In my early twenties, I took a job as the deputy manager of an offsales (liquor store) in Glasgow. I had worked in retail before, but this was my first management role. I was nervously excited about joining the team, but things went pear-shaped very quickly. My boss (the store manager) and I were the only full-time employees. The other four staff members were part-timers, all of whom had very constrained availabilities around their other commitments.

About a month after I joined the team, my boss took a holiday for a week, but whilst she was away, she quite seriously hurt her back and thus went on long-term sick leave. I can’t remember exactly how long that lasted, but I think it was at least a ten-month-long absence.

I was told that our area manager would find us some additional support, and if I was ever in a pinch, then I could phone around the other stores in the area and try to borrow their staff. As you might have guessed, the extra support somehow never quite happened, but I’m proud to say that, with the help of our part-timers pitching in to pick up extra hours, we managed to keep the store open. We routinely placed as one of the best performing stores in our region, sometimes even placing first in sales.

However, there came one week when all of the part-timers were unavailable, and the only way I could make it work was to pick up three consecutive open-to-close shifts by myself on top of my other shifts. At the end of the week, I had something like twenty extra hours on my time sheet.

Finally, the area manager took notice — but only to reprimand me for all of those extra hours! I explained what had happened and he professed ignorance of the fact we were short-staffed. I’m not quite sure what he thought losing the store manager and one of only two full-time employees meant, but clearly, our shop had been a victim of our own success by muddling along.

At this point, the area manager finally organised a temporary manager, and it was actually surprisingly quick to get sorted out. It was only three or four weeks between that call and my meeting our temporary manager on his first day in our shop.

[Temporary Manager] was a bit of a strange character. He was friendly enough but could become very serious and officious about things with little warning. This led to him trying to discipline me, only to get in trouble himself.

Our franchise required us to cash out our till (register) drawers at the end of each shift and put the large notes in our safe after everything was counted. During the shifts, there was a lockbox beneath both of our two counters so that we could safely store paper money and cheques if the drawers became full, and obviously, those needed to be counted at the end of each shift, too.

[Temporary Manager] didn’t believe me and thought the lockboxes stayed where they were until the shop closed. I told him that wasn’t our training or policy, and he quite bluntly told me I was wrong. Then came this conversation.

Temporary Manager: “Hey, [My Name], I need to have a serious word with you.”

Me: “Oh, okay. What’s wrong?”

Temporary Manager: “You didn’t cash out my lockbox last night; it was full overnight.”

Me: “Oh, I wondered why the count was out. Did you see the note I left about it? I didn’t think to check the lockbox on till one because it wasn’t used during my shift.”

Temporary Manager: “I’ve told you before that they get emptied when the shop closes, not at the end of each shift.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, but I explained that isn’t store policy or how we’ve been trained.”

Temporary Manager: “I told you you were wrong and you were warned. I’m putting in a written warning about this, and the area manager will be in touch. You can get back to your shift now.”

Fuming, I went back to my shift. I decided that I’d just take it up with the area manager when he spoke to me, but days turned into weeks and I never heard anything more about it. I also noticed that [Temporary Manager] had started clearing the lockboxes after his shift.

Eventually, one of my colleagues had to cover a shift where the area manager was working and came back to me with a story the next day.

Colleague: “Hey, [My Name], I’ve got a funny story for you. Do you remember [Temporary Manager] threatening to discipline you?”

Me: “Remember? I was furious! I never heard anything about it, though, and I noticed that he started cashing out properly, so I assumed that he finally checked the training manual and realised I was right.”

Colleague: “Nope! He really did try to report you. [Area Manager] told me but asked me to keep it quiet. [Temporary Manager] phoned to ask him how to submit a written warning so, obviously, he asked him who it was about and why. As soon as he explained, [Area Manager] told him you were right and that if he didn’t drop it immediately, he would be the one getting a warning.”

Me: “Amazing! I do kind of wish that he had been given a warning, though.”

