(I work for a home office of a store chain in Virginia, before 9/11. When the planes hit, it is pandemonium in our office, and our boss is a real piece of work. One of our employees has a dentist appointment that morning. He calls in to say he will be spending the day with his family. My boss gives me his work and tells me to run the numbers for product being sold in the coming months. I scale them back 20%.)

Boss: “Why did you scale them back?”

Me: “We just had a terrorist attack. We’re going to war. People are going to have other things on their minds than buying a new [Expensive Toy Product Line].”

Boss: “Run them again, as normal. There is no excuse… none… for our employees to fail to sell products at the normal rates.”

(I just stare at him. This is so cartoonishly disconnected from reality that I can’t believe he said that. He just gives me that dismissive hand wave. Several women have husbands who work for the Pentagon; they keep trying to get a hold of their loved ones, and aren’t getting through. A lot of tissues are being used.)

Boss: *yelling at them* “Get off the phone and get back to work!”

(He is ignored, which makes him angry. During lunch break, he goes through the whole office and takes away everyone’s Internet cables.)

Boss: “This is so that people will stop playing around on the Internet and get some actual work done!”

(When employees found out that they couldn’t get online to check for updates, the entire office turned on him. The boss kept bellowing that they were here to work, and that they needed to put their personal lives on hold while on the clock. He told them that their work ethic needed to improve, and since they couldn’t do anything, anyway, they might as well make themselves useful. I had never seen an entire office turn their backs and walk out like they did that day. He tried to discipline everyone who walked out, but a higher-up intervened. He was quietly retired a short time later.)

(This happens after the release of a movie reboot featuring an all-female cast. My brother is really obnoxious about it. As an aspiring filmmaker and as a sibling, it takes a lot of willpower not to punch him sometimes.)

Brother: “Can you believe it? Childhood ruined.”

Me: “Your childhood can’t be retroactively ruined. Just admit you didn’t like because it was a movie full of girls who didn’t kiss each other.”

Brother: “Come on, sis. Don’t you love the original?”

Me: “I do. Honestly, my only issues with the reboot were the pacing and editing; the cast wasn’t bad. Also, isn’t the point of a reboot to reinvent a story for new audiences?”

Brother: “I guess, but they ruined a childhood classic.”

Me: “Great-granny Adelheid spent her childhood running away from the Nazis. Your problem is rather minor compared to that.”

(A woman calls in a few days after her storage unit has come due. There are only three employees that work in this office: me, my best friend, and my fiancé. My best friend answers the phone.)

Coworker: “Thank you for calling [Self Storage]. This is [Coworker]; how can I help you? Okay, what’s the last name on your account? You handed it to a guy? And you made a payment here? All right, I’m going to look over the account for a moment and give you a call back in around ten minutes.”

Me: “What’s going on?”

Coworker: “This lady said she vacated at the end of July and gave a vacate form to ‘a guy in the office.’ Was [Fiancé] even in last week?”

(My fiancé has been in and out of the office for the past month due to a surgery on his ankle.)

Me: “No, he was still on bed rest that week.”

Coworker: “Okay, so that’s a lie. She says she sent in a payment to our facility but she meant to send it to [Sister Storage Company] where she apparently moved her things to. How do I fix that?”

Me: “Um, let me go and check her unit to make sure she actually vacated before we do anything.”

(I go out to her storage unit and find the door open with the tenant’s items still in the unit. As she came due three days ago, her only option is to stay for an additional month and make sure her things are taken out by the end of August. I relay this information to my friend who calls the tenant back while I leave the room to make lunch. I overhear this from the other room.)

Coworker: “No, I cannot refund the entire payment… Because you already came due for this month and didn’t vacate the unit… Ma’am, when you vacate your unit, your things have to vacate with you.”

(I walk back into the room, laughing into my ravioli.)

Coworker: “She hung up on me!”

