About a year into my last job with a military contractor, they put this guy in the night shift supervisor position, and it was almost immediately apparent that this guy couldn’t lead rats off a sinking ship. He would agree that the upper management were unreasonable a**holes — in private. But as soon as they were in front of him — usually wailing about some imaginary problem that they literally invented because they had nothing better to do — he would alternate between just sitting there saying nothing while we got berated and written up for fabricated reasons or being down on the floor doing everything short of kissing their a**es.

[Night Shift Supervisor] was also terrified of addressing any kind of issue between employees, so he always went down the “just figure it out” road. He was completely useless about it; he would claim to go address the problem and then do absolutely nothing. The few times that he did something, all it took was even slightly raising your voice to him and he would run away with his tail between his legs like a whipped dog.

The final straw came for me when [Night Shift Supervisor] approached me with the first shift supervisor. If we messed up something on our shift, we were expected to fix it. If the first shift messed something up… we were also expected to fix it because, for whatever reason, the day shift was never held responsible for anything at all. So, they approached me with a rocket tube; the first shift idiot who did my job had royally messed up the positioning of the lot number and ammunition number that got printed on every rocket body. They expected me to fix it because of course they did.

I was logging myself into the new production lot at that moment, which I think they waited for so they could sneak up on me with this nonsense. So, I listened, and then:

Me: *To [First Shift Supervisor]* “Day shift should fix their own screw-ups; we always get their mistakes to fix on top of doing our own jobs at night.”

This guy had the absolutely brass stones to tell me:

First Shift Supervisor: “You’re making that up! Your shift is never expected to clean up after day shift; that’s never the case! If you don’t agree with that, then maybe you’re in the wrong place.”

And right then, I noticed that [Night Shift Supervisor] was just… standing there listening to this fool tell me that something I had watched happen for almost five and a half years never happened. And he said nothing in my defense — not a g**d*** word.

I decided that the day shift fool was right; I was in the wrong place. So, I unclipped my badge — before I turned around so they couldn’t see it coming until it was too late — and then spun around, clipped it onto HIS shirt, and said:

Me: “Yeah, you’re right. I’m going to go find the right place.”

And I walked away. They were both literally stuttering as I left.

I have been trying to reduce my expenses lately and decided to cancel my subscription to a weekly magazine. They have increased the price twice in the last two years, and now it costs over 50% more. Besides, it is a hefty weekly magazine that covers international political and economic development, and with a small toddler at home and a full-time job, I simply never have time to read it properly.

I log in to my account and realize that cancellation is the only action I can’t do by myself; I am forced to contact their customer support. I opt for the live-chat function.

Agent: “Hello. How can I help you?”

Me: “I would like to cancel my subscription, please. I know I still have a few weeks covered by my quarterly pre-payment, and I am happy to just stop my subscription after that.”

Agent: “I am sorry to hear you want to cancel. May I ask what the reason is?”

Me: “Well, it is both the cost increase and the fact that I never have time to read it with a small child at home.”

Agent: “I see. How about I offer you a great deal? I can offer you a yearly subscription for 30% off, effective next quarter, but you would have to pay the reduced yearly fee in one go.”

Me: “I am looking to cut costs right now, not to pay an additional chunk of money, even if it turns out to be cheaper through the year. Please just cancel.”

Agent: “What if I offer you a yearly subscription for 50% off? Then the prepayment right now would be much smaller.”

Me: “No, thank you. It is not just the money. I hope to be able to return as a customer when my circumstances change for the better again. But I don’t know when that would be.”

Agent: “I understand. How about I do this for you? I will apply a discount to the running quarter that you prepaid and refund you the difference. This way, you can enjoy the rest of the subscription and save money.”

Me: “Really? Wow, that is an amazing offer. Thank you.”

Agent: “Great, that is done. You will receive your refund in the next three to five business days.”

Me: “Just to be sure, my subscription will stop once the prepaid quarter has finished?”

Agent: “Oh, no. You see, I am only allowed to do one action per chat. I have already applied the discount, so you’ll need to contact us again and request the cancellation.”

Me: “Wait, what? you never told me that by accepting the refund I can’t cancel anymore.”

Agent: “Sorry for the misunderstanding. There is nothing I can do now. But enjoy your refund!”

Me: “Please transfer me to your supervisor right away!”

Agent: “Fine. I will cancel the refund and I will cancel the subscription.”

