Some four or five years ago, I was working for an IT firm whose office was in a business park. Public transport in the area was abysmal, with no buses and the nearest railway station two miles away. There was only one exit from the business park for cars, which led onto a very busy roundabout, which in turn led onto a motorway. During the evening rush hour, this motorway resembled the chariot race scene from Ben-Hur.

So, rather than endure a half-hour nose-to-tail crawl to get to the exit followed by a terrifying saloon car race, at five o’clock, I would rule off the day’s work but then spend an hour pottering on minor tasks — filling in time sheets, ensuring work was backed up, sending some emails, etc. Then, as the cleaners started to push a vacuum cleaner around my desk and chair, I would make a much more leisurely departure.

Unfortunately, I was diagnosed with a serious illness and scheduled for a major operation in four weeks’ time. My employers readily granted me time off, but in a misplaced bout of sympathy, they insisted that I leave work early every day up to my operation, at half past four. Since every senior member of staff from every other firm in the business park had the same idea, I was condemned to the previous hour-long mixture of tedium and terror. I attempted to invent urgent tech support issues so that I could work later, but management soon saw through that ploy.

Eventually, I asked for and was granted time off starting a week before my operation. Still, I have never understood the management’s idea that leaving early constituted a reduction in stress when they had only to look out of their windows to see the scrum of cars trying and failing to leave the business park early.

Reading this story reminded me of my own amazing experience, but it wasn’t me that was leaving, but one of my managers. We work in a grocery store and our manager is a twenty-year veteran who is finally retiring.

We also have ‘that’ customer; the awful regular who exists only to make our lives a living H***.

I am training one of our new hires, a sweet eighteen-year-old woman who is working part-time to pay her way through college. She is getting the hang of the checkouts and is understandably slower than the average checkout clerk. Our lane has signs that state this, not to mention she has a big ‘TRAINEE’ badge on her uniform in big bold letters.

Awful regular has entered our lane and has been complaining about the slow checkout from the first second she stepped in it. She steps up and the trainee starts scanning her items.

Awful Regular: “It’s about time! What is this, be-lazy-at-work day?”

Trainee: “I’m sorry, madam, I am new, and I am still getting the hang of things.”

Awful Regular: “Oh, lucky me, I get the slow girl. Did they get you from the special school or something, eh? Are you part of some special ‘put-the-r**ards-into-the-workforce’ program?”

I decide this is enough and step in.

Me: “Madam! Please don’t be rude. My coworker here has explained that she is new and so is still learning. Please be respectful of that, and her.”

Our awful regular decides that I have said some magic words, and she decides to invoke some of her own.

Awful Regular: “Get me your manager! You’ll be sorry you said that!”

I call over our aforementioned retiring regular, and when she sees that our awful regular is the cause, she looks strangely happy.

Manager: “Mrs. [Awful Regular], I am glad that it’s you. I heard a shrill banshee cry coming from the registers and was worried a cat was choking on a whistle.”

Awful Regular: “What?! How dare you!”

My manager glances at me, and then at the trainee, and then back to the now-fuming awful regular.

Manager: “Let me guess, you stepped into a lane that was signposted as belonging to a trainee, and you’re complaining that you have to deal with a trainee.”

Me: “That pretty much sums it up, [Manager]!”

Awful Regular: “Your r**arded clerks are going too sl—”

Manager: *Interrupting and bellowing.* “You do not get to speak that way to my staff!”

The sudden outburst has shocked the awful regular, and admittedly me, into silence.

Manager: “You do not get to speak that way to me, or my staff, or any poor soul that has the absolute displeasure of being within two metres of you ever again. For twenty years you have been coming here and ruining the days of countless colleagues and it ends today! You will finish your transaction in silence, or you will be banned!”

Awful Regular: “You can’t ban me! I am a customer, and I will be writing to your head office to get you fired!”

Manager: “I am quitting in less than two weeks! You have nothing! Get out. We are refusing you service.

The awful regular is now frighteningly aware that their years of behaviour might finally be coming back to haunt them.