[Temporary Manager] didn’t stay with us much longer. Our manager recovered about four months later, so he was thanked for filling in and shown the door.

I decided to try a chain pizza joint for lunch today. The place has been slowly going downhill for a few years now, even before the global health crisis, but I had some rewards points to use up, so I took the chance.

I put in my order online, scheduling the pick-up for 12:45 pm since I had some errands to run first. The restaurant has a drive-thru pick-up window, so I pulled up at 12:44 and rang the doorbell near the window to let them know I was there. After a few minutes, an employee came to the window and took my order details.

Employee: “Your order’s not ready yet? Could you please pull into a parking spot? I’ll bring your food out when it’s ready.”

I parked my car facing the door, got out my phone, and waited…. and waited… and waited. Nobody ever came out with my food, so at 1:05 pm, I finally got out of my car and headed inside.

A different employee with a name tag identifying him as the manager was at the register.

Manager: “Can I help you?”

Me: “I had an online order for [My Name].”

Manager: “Okay, let me look.” *Checks and comes back* “It looks like everything is just about to go into the oven, so it’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

Me: “Actually, can I just get a refund? My order was supposed to be done at 12:45. It’s already after 1:00, and I have other things I have to do.”

Manager: *Getting defensive* “Well, this is the lunch rush, and we only have two employees. We’re kind of slammed.”

Me: “I get that, but my food is already more than twenty minutes late, and I don’t have any more time to waste waiting around for it. Please just give me my refund so I can get food somewhere else.”

Manager: “Don’t blame me; blame [health crisis]. Give—”

Me: “I’m from [Town we’re in]. I’ve lived here my entire life. Every other restaurant in town right now has enough employees to at least cover the basics. If you don’t, that’s your problem, not mine. Please just give me my refund now.”

The manager grumbled a bit more, but he finally processed my refund. I walked out, got back in my car, and managed to get through a fast food drive-thru in the same time it would have taken for my food to be done at the pizza joint.

I recently moved, and I set up mail forwarding immediately. For two weeks, I never receive a single piece of mail. When an online order shows that it is out for delivery and then returned to the post office, I go down to the post office to see what’s happening.

The employee behind the counter looks no more than twenty-one and is clearly annoyed that I have just walked in.

Me: “Hi. I set up mail forwarding a couple of weeks ago, but I haven’t received anything.”

Employee: “Maybe you just didn’t get any mail.”

Me: *With a humoring laugh* “Is there any way you could check to make sure my forwarding went through your system?”

I hand over my ID.

Employee: *Rolling his eyes* “Yeah… Wait here.”

The employee disappears through a door and I wait for a few minutes. He returns with a stack of mail and my missing package.

Employee: “I called your mail carrier. He thought it was suspicious that a person with a different name just suddenly started receiving nothing but forwarded mail there, so he didn’t deliver it.”

Me: “Uhh, okay. Is forwarding mail not common?”

Employee: “I don’t know, but you have everything now.”

Me: “Okay. Will I be getting my mail properly now?”

Employee: *Shrugs* “Probably. He should just be following the address, though.”

Me: “Yes… he should.”

Employee: “Okay, then. Have a nice day.”

The employee walked into the back again.

The next day, I waited for the mail carrier and introduced myself, thinking it would help. He seemed to struggle with the idea that people move, but he agreed to do his best to remember to deliver my mail.

When I was a teenager, there was a local cinema where the lady at the ticket counter didn’t give a f*** about age restrictions — or anything else, for that matter. They had two price categories: under twelve, which was the cheaper one, and the rest.

Once, my friend, my brother, and I went to see a Stallone movie that was rated R. Somehow, my friend and I (both eighteen) ended up in the popcorn queue, and my brother (who was sixteen but looked younger) was in the ticket queue.

Suddenly, he turned and shouted through the lobby:

Brother: “Hey, this movie is rated R! Maybe it’s better if you buy the tickets!”

By the time I walked over, he was already at the ticket counter.

