Retail Hell Underground

San Antonio McDonald's Manager Post's Worker's Doctor Note On Employee Bulletin Board

Huff Po: An employee working at a San Antonio McDonald's says she was outraged to find her personal medical information posted to a bulletin board in the store's back office.

The employee, identified only as "Anna," told local television station KENS 5 that she suffers from depression, anxiety, liver and lung problems. She explained that she had provided her manager with her doctor's notes to authenticate her illnesses, which had required she take a few hours off. She alleges the manager then put those notes up on the employee bulletin board.

“It just made me want to cry," Anna said. "I didn’t want anyone to know ... I really felt that they stepped into my personal space to basically let anybody know that I needed medical treatments."

San Antonio McDonald's Operator Celia Jairala said, "McDonald's has the utmost respect for our employees and their privacy," but declined to discuss further details.

Anna filed a complaint with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission and has consulted with an attorney. She claims that her manager's actions were in clear violation of her privacy and federal health laws.

Justine Lisser, a spokeswoman for the EEOC, would not comment specifically on Anna's case. However, Lisser said it's possible that Anna is referring to the Americans with Disabilities Act, which protects employees or job applicants from unfavorable treatment because of their disability. It also has a "very strong confidentiality provision," Lisser said.

It's also possible that Anna is invoking the Genetic Information Nondiscrimination Act, which among other things prohibits employers from considering an individual's genetic information when making hiring, firing, job placement or promotion decisions. It's unclear if Anna's employer did so.

Lisser noted that a large number of complaints received by the EEOC involve disabilities that are psychiatric in nature, including depression. In 2012, 402 charges with favorable outcomes or meritorious allegations involved depression, accounting for nearly 7 percent of all disability charges that year.

"Certainly, there is a stigma against some psychiatric illnesses that may not be present for other things," Lisser said.

via www.huffingtonpost.com

Coworker Hell At Fast Food Restaurant Is Getting To Be Too Much

Hey guys, it's FrySlave again, you can call me Burger Boy or Fry Slave or whatever the fuck you want.

Still working at the same old place, and compared to what a lot of you guys post, my problems are slightly more insignificant. However, it's starting to piss me the fuck off.

I started my job as a cook in February, one month after my birthday. So, a month or two pass with me working about 2-3 days a week from 5 PM to 8-9 PM. A few hours a week. Usually eight. That changed, really fast. Within the last three weeks, we had Douche Manager, or, DM quit. While he was the one who got me the job, he was a complete dick with no regard for fucking health or safety. I have semi-long black hair that I keep in a pony-tail and under a hat. He had long brown hair, no pony tail, or hat. If any cleaning had to be done, it fell onto us to do it.

He'd tell us what to do and yell at us if we weren't doing it right. While I realize that a Manager is important, this guy was not. Not in the slightest.

Moving on to DFC, AKA Dumb Fucking Cook. This moron, I swear to god, I am so glad he was fired. Back when I was working short hours, three weeks ago, I'd come in early, like I always do so I can get a head start on prep work, since day shift doesn't do jack shit for prep anymore, I'd end up spending half an hour to an hour cleaning the entire fucking kitchen after this prick worked.

Bags everywhere. I mean, everywhere. Behind the grill, vats, in the fucking dressing station and fry dumps. We had raw thawed popcorn chicken on the floors. The dressing station was trashed. Lettuce and onion and pickles everywhere, which is a big no-no by the way. I'm OCD, so leaving a mess like this reallly reaaaaaaaaaallyyy pissed me the fuck off.

I'd take everything out and throw it away. I can't serve that anymore, as some people are allergic to certain produce. He then proceeded to call my favorite manager a c**t. Which, honestly is bullshit. I get there one day, go into the kitchen to survey the damage. Wasn't too bad, a few bags here and there, the usual. Oh, was I wrong. I get to the bun toaster and the bun toaster station. And what do I see? Lettuce and onion, which happens even for me and I can admit that, but I do clean it off.

That wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the dead fucking bugs on the goddamned table. It was shitty.

He was fired for a no call no show last week.

Moving on to fucktard of a cook. Or FTC. This guy, got a job at the country club in town.

He'll be fired within two months. Whenever I worked with him, and we'd get five or so small orders. Not big ones. Small ones containing usually a burger or two and a fry or tots. I'd hear "FUCK THESE CUSTOMERS THEY CAN GO THE FUCK TO MCHELLS". It irritated me.

When he got his job at the country club, I was quite happy. It meant more hours for me, and I wouldn't have to put up with him anymore.

Well, the night shift fell onto me and my friend Baker, we ran the kitchen smooth. He'd close.