Awful Regular: “You… you can’t be serious?”

Manager: “Madam, I have never been more serious about anything in my entire life. You are a miserable little woman who lives to only spitefully bring fear among poor workers just trying to get through their day. Every minor inconvenience to you is a letter to management that got some poor teen in trouble and shattered their confidence. Every out-of-stock item got you a coupon from head office and a reprimand for our stocking staff. Madam, we are done with you, and I envy people who have never met you.”

With that, our manager points to the exit and just stares. The awful regular tries to make another protest but our manager diligently just continues to point towards the exit.

The awful regular finally realises they have no power in this moment, and they storm out.

Me: “[Manager]! That was amazing!”

Manager: *Now shaking.* “I have been practicing that speech all month! Getting to do that was one of the reasons I wanted to retire!”

The awful regular did write to the head office (because of course she did) and the head office said they would investigate what happened. Head office was also aware that this was the one-hundredth-and-thirty-sixth complaint letter they had received from this same woman over a twenty-year period, and decided that there was simply no pleasing some people and decided to ignore any further complaint from her in the future.

I can’t say if the ban was ever upheld, but I never saw her ever again so I like to think that even if it wasn’t she was too ashamed to ever come back.

Related:
This Is What Happens When Calcified Entitlement Is Finally Shattered

A manager I used to work under is in the office today for a meeting. I’m in the conference room with him chatting. He sees my coworker coming in and tells me he’s about to start his meeting. [Coworker] comes in, and before I can stand up, she begins this tirade against me, spouting bile left, right, and centre about how I’m incompetent, I’m the reason the company as a whole (not just this office) is failing, and I need to be replaced immediately to prevent further damage. I try to interrupt, but [Manager] gives me a look that tells me to keep quiet.

It takes about ten minutes before [Coworker] shuts up, and she begins shouting before the end. She makes references to several moments, during most of which I wasn’t even at the office — for some, I was actually working with [Manager] at the time. I’m honestly shell-shocked by the experience.

Manager: “Okay, I will take that under advisement. I thought this meeting was for your expenses?”

Coworker: *Going red* “But why—”

Manager: “[My Name] and I were just catching up. I think it’s best we reschedule.”

He said goodbye to me and left. [Coworker] just stared at his seat. I left her there and went back to my office. [Coworker] came into my office the morning after and told me that if she lost her job, it was my fault.

She didn’t lose her job, but several meetings followed, and she now reports to [Manager] directly for something I’m not related to, while I was given her responsibilities and my wages were raised to be on par with hers.

Thankfully, I don’t see her much anymore, but when I do, she stares daggers at me.

I am stocking produce in our imported tropical fruits section. Each fruit has a sticker showing where it comes from. A customer approaches, waving a mango menacingly. It has a sticker on it showing it comes from the Caribbean.

Customer: “Why aren’t these grown locally?! I don’t want to support foreign countries!”

Me: “We have to import the mangoes, sir.”

Customer: “I want locally-sourced mangoes!”

Me: “Tropical mangoes, grown locally?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Me: “In Scotland? In November?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Me: “We… can’t do that.”

Customer: “Why not?!”

Me: “You… can’t grow tropical fruit in cold climates.”

Customer: “Well, I don’t want it, then!”

He then picks up a pineapple and sees that it comes from Costa Rica.

Customer: “Why aren’t these grown locally?!”

Me: “…”

I work at a natural history museum that has an earthquake simulator. I am working in the café, and a tourist is telling me about her visit.

Customer: “Oh, we’re having a great day! We went to your earthquake and volcano section and tried the earthquake stimulator!“

Me: “The earthquake sim-ulator! Yes, that’s always a favourite.”

Customer: “Oh, yeah, it was a really good stimulation! We all had to hold on while we were shook about!”

Me: “Yes, it’s a pretty good sim-ulator!“

Customer: “I might go try the stimulator one more time before I go, but maybe without the kids. They got scared last time.”

Me: “Yes… that might be best.”