I had a manager who believed that pushing credit cards on people was only difficult because everyone else was doing it wrong. He had huge aspirations of what we could do and what he wanted to happen. He pushed, hard and often, for this lofty goal he had built up in his head.

Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that he wanted us to guarantee a store card signup every half hour, all day, so sixteen sign-ups per eight-hour shift. This was at a time when our best numbers were maybe three a day.

He wouldn’t let up on pushing us to meet his goals, insisting that it was possible if everyone followed his strategy. Finally, someone called him out on it and asked him to demonstrate. So, he got on a register to show us how “easy” it was to get those signups.

He harassed every customer, made them say no three times, and then shoved a pamphlet in their bag anyway. His spiel basically boiled down to the retail version of, “Your mouth says no but I say yes, so here’s a signup sheet so you can sign up anyway.”

Hoo boy, the fireworks flew!

Customers hate being badgered, and they really hate having their wishes so blatantly ignored. I got to witness massive explosions at the registers; he had people screaming at him and calling him names, and one or two ripped the applications out of their bags, ripped them apart, and threw them back on the counter.

After that, the manager just kind of slunk away and didn’t say anything more about his goals.

About three months into my employment at a fast food restaurant, they call me to ask if I can cover a shift. I remind them that I have a full-time job at a competing burger place, which is why my schedule is limited. I cannot cover their shift because I am scheduled at my full-time job.

Apparently, when I filled out the application and wrote that I was currently employed at the competitor and I could only work weekends, it wasn’t a problem. When they need me to cover a shift because someone called out sick, working for the competitor is suddenly a conflict of interest. I am ordered to quit that job immediately. And since I am quitting that job, there is nothing stopping me from covering the shift they need me for.

I drop off my uniform and a letter telling them where they can shove their burgers on my way to work at their competitor.

I am third in line at a popular US sandwich shop. A man, [Customer #1], and a lady, [Customer #2], are in front of me. This particular place — not the chain, just this location — isn’t known for its speediness so I am very glad there isn’t a long line.

[Customer #1] orders a BMT. A new girl, [Employee #1], has to ask her manager what meats those are, but she eventually gets it.

Another employee, [Employee #2], a male in his twenties, skips [Customer #2] and asks what I want. I point to [Customer #2] and tell him to help her first. She orders two sandwiches; he gets the meat wrong on one of them and fixes it, all the time trying to get my attention and ask where I work, etc. He puts one of her sandwiches in the toaster and he starts working on mine.

[Customer #1] needs another sandwich, just a simple meatball and cheese, so the girl starts working on that. Finally, after it gets toasted, it gets moved up to in front of the veggies, but for some reason it’s not packed up and the customer just stands there waiting to pay. 

Meanwhile, [Customer #2]’s sandwich has been in the toaster way too long and is burned. She requests a replacement sandwich after the flirty guy just scrapes the charred blackness onto the sandwich. He keeps the meat and places fresh bread under the meat and tries to toast it. [Customer #2] again tells him no, that won’t work; she needs a completely new sandwich. He remakes it, messing up again on her meat order, finally gets it right, and puts hers and mine on the toaster tray.

I tell him to take mine off and he does, and then puts it back on. I tell him, “No, take mine off, and please finish both of their sandwiches before continuing to make mine.”

All this time, [Customer # 1]’s toasted meatball sandwich is still not wrapped up and is sitting — now cold — on the counter. [Customer #1] is finally able to pay and leave after new girl almost gives him one of [Customer #2]’s sandwiches.

I start thinking we’re finally getting somewhere. They start working on the veggies on mine, and [Employee #2] starts talking with the supervisor on duty who has stepped behind the till just to help the line move real quick — she was on her lunch — and he starts arguing with her on the best way to ring up [Customer #2].

That finally gets resolved while the rest of us customers stand around awkwardly and the supervisor leaves because she’s just fed up with how he was telling her off in front of everyone. When he gets to the last ingredient on my sandwich, oregano, and I’m excited to just get out of this place. The top of the container falls off and the entire contents of the jar are emptied onto my sandwich.