One day, FTC came in, being his birthday we all said happy birthday and shit like that.

He drew a penis on the walk-in freezer. Grabbed a thing of syrup and poured it on our box of bacon as we had bacon cooking because we needed some, and left. Fired last week as well for the same thing as DFC.

Baker was kicked out of his house last week, and had to move an hour or so away. He no longer works there, and closings have fallen onto me.

I am sixteen, and I'm supposed to be part time. I was happy with getting 8-9 hours a week, happier with 10-15. Now I work anywhere between 36-40 a week. I'm usually alone in the kitchen, especially at 8:00 PM.

Our dinner rush was at six at one point in time, then we had a promo start for half-off shakes at 8:00. Now, me being me, figured it couldn't be too bad. I had so many orders, there were some orders off of the screen. This is what I deal with every night.

However, I do my job, and I do it right. The latest I have ever had an order go out was ten minutes.

Those are the fuckwads I've had to deal with. I'm now closing cook, and honestly I get pissed off more and more and more each time I go in. I haven't yelled at anyone, I usually don't. I'm calm and collected, but things better fucking change or I'm going to go to the GM.

I have someone who's a complete bitch working nights now. This isn't a first impression, and I wish it was, but I've known this girl for a few years. She's a bitch, and she knows it.

I have a co-worker who claims I owe him $150 for a snake I said I couldn't get with him.

The only good parts of my day is when one of my favorite workers, we'll call her Sally, on account of her Nightmare Before Christmas tattoo.

She'll come in, and we'll work. She's as dorky as I am, and I love it.

That's all I have to rant about today RHU, I hope you guys are having better days, and I hope my days get better soon.

--Fry Slave/Burger Boy.

Ballpark Concession Stories: Asshat Manager, and Coworker Fun

Hey all! I don't know if the name is taken or not but lets call me Retail Hell Hound for now... My fiance and I have been reading RHU for a few months now and I figured I'd share a few stories with you guys. I'm currently working at a very well known who store, but I've worked in a grocery store as well as a baseball park doing concessions management and catering (these last 2 I did for about 5 years before going to the shoe store).

The first two stories I actually wanna share are from the ball park.

This first one is about a stupid manager. So I've been working at the park now for 3 years going on 4 when a new company takes over the picnic catering side of my job at the park (this isn't really new, seeing as it changes almost every year) and this time when this happens the new company sends in a guy to manage the catering stuff over me as well as the restaurant that's attached to our park.

Well, left and right all summer long this guy has been telling me to change things left and right and getting mad at me because I refuse to do it and train all of my stand staff to do things another way and we're constantly in arguments about the fact that 98% of the things he was wanting me to change would go against health code and get me in some serious trouble if the inspector came to the park on a picnic day.

Well one of the days we're catering a rather large picnic the big boss of the company that's running the catering for the year comes to the park and stops by each of the catering areas and my manager decides he's gonna try and get me in some big trouble and pull one of these arguments right in front of the big man.

Manager - "I thought I told you to out the coleslaw and pasta salad in one of the clear plastic bowls and just put it on the tables, it looks much nicer. I'm tired of having these arguments with you."

Me - "Well, it's what 98 degrees outside, and both of these are supposed to be cold foods. If I put them in the plastic bowls instead of an iced down chaffer, then not only will they go bad faster and we have to change them more often to keep people from getting sick, but if the health inspector shows up we would fail because we're required to have all of our cold food items on ice and at a certain temp."

At this point I'm basically just responding not even paying attention to who else he brought into my stand and trying to keep the picnic going because it was over 500 people and when the idiot starts to respond his boss cuts him off; "Shut the hell up! She obviously knows what she's doing and knows that sometimes you have to go with what doesn't look as nice to stay in regulations, unlike you."

He then proceeds to walk in shake my hand and tell me I'm doing an excellent job. Later that night the man who owns our stadium comes up to me and tells me that I got my manager fired as soon as they left my stand.

-------------------------

The second story from the ball park also deals with managers but it's much funnier and laid back and actually a pretty good story.

I was talking to the manager of stand 2 (who by the way is a pretty big, tall, well built guy; one you wouldn't expect to startle easily. About an hour or two before our gates are supposed to open, one of his cooks comes out and says that there is a dead mouse in the bottom of the warmer. So we go in to take a look, and I just stayed by the door trying to keep out of the heat, and he opens the top door figuring he'd just look down into it to see what to do.

As soon as he opens the door one of the little short skinny cashiers that works in his stand jumps up and partially out of the warmer. He screams and trips over the chair that was sitting behind him. Now we all got a huge laugh out of this but for the next hour before they had to turn the warmer on they went around getting higher ups to come look at this "dead mouse" in the warmer and scared every one of them even the owner of our stadium.