Lady: “How many tickets?”

Brother: “Three.”

Lady: “Over twelve or under twelve?”

Brother: “Two over, one under.”

Lady: “That’s 16DM.”

My brother paid and she didn’t even blink. I don’t know if she owned the theatre and didn’t care or if she was just so old and jaded that she didn’t care.

On our way into our movie, I asked my brother:

Me: “Why did you claim to be under twelve?”

Brother: “I just wanted to see what she would do.”

I’m flying to Greece from London on what will be my first holiday since before the global health crisis. The total flight time is expected to be more than four hours, so I spend a bit extra and book myself on an over-wing exit seat. Whilst these seats have extra leg room, passengers occupying them are legally required to assist the flight attendants in the event of an emergency.

I board the aircraft and find another passenger occupying my seat.

Me: “Excuse me, sir? You are occupying my seat.”

The passenger turns his head to face me.

Passenger: “No English.”

Okay, he’s not English. No big deal. I motion to him with my ticket that he is in my booked seat and ask him to move. However, the passenger still does not get the message; smiling and just saying, “Okay!” in return. This is during boarding on a flight full of expectant holiday goers, so there is already a queue of impatient passengers behind me.

I try to grab the attention of the flight attendants by ringing the call bell. Finally, one arrives to assess the issue.

Me: “Hello, I—”

Flight Attendant: “Sir, you need to take your seat, please. You are preventing us from completing boarding.”

Me: “Yes, well, that’s the problem. I have booked this seat here, which this passenger—” *gestures to the gentleman* “—is sitting in.”

Flight Attendant: “Okay, just take any seat, sir. In fact, I can sit you there.”

She motions to a seat behind the exit rows as all the other seats on the over-wings are taken.

Me: “You will not sit me there. I have booked and paid for this seat and would like to occupy this seat.”

Eventually, the cabin supervisor arrives. She promises to correct the problem before we leave. Since I’m holding up passengers already, I take the seat offered. However, when boarding completes, neither the first flight attendant nor the supervisor bothers to return to correct the problem. Just as the supervisor prepares to shut the aircraft door, I press the call bell once more and make a beeline to the front.

Me: “I’m sorry, you still have not moved me—”

Supervisor: “Sir, we are about to begin takeoff. Just take your seat!”

Me: “I would love to if you could move the person occupying it!”

Supervisor: “Sir, I can call the police if you like and have you removed from the plane. You are causing a disruption.”

I’m fuming, but not wanting to risk police involvement or my job with this same airline, I give up and return to my non-booked seat. As I just mentioned, I am an experienced member of this airline as an attendant, but I have not given this information to the crew yet.

During takeoff, I notice several problems with the man sitting in my seat. First, he requests and is given an extension seatbelt. These are used for infants or overweight passengers and SHOULD NOT be used for passengers on the over-wing rows. Second, he has several items of loose materials in and around his seat, which is never permitted during takeoff or landing. The gentleman is breaking so many rules, but even worse, the crew member who is doing the pre-takeoff checks for this row does not bother to correct it, nor does the supervisor.

I take photographs of all of the things I see. Two hours into the flight, I pluck up the courage to speak to the supervisor.

Me: “Excuse me. Can I have a word?”

Supervisor: *Rolls her eyes* “What now, sir?”

Me: “I just think you need to see this…”

I showed her the photos I’d taken. She initially tried to protest that I was taking photos of the plane unauthorised by her, which was ridiculous. I then informed her of my position in the same airline, as well as the fact that once we landed, I was going to report both her and the flight attendant for their lack of competence in correcting the issues with the man in that seat. I never once mentioned my dissatisfaction with having my seat changed.

Once she became aware of my intention to report her, the supervisor’s attitude changed completely. She offered to place me in the seat I was meant to be sitting in on departure. I laughed in her face and refused; the only reason why she was doing so now was because of the very serious breach of safety she had caused.

Last I heard, she was demoted. My vacation was awesome!