This is the most exciting story I've got. This was back in... I want to say 2005? Before the proliferation of smartphones, etc. It's about the time I worked at a gas station/convenience store for one whole day and ended up as a Manager and a District Manager's worst nighThe Managerare.
I'd taken the job not two days before and was told to show up at seven Assistant Manager on a Monday for training. No big deal, right? The Manager certainly seemed stable enough at the time, but I suppose that's what they say about all the crazies.
So. I show up at 7am, bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to get to work. I'm immediately introduced to the Young Lady who's been tasked with training me by The Manager. The Manager spends the first twenty minutes of my shift not training me, but ranting and rambling about how she just worked a double graveyard and how she's bushed, and how this place just sucks her dry... you get the idea. Then she reiterates that Young Lady's going to be with me all day, training me step by step, and is then gone in a puff of smoke. Gone home to get some much-deserved sleep. Leaves her home number on a scrap of paper behind the counter "In Case Of Emergencies Only." Sensible enough.
So we get down to business. Young Lady's shocked that I'm already somewhat register- and computer-literate, and so takes the opportunity to abandon me in the backroom doing a few hours of computer training that I gather is supposed to encompass the entirety of my day. When I finish my computer training, I step out into the main store area to be relieved of duty. Young Lady instead informs me that we're now going to do some hands-on training.
...Weird... but fine... I guess... I mean, I'm not going to scoff at a few extra hours on my paycheck, so whatever. Let's do some hands on work.
The hands-on work goes on for about an hour and a half (bringing my day to about four and a half hours at this point?), until Young Lady pulls me aside and announces, with a beaming shit-eating grin on her face,
Young Lady: You know what? I think, yeah. I think fuck this place.
CIB: Fuck this place?
Young Lady: Yeah, man, fuck it. It's bullshit anyway. Fuck everything. I quit.
CIB: Like in two weeks?
Young Lady: Like, I mean, like now.
With that, she tears off her smock, lights a cigarette, and walks out of the joint, leaving me to mind the store alone. I don't know how to do cash drops, I don't know how to do most of this shit. I've been here for four hours tops.
Young Lady locks the door to the back room, shoves the key underneath the door, and is gone forever.
So, like the nice young man I am, I call The Manager's emergency number. The phone rings and rings and rings for maybe two minutes straight before she finally answers, mid-snore, with a befuddled
The Manager: ...whuzzah?
I promptly explain the situation to her and tell her that I need help. She tells me to hold tight, and that she's going to call her Assistant Manager (Assistant Manager) to come and help.
You know where this is going.
Assistant Manager never comes. I'm waiting for another two hours, and Assistant Manager never shows up. I call The Manager back. Same deal. Two minutes of continuous ringing. She promises something else. Hangs up on me.
We go through this process four more times over the course of two more hours, when the next person on-shift is due to show up anyway. He never shows. Naturally. So I call The Manager until she finally just takes her phone off the hook so I can't call her anymore.
This is the part of the story where I start to freak out.
I have no other numbers. I know no one else who works here.
I am alone. No way to clock out, no way to hide, no way to lock the doors, nothing. Just work. Only work. Forever and ever and ever and ever. I can see that this is how I die, I'm sure of it. I'm in a really shitty, boring version of Final Destination.
At this point, I feel the need to call out the dudes who ran the tattoo shop across the street. They'd been coming in for cokes and energy drinks and such throughout the day, and had taken a keen interest in my well-being. They were pretty "up" on the situation, and kept me reasonably calm throughout the day. They noticed that I was starting to freak out. Asked me what the situation was. I explained.
Just like that, these badasses jump into action: they bring me their phonebook with all the numbers of the other stores in the area circled, and they go to the local taco cart and get me a plate of tacos and a coke "to keep my strength up."
I'm not into dudes, but I considered asking these guys to marry me then and there.
Fueled by tacos and sheer, unadulterated panic, I start making calls. Other stores are shocked by what's happened, but don't have anyone to spare. They've got no one.
One of them gives me the District Manager's home number. Bingo. I explained the situation to him, and listened as he went from perfectly congenial to absolutely terrified. He tells me:
District Manager: I'm coming down there to personally relieve you from your shift...
District Manager: ...but I'm going to need about an hour and a half. Is that okay?
Welcome to my breaking point. I begin to shout and shout and shout.
CIB: No, that is not alright. Tell you what, District Manager - either you get down here in half an hour, or I am going to open the cash registers, the safe, turn the gas pumps on unlimited run and go home. Is that what you want?? FREE GAS AND FREE MONEY FOR EVERYONE WHO COMES INTO THE STORE UNTIL THERE'S NO MORE MONEY! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?!
District Manager: ...I'll be there in twenty minutes.
I now see what has happened: I have officially been taken hostage by this store, and have taken it hostage in return. I am now the crazy person in the situation. I'm the movie bad guy. I'm the one making demands.
But you know what? He got there in fifteen minutes flat.
And you know what? He was very nice, all said and told. He apologized profusely, even helped me actually kick in the locked backroom door so I could clock out all proper-like. It's 10:30pm. Finally.
But then The Manager, in her pajamas, eyes bloodshot and wild, murderous and back from the dead like the last bad guy in Die Hard, comes storming into the store, screaming at District Manager, who had apparently gotten her to answer her phone during his trip over:
The Manager: District Manager, how fucking dare you tell me how to run my store, I swear to fuck you've been telling me what to do fortoo long now and I am telling you for the last time--
District Manager turns to me as The Manager is shrieking, and he says something that makes me start laughing like a psychotic.
District Manager: Go home, CIB. I've got this.
Shit, you don't have to tell me twice, amigo. I'm gone. When I get to the door, finally, he calls after me and says:
District Manager: I really hope this doesn't affect your future with the company.
I never went back.