--Retail Hell Hound

Entitled Coworker Rants About Hours, Has No Need For "Availability"

Holy shit on a stick, RHU!! When will the undeserved entitlement end?!

This rant doesn't specifically involve me, but the unleashing of nearly incomprehensible geriatric entitlement rage I overheard made me want to drop-kick this grandpa into the seventh layer of Hell. But before I get into this and possibly have a coronary, let me ask some rhetorical question.

Ya know when you have a part-time job, you are scheduled based on your availability? And when you are scheduled, sometimes you say "God damn, this shift is in a weird stretch in the day, but fuck I need money...?" Do you complain about it? Possibly. To the manager? Oh fuckin' HELL NO.

This brings me to Stanky. Stanky is retired, but works part-time in the deli for "play money" (TANGENT: WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK. PLAY MONEY. ARE YOU FOR SERIOUS?). He's been working in the deli for about, oh, ten years or so. Most of us part-timers work about 30 or so hours a week, and Bossman (Bosslady is FINALLY on maternity leave) has been keeping everyone scheduled around the same shifts every week (for example I've been opening nearly every shift for the past month or so, same people come in mid morning, then noon, then closers come in at 4). No one seems to have a problem with having a semi-set schedule...but I've digressed yet again.

So, this morning, I am doin' my thang in the backroom, chopping up a ridiculous amount of rotisserie chickens for chicken salad as I do every day. Bossman has taken Stanky aside to discuss something or other, when all of a sudden Stanky launches into this ridiculous rant about how only "the girls" are getting morning shifts and how he's getting screwed with his hours. Half the things he said were completely untrue, naming off people that are NEVER here in the morning, and getting screwed on hours when he gets the max a part-timer can get, and of course laying down the "Oh I've been here longer than EVERYBODY!!!"

He was practically screaming at Bossman, who was calmly trying to explain why hours were set the way they were, who was here in the mornings and why. He even asked Stanky to write down his availability, to which he replied, "I'm retired, there's no such thing as availability!" Eventually Stanky lost steam, fucking gave up, and actually went back to what he should have been doing for the past twenty minutes which was fucking WORKING.

FUCKING EXCUSE ME FOR JUST A SECOND.

This fucking cuntrag thinks that because he's fucking old and been in the deli the longest out of anyone that he gets to just snap his fingers and work when he fucking wants to. I'm not even sorry when I say this, but THE MANAGER WRITES THE FUCKING SCHEDULE. And he makes a damn good one too, using everyone's capabilities to the advantage at certain times of day. Some people are awesome with set-up and prep (OH HAI THAT'S ME) while others were born to be on the counter for their whole shift. This guy is a whole lot of FUCKING NOT USEFUL. He takes forever to do prep-work, he's constantly rude to customers, he's slow with customers (when there are 30 people in line you HURRY THE FUCK UP) and he's quick to bitch and moan about pretty much nothing.

So this asshole fucking SUCKS, and he doesn't like when he works. Go cry me a fucking river. I fucking HATE waking up at 5:30 every single day (4:30 on Sundays!! yipeeee), but do I ever complain about it? Not really. Hmm, wonder why? BECAUSE I'M FUCKING POOR AS SHIT. I really love working in the deli, and every single day I work as much as I can as hard as I can in hopes that fucking soon I will be offered a full-time position.

There are things I do complain about, but almost everything I have a problem with is a rule that isn't followed by imbeciles that can't just fucking do what they're told. So basically, I come in, do EVERYTHING that's required of me, and more, AND plaster my retail slave smile of doom on my face and don my cheery, sing-songy voice and treat every customer like royalty, because that's what I'm getting paid for.

And Stanky thinks he can be a shitty worker AND bitch about hours he doesn't like. To him I give my double flip-off salute and a giant FUCK YOU.

--Miss Minion

A Lamentation To A Former Manager

Dear former manager,

Oh why, oh why did you have to retire? Do you know the chaos you've left behind?

Since you've been gone we've had at least three cases of no show/no call by various people.

The staff is slacking off in things. Remember how I spent time organizing the back issues of the news papers, making sure there was a place for each? Labeling the shelves? Yeah, people are just sticking them wherever the heck they want. The Korean newspaper in with the local. The Washington Post in with the local business paper. And so on. I don't think anyone's doing their shelf reading. Sometimes one of us will be left to handle everything at the desk while someone else will be in the office playing on their computer or on their phone.

I could not for the life of me get any information as to where we buy snacks for programs and I want to get some for my Read To A Therapy Dog program. All I got was a shrug and "The Friends buy them." And no one knows who the new buyer is, by the way.