I’m a cashier in a department store, working at one of the registers near the exit door. I often exchange light-hearted banter with the customers, which most have no problems with. One cold winter day I had a young man come through my line, and his only purchase was a balaclava, a stocking cap which covers all of the head but the eyes and mouth.

During the transaction, I commented about how cold it was and it seemed like a wise purchase. He nodded but didn’t say anything. As I finished the transaction I jokingly said, “Now, I don’t want to read in the news about a robber wearing a black balaclava with a blue stripe!” Immediately, the customer froze and glared at me for a moment, then grabbed the bag containing his purchase and practically ran out the door, depositing the bag in the trashcan on the way by.

Oops!

(I work at a gas station. After several customers complain that we don’t break large bills, my manager — against corporate advice — decides to do so, anyway. What follows is a summary of the week after.)

First Customer Of The Day: “Can you break a hundred?”

Me: “No.”

Manager: “Yes, we can. I’ll go get the money.”

(The manager walks into her office in back. To her surprise, the customer has followed her. After breaking the hundred, the “customer” walks out without buying anything. The manager returns to the front.)

Second Customer: “Can you break a hundred for me?”

Me: “No.”

Manager: “You have to buy something first.”

(The second customer looks around and decides on a ten-cent gumball, handing me a hundred. I look at the manager, who nods. Shaking my head, I empty my register to give the second customer the money, including several rolls of coins.)

Second Customer: “Man, why are you giving me this? I wanted bills!” *storms out*

Manager: “Let me get you some more money.”

(She goes back to her office and returns with money, only to see three more customers with hundreds out. This repeats every day for three days before my manager changes tactics.)

Manager: “Listen, I’ll just go in back. When you need to break a big bill, use the intercom.”

Me: “This is ridiculous. We’re making maybe ten bucks more a day for this, and you’re easily taking in several thousand in hundreds for it. Word’s already gotten out, and we’re going to be robbed if we keep this up.”

Manager: “You’re right. We should have a codename for when you need to do it.”

Me: “Why?”

Manager: “So I don’t get robbed when I come up with the money.”

(I glare, but she doesn’t notice. For two more days, I have to say a ridiculous codename over the intercom every five to ten minutes. Everyone knows why she’s coming up, defeating the purpose of the codename, but she gets upset when I simply tell her I need to break a large bill. Day five begins:)

Manager: “I’m wasting too much time coming up front. I’ll add a spot for the bank [a deposit/change dispenser behind the counter] that dispenses five twenties.”

Me: “That’s ridiculous. That means night shift will have this problem, too!”

Manager: “Great, we’ll make even more money!”

Me: “We’ve made almost nothing. We don’t even have a spot for a new roll of bills to drop.”

Manager: “Oh, I’ll replace pennies. Nobody’ll even notice!”

(At the end of day five, we’ve made no appreciable extra money, and my till is now off because I ran out of pennies and had to give out nickels for anything four cents or less. My manager writes me up for being short due to this. I refuse to sign the write-up. Per policy, this means a regional manager needs to be called to settle the dispute. I’m out the door for two days, anyway, and need the time to calm down after all this. I return two days later to find the regional manager waiting for me at the door. She pulls me aside, and ominously holds a clipboard.)

Regional Manager: “[Manager] called to let me know you’d been insubordinate every day for the last week, culminating in a suspicious register deficit on your final shift of the week. Is that right?”

Me: “Yes, she screwed with the bank so we had $20s instead of pennies, and insisted on breaking all bills, no matter how large.”

Regional Manager: “That’s what [Night Shift Worker] said last night in his police report. We had an armed robbery. Fortunately, [Night Shift Worker] is unharmed.” *hands me the clipboard* “I need you to sign that you confirm [Night Shift Worker]’s story about the lead-up to the robbery.”

(The regional manager had already contacted corporate after the robbery, but my manager’s write-up and the night worker’s story had convinced her the manager’s unsafe business practices were partly to blame. The regional manager closed the store for the day — to the bemoaning of customers — and a new manager awaited us the following morning.)