I used to work in a warehouse where one other girl and I worked in one area together, except I did all the work while [Coworker] played on her phone all day in between occasionally yelling at me for stuff I didn’t do.

I’d hustle to get the job done, and I cleaned up on recognition from supervisors who saw me hustling. [Coworker] tried to blow it off when she got busted for slacking but never did clean up her act. She even occasionally had the nerve to tell me to “calm down” because I worked fast and she looked bad in comparison just standing there.

Eventually, I found another job, but I made a point of not bothering to mention it to this girl when my last day was.

I knew [Coworker] was going to be unpleasantly surprised by suddenly having to take over my job the next day, so I set her up to have the worst first day ever. I used up all the good packing tape and left out only the identical-looking stuff that tore easily, I hid the good tape gun and left out the identical-looking but broken one, and I unhooked the UPS scale. (When you unplug the scale, you have to restart the computer.)

I changed the password. Resetting the password was a massive headache because IT was terrible and inevitably took a couple of hours to do anything. The whole thing took less than thirty seconds, and I sabotaged at least half a day for her.

I later learned that [Coworker] got fired for not doing her job.

I’m a warehouse division manager for a company. A very well-known brand for dishwasher detergents is our customer, and the customer’s supply chain manager complains that the trucks cannot reach our warehouse due to rain. The warehouse is uphill and she insists that the road is not good.

By luck, I’m already in the warehouse and the truck she mentioned is in the warehouse unloading, so there are actually no issues. I call the customer.

Me: “Truck is here; no worries. We will meet the deadline.”

Customer: “No, it’s not there. I just talked with the transporter and they said they cannot drive on that f****** road.”

Me: “Sorry, I really don’t get where the information is getting mixed up, but the driver is here.”

I hand over the phone to the driver.

Driver: “Yes, I’m at the warehouse.”

Customer: “You are lying! The truck is not there, and we will be late for the delivery.”

Me: “Here is a photo of the truck in the warehouse; I just shared it with you in your email. Can you check, please?”

Customer: “Yes, I can see. This is probably an older photo. I will reach out to your boss and complain about you.”

Me: “Well, as you wish!”

The truck was unloaded, nothing was delayed, and the next day, the supply chain manager of the company behaved as if nothing had happened. She was famous for being abusive in the logistics industry.

And she was promoted to a regional job. 

I left the position and left the company. No money is enough for this kind of pressure.

I work with an older white woman. Because I’m legally and visibly white, she assumes I share her politics and worldview. We work in the same area, but I work on the docks and she works picking orders.

One day, I’m wrapping a skid at the wrapper and she walks over.

Coworker: “Those Mexicans are so rude, not speaking English as they should! They came here, so they need to learn the language, right?”

Me: “Um, they’re Puerto Rican, and I’ve enjoyed our Spanish conversations.”

I’m passably bilingual.

Coworker: “Stop enabling them! You’re in America; speak English!”

Me: “Oh, so, everybody who comes here should speak the local language?”

Coworker: “Of course!”

Me: “Great! If you’d like to learn Algonquin, there’s a lovely class in [Large City an hour away] that is great for beginners. I’ve learned a lot from them.”

Coworker: “Huh? I was talking about English!”

Me: “Yeah… See, my people were here first, and since the tribes around here spoke Algonquin, you’d better get on learning that.”

Coworker: “Your people? You’re white!”

Me: “Lady, my grandfather was half-Chahta — what the whites call Choctaw. Don’t assume somebody’s like you just because they look like you.”

Related:
Sensitivity Isn’t Native To This Coworker

About 95% of our business is done online, and our products are shipped to the customers. As part of the process, the warehouse team will pick and pack the box and then process the shipping label. Our team then processes the invoice to make sure all the money’s good and something didn’t slip through. Then, it goes back to the warehouse to be finalized. It’s not the most efficient system, but it definitely cuts down on mistakes… usually.

As of late, though, the warehouse has been “getting in gear” later and later in the day. True, they still get everything processed, but now it puts a time crunch on us, since our team is also in charge of entering the orders, so we end up not getting that done because we’re too busy invoicing. The shipping manager insists that we’re exaggerating and it’s not so bad, so I get permission to run a few reports, which my boss takes into the next meeting.

This isn’t counting high-priority or special request orders, of which there are only a couple per day at most.

Monday: 10 orders picked at 12:00 pm, 21 orders picked at 1:00 pm, 29 orders picked at 2:00 pm, 42 orders picked at 3:00 pm. The first label was generated at 3:30 pm.

Tuesday: 8 orders picked at 12:00 pm, 16 orders picked at 1:00 pm, 35 orders picked at 2:00 pm, 47 orders picked at 3:00 pm. The first label was generated at 3:47 pm.

Wednesday: 15 orders picked at 12:00 pm, 31 orders picked at 2:00 pm, 45 orders picked at 3:00 pm, 57 orders picked at 4:00 pm. The first label was generated at 4:07 pm.

Thursday “didn’t count” because we were having system problems in the morning that affected the whole company.

By the time they had the meeting on Friday at 3:00 pm, there were “only” 32 orders picked, and we hadn’t gotten any orders back to invoice.

I wasn’t privy to the conversation, but the muffled shouting of the confrontation between the office manager, the warehouse manager, and the shipping team made its way from the office in the warehouse into the main office for a good fifteen minutes afterward.

Weirdly, the next week, we started getting labels earlier in the day.

During the global health crisis, I worked in a small, family-owned warehouse. The warehouse manager was a gung-ho type who wouldn’t take excuses of any kind for not showing up for work.

Every year from March through July, we were in our busy season. Workers typically worked 6:00 to 4:45, though I worked 6:00 to 5:00.

In April 2021, I came down with the [contagious illness], and a bad case of it. I was completely bedridden, with coughs, fatigue, body aches, and a fever. I called off work, and everything seemed to be okay.

Two days later, however, I was called and asked if I was well enough to come in. I responded that I was not. The warehouse manager then stated that as soon as my quarantine was over — ten days after diagnosis, the following Monday from this call — I was required to come back in.

Monday rolled around, and I was still coughing, fatigued, and running a fever. As required, though, I dragged myself to work. Within an hour and a half of being there, the owner sent me home because I spent too much time coughing and wasn’t fast enough in picking orders due to fatigue.

The next day, the warehouse manager called me and directed me to come in at 5:30 every evening (after everyone was gone) and work on receiving the daily orders from our vendors. Once again, I dragged myself in, worked on what I needed to, went home, and passed out.

After that week was over, I was again expected to come in and work a normal shift. Because I had been pushing myself so hard, though, I wasn’t recovering well at all, and my cough had worsened.

On Tuesday, I couldn’t take it any longer; I went to the doctor. They took a chest x-ray and then sent me home. An hour later, I got a call from the doctor that I needed a CT scan, and I needed it TODAY. They managed to find an opening for one that day close to my home. It turned out that I didn’t have blood clots in my lung as they had suspected but just a very bad case of [illness]-induced pneumonia.

I was given strict orders by the doctor to not go to work until I had recovered. By the time all was said and done, I missed a month of work before I was healthy enough to return.

Seven months later, the warehouse manager came down with a light version of [illness]. He took the full two paid weeks off, stating that he didn’t want to push himself too hard. I still suffer from the “long” version of the illness — limited smell, reduced immune system, lower stamina — all because they pushed me hard to come in.

No, the irony and hypocrisy were not lost on me. I turned in my two-week notice a couple of months later.