all is the main bedroom which has a massive hand-painted mural of some Greek island. Even if it is well-painted, it certainly isn’t going to stay, and after a few months and several coats of paint, it is gone.

A few weeks later, I get a knock on the door and open it to find an angry-looking woman.

Woman: “I see you’ve redecorated?!”

Me: “What?”

Woman: “You’ve painted over my mural!”

Me: “Oh, it’s you. Yes, we redecorated.”

Woman: “Can you tell me why?”

I consider telling her it is because it looked awful or because it didn’t suit the room, or that it was none of her business. But I settle on:

Me: “Because it’s our house now.”

Woman: “But that doesn’t—”

I shut the door on her before she could finish her sentence. She hung around ringing the doorbell for a while before finally leaving. Her husband came round a few days later to apologise and explain that she had some dream of an art career that never took off. He apologised again, and thankfully, we never saw either of them again.

It’s a Friday night at 10:30 pm and after being severely understaffed, I stay longer to finish the rest of the put-backs: stuff people dump, return, or change their minds on at the till.

I’m a shift lead but don’t get paid any extra for this role. I do have some authority over decisions made on our Customer Service Desk, however, making me the most senior checkouts colleague working.

There is only one colleague doing the late shift on the checkouts at this time of night. She calls me over the tannoy and I go to find what she needs. As I walk up, I see a pair of black shoes on the customer service desk that have most definitely seen better days.

Colleague: “Hey. Sorry, I know you’re busy and want to go home, but I wanted to ask you about these shoes. The lady has the receipt and wants to return them because they didn’t ‘last long’.”

I look at the receipt. The shoes are £6.50 and the woman bought them about fifty-five days ago. Our clothing return policy is 100 days, but shoes are exempt, at only thirty days. Also, the shoes literally look as if they’ve been run over with a car. There appears to be dog hair all over the inside and the fronts of the shoes have started to peel away slightly.

Whilst we typically use some discretion, it’s pretty obvious that this woman hasn’t taken any care of the shoes and somehow expects a £6.50 pair of shoes to last longer than a month after heavy use. Despite customers’ expectations, there’s a difference between “fit for purpose” and using the products in the manner it was intended.

Me: “There’s no way we’re returning those. She’s out of the refund policy, anyway. Just tell her no.”

I go back to doing put-backs. My colleague puts another call out for me a couple of minutes later. The customer has come back to the desk after finishing her shopping.

Me: “Hi. Can I help?”

Customer: “Yes, this colleague has said you won’t refund my shoes. Look at them! It’s disgusting.”

Me: “My colleague is correct. You’re out of the thirty-day refund policy, I’m afraid. This applies to defective shoes, as well. It’s company policy. I’m sorry, but I cannot override company policy.”

I ended up repeating myself a few more times. I offered to get a manager for her, or the number for head office, but she declined both. In the end, she left the shoes on the desk and we had to throw them away. As she flounced away, she commented that she’d never buy shoes from us again. Considering the way she treats her shoes, I think that’s a good thing!