Me: “And I would like the transcript of this chat, please.”

Agent: “You can download it yourself.”

He then abruptly disconnected the chat. I downloaded the transcript and received email confirmations about the refund, the cancellation of the refund, and the subscription cancellation. I also received an email asking me to rate their customer service, and I left a very honest review, attaching the transcript.

I really did intend to return as a customer — even for full price — in a couple of years, but now I am left with a dirty feeling that the agent attempted to trick me into forgetting the next quarterly prepayment, which is pulled from my account automatically. I removed my card details from my account, just in case.

I was interviewing with a company to do graphics design and marketing work, or so I thought. They said I seemed to be a good fit and told me to come by the next day for a job shadow.

I showed up in my best business suit and a pair of nice confident heels. They told me I’d be “riding along” with another girl.

To my surprise, we got into a car and drove a long way — about an hour and a half to a small residential neighborhood. I was starting to suspect ax murderers until they gave me the pamphlets; the position was actually door-to-door sales.

The humidity was nasty, and my suit was not the right clothing for this. A few hours in, one of my heels got caught in a grate, and I lost my balance, went down, and heard a snap. My foot started swelling up.

I wanted to go home, but my ride-along was scared that she wouldn’t make her quota and that she’d be fired if she didn’t.

I called my dad. He drove out to pick me up from his home, which is in a different town from where this happened… which was also a different town from my home. This was about a three-hour drive. Dad drove me back to my car, and I drove my car home — which did not help the pain in my foot. I took a bunch of pills and went to bed.

The next day, my foot was even worse, swollen, and purple. I went to urgent care and found that I had an articular fracture.

At first, the people I had been interviewing with tried to weasel out of paying my medical bill, so I had to contact an Employment Attorney. That fixed it; I got my medical bills covered, the lawyer’s fees covered, and some shut-up money to cover rent and necessities while I recovered.

Eventually, I did find a job doing actual graphics design work for advertising, but the break never did heal correctly. I can’t wear anything but orthopedic flats anymore, no more heels (I used to love heels), and I bring a cane or a walker with me wherever I go in case the pain flares up.

Fun fact: the girl I was riding along with did not make her quota, got fired for it, blamed me for it, and sent me a nasty message about it. The attorney and I used that as proof that I was in fact riding along with her when the company attempted to deny it.

I am taking a train and have just had my ticket checked by a ticket inspector. The inspector then asks the next passenger for his ticket. The passenger starts speaking in a foreign language.

Inspector: *Showing a ticket* “I… need to see… this!”

Passenger: *Speaks some foreign words*

The ticket inspector gets out his phone.

Inspector: “Where are you from?”

I see him loading up a translation app.

Passenger: *Speaks some more foreign words*

Me: “Excuse me, sir, I believe I know what language he’s speaking.”

The passenger looks at me wide-eyed while the inspector breathes a sigh of relief.

Inspector: “Thanks, mate. What language is it?”

Me: “It’s the Black Speech of Mordor.”

The passenger is looking really miffed, while the inspector just looks confused.

Inspector: “Eh? Is that like… an Eastern European thing?”

Me: *Now looking at the passenger directly* “You were saying, ‘Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul,’ weren’t you?”

I look back to the inspector.

Me: “It’s a language from The Lord Of The Rings. It’s the ‘One ring to rule them all’ line. He’s having you on, mate.”

We both now stare pointedly at this fare-dodging passenger.

Passenger: “F*** you.”

The passenger got fined, and I spent the rest of the trip laughing at the audacity.

This story is part of the Editors’-Favorite-Stories Of-2023 roundup!

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This happened many years back when a friend of mine had a problem with his computer. He needed it to be fixed ASAP, and the computer repair shop he goes to was not open, so he came to me for help. I tried to run him down the troubleshooting steps to see what the problem was. The troubleshooting didn’t produce any results, so I concluded that the PSU (Power Supply Unit) was probably fried.

I met up with him to shop for a PSU and went back to his house. Just to be sure, I ran the same troubleshooting steps in case he did it wrongly. The first thing I did was swap the power cable from the monitor to the PC. To my surprise, it actually turned on.

Me: “[Friend], did you actually do any of the troubleshooting I told you to do?”

Friend: *Sheepishly* “I didn’t bother.”

So, my friend now has a shiny new PSU that he can’t return due to store policy. I told him with a “smile” to be more careful next time so he won’t waste other people’s time and his money.