(A few months ago we signed up for pet insurance for all four of our animals. This month, we got caught by surprise by the payment and as a result, one of the payments did not process correctly. This is the email we got regarding the payment that did not process:)
Email: “Please call us on [number] or email us quoting [policy number] in regards to your insurance payment for your pet Zombie.”
(Punctuation is EVERYTHING.)
(I am a second year university student working the front counter of a popular pizza shop late one night.)
Customer: “I want a meat-lovers pizza but without the meat.”
Me: “Ma’am, that would just be a cheese pizza, which you can order for half the price.”
Customer: “No, I want a vegetarian meat-lovers pizza. Just take the meat off and leave all the veggies.”
Me: “There are no vegetables on this pizza. Perhaps I can interest you in our veggie-lovers pizza instead?”
Customer: “Are you dumb?” *speaking extremely slowly* “I… want… a… vegetarian… meat-lovers… pizza.”
Me: “Of course, ma’am. One veggie meat-lovers.” *places order for veggie-lovers*
(The veggie pizza is given to the customer.)
Customer: “See, what was so hard about that? Maybe you should listen to your customers more. We obviously know the menu better than you dumb dropouts.”
(I’m working with two coworkers who are several years older than I. Both start singing and quoting a movie back and forth.)
Me: “I have absolutely no idea what you two are on about.”
Coworker #1: “You aren’t that young, are you?”
Coworker #2: “Yeah, it’s from Labyrinth.”
Me: “Oh, yeah. I watched that years ago. That’s the one where David Bowie is a—”
(All three of us simultaneously:)
Me: “Paedophile.”
Coworker #1: “Hot guy!”
Coworker #2: “Goblin king!”
Me: “Hmmm, guess we all took something different away from that film.”
(I work at an IT help desk at a university. We process requests for usernames and passwords to access the IT systems by hand, for which a current student ID is necessary, as well as a completed form with their details. A woman approaches me with a form.)
Woman: “Here’s my application for a username and password.”
Me: “Right. Can I please see your student ID?”
Woman: “All the information you need is on that form.”
Me: “Actually, you’ve missed out the section that asks for the student ID number. If you show me yours, I’ll fill it in for you.”
Woman: “Gah! All the information you need is there! I just want a username and password!”
Me: “I’m sorry, but we need proof that you’re a student here before we can give you access to the IT systems.”
Woman: “I am a student!”
Me: “I’m sorry, but the rules are very clear; I can’t process these applications without a current student ID.”
Woman: “This is ridiculous. Honestly, is this the University of Fascism? I’m a student, and I’m taking a degree in Scientology. Look, here’s my textbook!”
(She holds out an old copy of the Dianetics book. My head is beginning to spin a little; obviously there’s no such thing as a degree in Scientology, unless we were in fact the Hubbard College of Administration International. Even they would still require ID! At this point my manager, who has been hovering, decides to intervene.)
Manager: “I’m [Manager], the help desk supervisor. Please try not to get too upset, but this university doesn’t offer a degree in Scientology, and that is not a textbook. You’re obviously not a student here. Is there something else we can do to help you? Someone we could call to come and help you?”
Woman: “Hah! You’re the one who needs help! You don’t know anything about the place you work! I feel sorry for you. I really do, but I’m still going to report you to the Vice Chancellor, and you’ll lose your job because you’re crap at your job and you’re stupid!”
(She storms off. My manager and I look at each other for a few stunned moments and then she says:)
Manager: “I think I’ll just give the VC’s office a call. They might need a heads-up.”
(I get a job in a video store. It is run by a married couple. The husband seems okay, but is very much dominated by his wife, who has a very bullying way about her. Fortunately I work an evening shift, so she isn’t often around. One by one, my coworkers resign abruptly, to be replaced by new people; the turnover is staggering. I run into one such coworker in a cafe shortly after she quits.)
Me: “I was sorry to hear you’d quit; what happened?”
Ex-Coworker: “[Boss], she’s such a horrible b****! She told me to wash all the shelves, so I did, then she made me do them again, then a third time, even though they were spotless. She wouldn’t let me sit down at all, even when there were no customers. She dragged me out of the break room when I’d only had three minutes; the kettle hadn’t even boiled! And she’s so aggressive; always right up in my face, and yelling. I kept thinking she was going to hit me!”
Me: “That’s terrible! She shouldn’t be allowed to get away with treating people like that!”
Ex-Coworker: “Especially after the court case!”
Me: “What court case?”
Ex-Coworker: “One of the other guys told me that she was once taken to court because she assaulted an employee. Actually punched the employee in the face!”
(Obviously, I’m shocked, and glad to be working a shift that she rarely attends. However, a couple of nights later my luck runs out; there she is.)
Boss: “There you are! I don’t pay you good f****** money to just stroll in here whenever you feel like it! Get to work!”
Me: “My shift starts at 6:00 pm. It’s 5:45. I’m early.”
Boss: “Smart little b****, aren’t you? Don’t you f****** talk back to me. Go and clean the shelves!”
(I head to the back room to collect a bucket, cleaning soap, and sponge.)
Boss: “Where the f*** do you think you’re going? I told you to clean the shelves! Don’t ignore me when I tell you what to do!”
(I’m vividly recalling my ex-colleague’s tale of woe. I’m determined not to let her bully me.)
Me: “I’m going to get some cleaning stuff! What do you want me to do, lick the shelves clean?”
(Then, [Boss] gets right up in my face, but I don’t back down. I’ve decided at this point that this job’s not worth it.)
Boss: “How dare you speak to me like that, you f****** b****? Who do you think you are, trying to give me trouble, when I’ve given you a job? You ungrateful little cow! In 12 years of running this store, I have NEVER had a problem with any of my employees!”
(This is too much. I burst into laughter.)
Me: “Seriously? You don’t think punching an employee in the face, then being arrested and taken to court is a problem? Yeah, that’s right; I heard all about it. I can also tell you’re about two seconds away from punching me in the face or firing me, so I’ll save you the trouble: I quit!”
(I storm away from her and grab my bag. She’s puce with rage, her fists are snapping open and closed, and all the veins in her neck are standing out, but I’m now out of reach.)
Boss: “You have to give notice! You have to give written notice! You can’t just walk out!”
Me: “Gladly!”
(I write “F**K OFF” on a Post-it, stick it to the computer monitor, and flounce past her. As I do, I notice a customer standing off to the side; in all the drama, I hadn’t spotted her before.)
Customer: “Good on you, lass! I heard how she was picking on you, and I’ve seen her bully her other staff like that as well. Well, madam, I’m here to return this video, and I’ll be renting from another store in the future!”
This story is featured in our “I Quit!” roundup!
