Many years ago, working at a school, we used a piece of software that all staff had access to. It worked off databases and ‘scripts’; you’d run the script, and it would ask for input and go off and do whatever it was supposed to do, such as print a list of students in your class.

These scripts were limited in who was authorised to use them. There were scripts for teachers, for general staff, for admin, for payroll, etc, and if you didn’t have authority, then you could see the script, but the software wouldn’t let you run it.

Now, one major problem with this software was that all the scripts were visible even if you couldn’t use them, and there were so many that it was often difficult to find the one you needed. So, the software would let you ‘favourite’ a script, and that would place it into a list that only you could see.

Now I had a lot of training on computers, and my specialty was user interfaces and beta-testing software, so when I saw this system my first thought was “OMG, what a clumsy user interface” and then “Mwah-ha-ha. How can I make this crash?”

Much to my surprise, I discovered that you could easily view the code for any script you’d put in your favourite list, even one that you were not authorised to run. No apparent problem, since you still couldn’t run it. BUT, if you then created your own script, which anyone could do, and cut/pasted the code from the forbidden script into it… well, that was a different kettle of fish, and suddenly you were authorised to do pretty much anything, since you could obviously always run scripts you’d created yourself.

So, I went into the payroll scripts, changed my salary to be ten times that of the school principal, and reported the whole process to IT. There were a lot of hurried and late-night meetings, and for a while I was NOT very popular with the management. They really didn’t seem to share my sense of humour.

I do not work on my birthday. Period. I am fifty-two years old and have been working since I turned fifteen (then, the legal age in Australia), and I have NEVER worked on my birthday. Xmas, New Year, Easter – couldn’t give a toss, happy to work, but I. Do. Not. Work. On. My. Birthday.

So, I was working in my twenties in a grocery bakery, and I put in my one-day leave application three months ahead of time (the requirement is four weeks’ notice, so I am WAY ahead of it), and I got verbal approval.

Two weeks before, the manager suddenly took me aside and said:

Manager: “I don’t think I’m going to be able to give you that day off.”

Huh.

Me: *Explaining politely.* “I gave more than the required notice, and that nobody else in the department was scheduled for that day off. I really insist on having that day off.”

We went back and forth for a bit until I eventually put my foot down.

Me: “Gary, I gave you three months’ notice for one day off. You told me yes. Now you’re telling me no. So, instead of having three months’ notice to fill my shift, you now have two weeks’ notice to fill my shift. OR, you can have one hour’s notice to fill my shift, at 4 AM in the morning, when I call in sick on the day. Because I. Will. Not. Be. Here. Your choice, boss.”

I got the day off.

I frequently order groceries online, which are delivered through a third party.

One time, the delivery guy turns up, and starts unloading bags full of nappies, baby formula, etc, NONE of which I ordered, being a mid-fifties spinster with no children.

I politely tell the delivery guy:

Me: “That’s not my order.”

I assume this will be a simple conversation.

Nope.

Cue several minutes of me reiterating that information, that this is NOT my order, that is NOT my name on the bags, and, oh, this order would actually be about three times the value of what I had paid for.

Driver: *Insistent.* “This is the order I collected FOR YOU, and you MUST accept delivery.”

Round and round we went, with me refusing to accept delivery of an incorrect order, and him refusing to put it back in the car to take it back to the shop.

I eventually had to phone the store helpline while he was still at my door, to confirm that MY order was still in the shop, before he begrudgingly agreed to return this other person’s order.

Dude, I get that you are probably earning minimum wage doing deliveries, BUT in the time you spent arguing with me about the error, you could have probably returned the delivery and picked up another job. 

I did eventually get my correct groceries, delivered by a different driver.

Related:
It’s All In The Delivery, Part 7
It’s All In The Delivery, Part 6
It’s All In The Delivery, Part 5
It’s All In The Delivery, Part 4
It’s All In The Delivery, Part 3

A very popular chain of women’s clothing is sadly going out of business, and all of the different branches are having massive “closing down” sales, so my mother and I go to try and get some bargains.

We arrive at one particular store to see the doors down and the lights off. Expecting restricted opening hours due to the shutdown, we find a sign on the door saying that they should be open until 3:45. It’s a little after 3:00 pm.

Surprisingly, I spot a staff member in the store, so I politely knock on the glass, trying to get confirmation on the closing time. The employee very clearly sees me and, with hand gestures, basically tells me to go away. I manage to mouth to her through the glass that the sign says they should be open for at least another half-hour. Her response is a verbal “I KNOW!” and another shooing gesture to get me to go away.

Gee… I wonder why the stores were shutting with customer “service” like that!

I used to work in a petrol station (I believe you call them gas stations in the USA) in an area that was not fantastic for crime rate.

One night, pretty close to closing (nearing 11 PM), I saw a young male running toward my shop. I thought about locking the doors, but I was younger and less doubtful of people back then.

The young man RAN into the store, went quickly toward a certain aisle, grabbed “an item” and ran to my register. He quickly threw a packet of condoms on the counter, followed by some cash. I quickly scanned the condoms, and reached for the cash, but he had already grabbed the (now scanned) condoms from the counter and high-tailed it for the door, while I processed his sale, without issuing him change (it wasn’t much).

If I’d had time, I would have shouted after him:

Me: “Have a great night! I hope they’re still waiting, mate!”

This dude was super invested in returning as quickly as possible, AND ensuring safe sex was taking place, so KUDOS.