I managed a tax office for a large corporation. Recently, one of the other managers retired. The fridge in his office is infamous because he refused to clean it; it “wasn’t part of his listed job responsibilities”.

The new woman chosen to replace him decided to take action on this matter and clean the fridge. It was last cleaned before I was hired, and I have been with the company for about fifteen years.

I offered to help clean, but the fridge was too gross for me, so [New Manager] ended up tackling the fridge while I handled the rest of the office. During the deep cleaning, I found a political screed taped end to end for fax spamming hidden in one tax pro’s desk, but that’s another story.

The next day at our meeting, [New Manager] was pale and sweating. She was clearly sick.

Me: “Maybe this is from cleaning the fridge.”

New Manager: “Yes, I think that’s the most likely cause.”

The day after that, she video-called in. She was pale and sweating, had a fever, and was throwing up, but she was still trying to do the end-of-season procedure with the rest of us.

The day after that, she was in the hospital. She stayed there for a while. I’m not a doctor, and I was never told exactly what happened, but it was more than a month before the next time I saw her.

She told us (the other managers) that she had been severely sick and had been in intensive care for a while. She said that when she tried to get workman’s compensation, she was told that the claim wasn’t valid because the task was outside of her job duties.

In response to this, we revolted a little, staging an impromptu work-to-rule strike until the district manager finally rewrote our official job duties to include cleaning (and a few other common tasks that we often do that could have injured us).

The company that handles our workman’s comp claims then changed the reason they were rejecting her claim to, essentially, “You can’t prove that it was cleaning the refrigerator that did it and not something — anything — else.” So, she still didn’t get her claim paid.

She quit. Several of us did, too, including me. I still manage a tax office, just for a different company than before. My pay is very similar.

I was working at the customer service desk, and somebody brought in a package of underwear.

Customer: “I’d like to exchange these.”

We thought the package was still sealed, and we ALMOST agreed to the exchange. But then, my general manager looked closer.

They noticed that the package had been opened… and there was a MASSIVE poop streak on one of the pairs of underwear.

I worked at a mall shop that sold adult toys. We had a policy that any sex paraphernalia could not be returned after the package was opened, for obvious reasons.

We had someone come in with a vibrator that they had haphazardly tucked back into the packaging. Even with it closed, the smell was intense.

We refused the return, and we had to threaten them with security before they finally left.

And we sanitized the counter really well after that.

It’s my first year working at a bar in an area of New York with a large immigrant Irish population. It’s my first St. Patrick’s Day and the place is packed! I am serving drinks as fast as I can, and we have all hands on deck dealing with the revelry and chaos that ensues.

I see a woman stumbling up to me.

Customer: “So… uh… yeah… sorry, but my friend threw up.”

Me: “Oh! Where?”

Customer: “Well they tried to aim for the toilet.”

Me: “Tried?”

Customer: “Well, I was kinda on it at the time.”

Me: “…?”

Customer: “So they went into the toilet tank. You know, where the floating ball thingy is?”

Me: “Your friend threw up in the TANK of the toilet while you were on it?”

Customer: “Well when you say it all in one go like that it sounds gross!”

I work weekends at a specialty cheese shop. A customer comes in and immediately proclaims loudly:

Customer: “WOW! YOU SURE HAVE A LOT OF CHEESE!”

She looks around and starts speaking in an obnoxious tone.

Customer: “Okay, now pay attention. I know a lot about cheese, and I only like really strong cheese. You need to show me what cheeses you have for my dinner party tonight.”

I give her a sample of a popular medium-strong cheese, and she SPITS IT OUT on the floor!

Customer: “That’s disgusting!”

Me: “Okaaay, I guess that isn’t to your taste. Let’s try something else.”

I offered her samples of two more, much milder cheese, and she has the same response, spitting included, even though I’ve offered her some tissue to spit into — which she refused.

She points to a medium-strong cheese in the case.

Customer: “I want to try that one.”

I give her a sample of it, and again, she spits it out.

Customer: “That’s too strong!”

She points to another one (fairly strong) cheese that she’s interested in and asks for a sample.

Me: “No, you won’t like it.”

Customer: “But—”

Me: “No more samples!”

Eventually, I sold her a chunk of extra-mild gouda and a few balls of fresh mozzarella (pretty much the mildest cheeses you can possibly get) and handed her a sani-wipe to wipe up her spat-out cheese on the floor.

She didn’t wipe up anything, go figure.