At the store where I worked, we had a rule that if a customer paid with a large note, we asked a colleague to check the change for our own protection. A new worker took a fifty-pound note for a purchase of about ten pounds. I went to check the change when she’d sorted it out, and she yelled at me.

Coworker: “I’m quite capable of counting out the change”

And she flounced off to the staff room, leaving me to apologise to the customer!

She apologised to me later when the rule was explained to her, but she continued to act as though she was the bright one and the rest of us were stupid, making herself unpopular. She didn’t last very long.

I used to be a cashier in the service office of a car dealership. Our inventory clerk was going on maternity leave, and I was going to cover her desk, so we got a cashier from a temp agency.

It turns out the last time our new cashier had worked in an office was twenty years ago, and she had no idea how to use a calculator or a computer. She went to lunch and never came back.

I was running a painting crew. This guy begged me for a few hours of work. He said nothing was beneath him and he needed a real paycheck to get his parole officer off his back.

Me: “I have a bunch of grunt work you can do. I’ll pay you fairly, but the work sucks and I can’t promise you a role as a painter. If you want this, you need to prove yourself as a hard worker.”

New Guy: “No problem! When can I start?” 

I told him to show up the next day with clothes that he could get dirty and plenty of water.

When the next day rolled around, he showed up forty-five minutes late, and he was all dressed up. It was not a good first impression, but I gave the kid a chance. I set him up with a five-in-one tool and an area about 20 m² (200 ft²) to scrape old paint off of.

Even for a new guy, it was, at best, four hours of work.

I checked up on him after about forty-five minutes. I immediately raised my eyebrows. He had scraped about a quarter of a square meter (3 ft²) of the area and was texting when I walked down. I retrained him, gave him a specific target for the next hour, and left.

I came back an hour later. He was still texting.

He had done half of what I’d asked him to, and he was acting like he had done me a favor.

Me: “This is unskilled labor. All you need to do is move your tool over the old paint. You aren’t keeping up. I don’t want to see you on your phone again.”

The third time I came to check on him, he was sitting down texting in the shade.

Me: “What’s up?” 

New Guy: “Scraping paint sucks. When do I get to be a painter?”

Me: “You don’t. I didn’t need any painters. I hired you as a favor. Pick up the pace. I expect you to finish scraping this in the next hour.”

I came back down an hour later. If you guessed it, give yourself a cookie: he was texting. He had accomplished about 25% of what I had asked.

New Guy: “So, do you have any water? Also, when’s lunch?”

Me: *Thoroughly done* “Lunch is right now, and a storm is coming, so just take the next few days off.”

I swung by his house with a paycheck for the few hours he had worked that day, told him I’d found a more experienced guy, and wished him the best.

A few weeks later, he had an “amazing offer” for me. He asked me to launder his substance-dealing profits into paychecks from my company, and he would give me the grand rate of five dollars for every 200 dollars I paid out to him.

I declined. He’s a successful real estate agent now, but I’d never buy a house from him.

About a decade ago, after graduating high school, I was in a new town and on the search for my first full-time job. I had worked part-time since I was fourteen and always had glowing reports from all of my former bosses, so my resume and references were great.

After attending a job fair, I accepted a job offer at a brand-new department store that was set to open in a couple of months. The position was in the seasonal section of the store, and I would be part of the group to finish setting up and stocking that section in preparation for the store opening soon, and then I would remain in that section afterward.

The interviewer said my great references were exactly what he was looking for. He raved about how, even though the position paid minimum wage to start with, they were very keen to regularly give, and I quote, “fantastic raises,” to employees who showed good work ethics and were punctual, solid employees, and that they would give the first raise three months in. I was excited to start!

For the next three months, I and the other half-dozen ladies in the same section were pumped about the promised “big raise”, and we were all determined to work our butts off and really make management proud so we could earn it.