[Employee #2] tries to laugh it off and say, “Wasn’t that funny? I thought that was funny; don’t you think so? That’s never happened before. Jeez, that was hilarious.”

By this time, everyone in the line is rolling our eyes at each other and thinking, “Oh, my God, can this get any worse? Can you believe this?”

I go back to the beginning of the line to have my sandwich remade and I watch him carefully as he’s made at least three significant mistakes already. He doubles two of the meats on my BMT –the Sub of the Day — and it is intentional; he has no idea how much meat is supposed to be on it. But there is no way I am going to tell him otherwise at this point.

He leaves my sandwich and [Employee #1] finishes it. She does an amazing job. [Employee #2] rings me up, all the time talking about how people were giving [Employee #1] a hard time — no one was — and how she just needed to do it at her pace and she’d get it done. I was more thinking that he needed the help, not her.

Then, I notice before I pay that he’s rung me up for the full price; as the Sub of the Day, my sandwich should be almost two dollars cheaper than that. I tell him that, and he’s like, “What’s the Sub of the Day?”

It’s 7:30 pm by this time; they close in less than two hours. You’d think he would know what it was by now. But, I finally get my extra-meat sandwich for the correct price and practically run out of the shop.

It took them thirty minutes for two people to make four sandwiches correctly, and the person on her first day completed more sandwiches and they were done correctly than the “experienced” guy who was supposed to train her.

No real harm was done in this situation; it was more of an unfortunate series of events.

My boyfriend, a friend, and I are out to lunch at a very busy restaurant in the middle of a bustling city. By some miracle, we manage to score a metered parking spot directly outside the restaurant — entirely unheard of in the history of time.

We go inside to eat and can see the car through the large window. About halfway through our meal, the spot in front of our car opens up. Shortly, another car pulls in.

The person driving the car begins to parallel park and backs the car into the spot. Inch by inch, they back up until the bumper of their car literally hits mine. The people in the car — a man and woman in their late sixties — seem unaware as they get out. 

My boyfriend runs outside to ask them to move a few inches forward. The couple looks confused, and then they see the cars touching and hop back in the car to move it forward.

My boyfriend comes back inside. We watch as they pull forward a few inches, decide that was too far, and reverse back… directly into my car again.

My boyfriend goes out again and talks with them. They appear deeply embarrassed and move the car forward an appropriate amount this time.

They then come inside the restaurant where we are eating. As they pass our table, the wife glares. She is clearly deeply embarrassed and directs that into anger.

“Maybe if you had parked fully in your spot, we wouldn’t have had to wedge in,” she says. Her husband pulls her away to their table, appearing mortified. 

As my car was perfectly fine except for a tiny scratch on the bumper plate border, my boyfriend, friend, and I had a good laugh about it. The waitress even thought it was funny.

I was browsing a pet store for a hairbrush and was the only customer in the store at the time, so it was dead quiet. There was just one employee at the front of the store — the cashier — who happened to be a young girl in her teens.

While I was taking my time looking around, a woman and three young girls charged through the door. The woman started looking at the nearby pet beds while the girls ran around all over the store, screaming and throwing the animal toys at each other. 

Then, they went over to the adoptable cats’ cages and began slamming their hands on the bars, shouting at the cats to come over so they could pet them. The cats were, of course, terrified and started freaking out. The girls got tired of waiting for the cats to come to them, so they went over to the discount bin and started tossing items on the floor.

Suddenly, the mother called out to all of them that it was time to go, and they all left the store. All of this happened in literally the span of three minutes. The mother hadn’t bought anything, she never said anything to the cashier or even watched over the girls, and the whole front of the store was in complete disarray. The cashier and I were so stunned at their behavior that we could only watch in disbelief.

I looked at the cashier and said, “Don’t you just love your job?”

She replied with only a pitiful whimper.