None of us were ever late, we never clocked out early, we shortchanged our breaks and lunches so we worked more, we took great attention to detail in what we did, etc. Basically, we completed every task ahead of time and to perfection, and the management couldn’t say enough good things about what we accomplished, always grinning and talking about how we were definitely going to be shoo-ins for that big raise. The way they kept talking about it and how much they pushed it, we were all sure the raise would surely be several dollars more, at least. We were excited!

The three months passed and our manager scheduled a meeting with all of us from the seasonal section. She praised our work and went on and on about how we had excelled, how we should be so proud of ourselves, and how they were so thrilled to reward our hard work.

She handed us all our new pay stubs which reflected our raises. Every single face fell from joy to anger, confusion, and frustration. We had worked our butts off for a “spectacular raise” of twenty-five cents an hour, a whopping approximately forty-two dollars a month.

The manager saw how upset we all were and tried to make it sound as though we should be oh-so-grateful; this was more than other departments had gotten, etc. We didn’t care. It was a complete insult to go on like they had and give us a measly twenty-five cents an hour after we had done so much, above and beyond.

One lady quit right there and then and, according to local labor laws, since it had been only three months, she didn’t have to give her two weeks’ notice.

I came in the next morning to find that another two people had sent in their notice overnight. Our department was down to half-staffed. The same thing happened in every department in the store. They tried to hire more people quickly, but in a small town, news travels fast, and almost no one wanted to work for jerks like that.

I had expenses and was unable to just quit, but I began looking elsewhere immediately. The whole sense of morale in the store dropped, and the managers started to treat us all like garbage, even those like me who continued to do a good job and maintain work ethic. My mental health was taking a hit, but I couldn’t find another job.

My parents took pity on me and said that they were proud of how I had handled things and they would gift me the money I needed for my few expenses for three months, and I would be free to quit. I happily took them up on it.

The next morning, I handed in my two weeks’ notice, which by now I had to give. My manager flipped out! She ranted and raved about how ungrateful I was and how I wouldn’t find a better job, and she called me all kinds of names.

I didn’t care. I finished out my two weeks and left them terribly understaffed right at the beginning of December heading into the Christmas rush. It was glorious!

I enjoyed a long Christmas break and then found a really great new job in January, making twice what I had previously. In the best case of sweet Karma, I was shopping in the old store a month later and my former manager saw me.

Former Manager: “How’s the job hunt going? If you’re willing to forego your raise, I might consider hiring you back.

She was so condescending and snotty about it. I had the great pleasure of telling her:

Me: “I have a new job with twice the pay, and I have the best new boss I could ask for.” *Smiles* “I hope you enjoy your day.”

Then, I turned around and walked away.

I’m not one for small talk. (Yep, I’m a real charm if you corner me at a party or gathering.) I like to go into a store, get what I came for, and check out with as little human interaction as possible.

I get through the crowd of people and have my shopping done. I approach the checkout lane that has the shortest line and wait my turn. When I get to the register, I unload my groceries, and I take note that the guy working the register is wearing a name tag that has “New Hire In Training” under his name. Behind him appears to be an experienced worker helping out the new hire when he has questions or gets stuck.

I walk forward to the register, and the new hire is slowly but surely making his way through scanning my groceries, and he’s bagging things as he goes.

New Hire: “Hello. How are you?”

Me: “I’m good.”

I can tell he’s uneasy trying to chat and do the customer service thing.

New Hire: “You, um, do you have anything planned out at all? You know, for the day, after you leave here?”

Me: “No, nothing special.”

He’s silent for a moment and then tries to ask something else.

New Hire: “Um… is, um… are you…”

Me: “You don’t need to worry about trying to talk with me. I’m not one for small talk.”

A smile crosses his face.

New Hire: “Oh, thank God. I don’t know what to talk to people about, and it makes me really nervous talking to new people. Anyway, that’s the only question I can think of to ask people — what their plans are.”

The next few minutes were quiet between us. I thanked him for his help and I went about my day.