Oh, I went to the Friends, by the way, to see if they knew where the snacks are bought. I had to explain the program to one of the ladies there. Who later came in and went on for close to a half hour about how she didn't want dogs at the library. Asking why the kids couldn't read to puppets instead. How she didn't like dogs. How some woman got killed by pit bulls recently. How the kids were going to get bit. She would not listen to how these are trained service/therapy dogs and aren't going to bite. Of course she also kept saying how she had no say and couldn't stop me, but I really shouldn't have this program. She just refused to listen to reason.

Remember my first dog program? The one to be presented by the ASPCA? Remember how we were going to get a donation for the ASPCA from the Friends for it? The temporary manager forgot to ask for it. Thankfully I did a bit of scrambling and they came through anyway. Last minute.

No one really communicates. I keep trying to talk to the librarians to get some information and help but they're all over the place. Yeah, they're scrambling to get ready for Summer Reading but all I wanted was to get a designated spot for the paperwork for the program.

Couldn't you have waited until after this summer to retire? I miss you. It's just not the tight ship you used to run.

~The Singing Library Clerk

PS I know, you believe work stuff should not be talked about outside work. But we all need to vent from time to time and since I rarely drink and don't have a stereotypical bartender to bitch to....

Without Nametag's Big Goodbye To Baker Bitch

Hey RHU. I keep reading "When the hell is this bitch getting fired?" in my Baker Bitch story comments, so here it is: Without Nametag's Big Goodbye.

Recap: More than a decade ago, I worked with this idiot who thought she was God's Gift to Pastry, but she was just some bitch who didn't know how to bake, and always thought she was right. She would make stupid mistakes, which I would clean up later, and she caused a ruckus when she made vegan cheesecake for a large banquet and didn't tell anyone that she had switched the recipe. I stopped trusting her completely when she stole company time and supplies to personally cater her friend's event, then "invited" me to said party just to use me for free labor before essentially stranding me in a bad neighborhood in the middle of the night. She did not get fired when I reported this last occurrence to the head chef of the restaurant where we worked.

So I spent several more agonizing months in Baker Bitch's company. As I've said, it was just the two of us in a really tiny work space. She continued to make dumb mistakes, and I continued to clean them up. I don't think any of the staff liked or trusted her at this point, and I got a bit of sympathy from them, especially because Baker Bitch liked to put me down in front of others, but say it in a way that was cheerful, or made it sound like she was just stating facts. She was also a far cry from Awesome Bakery Manager, her predecessor.

I avoided her like the plague, which is difficult to do in a galley kitchen. I would go home to my boyfriend and cry about the awful things she would say and do to me. She had turned a job that I loved into a nightmare. I dreaded getting up and going in to work on the days when our schedules overlapped. I did my job quickly and efficiently, trying not to talk to her.

Baker Bitch continued to piss people off and try to tweak things to fit her own taste. She added vegan items to the Sunday buffet (adding a label, thank Thrognar), changed tried and true recipes for no reason, and kept trying to take Peanut Butter Mousse Pie off the menu because she didn't like it, despite the fact that it was a favorite dessert both in the restaurant and the banquet halls.

It was during the tweakings that I finally lost it with her. I have a LOT of patience for stupid people, but she had been picking at me for 9 months or so now, and I was really at the end of my rope.

There was a problem with the restaurant's tiramisu: because of it's delicate nature, what didn't get sold right away would weep in the pan and fall apart. I suggested making smaller pans of it more often, so that it was fresher and would retain it's shape better when served. Baker Bitch disagreed. She didn't want to make it more often.

She found a needlessly complicated recipe for tiramisu that called for adding gelatin to the cheese/cream spread. Because this was clear, tasteless commercial gelatin, it needed to "bloom" first, meaning that it has to be prepared in a certain way, then added to the spread. I couldn't get the stupid mix right, and had spent quite a bit of time that day standing in front of the mixer, trying to get this hideous recipe to work. Baker Bitch came up behind me, pretty much talked shit about me to my face, then put a hand on my shoulder and said cheerfully, "I'm just trying to help!"

Yeah, fuck you, bitch.

There are certain phrases that I had never bought into until they happened to me. "Burst into tears" was one of those. In this case, it was "shuddered involuntarily". A shudder ran down my spine when she touched me. Thinking back, I think it was the physical response I had to holding in my verbal retort, and the urge to turn and hit her.

I plowed on with her stupid gelatin thing, but it wasn't working out. I think the ratio of gelatin to water was off. Baker Bitch started in on me again, and I sighed, and turned to scrape the ruined gelatin into the trash can to start over, thinking to myself that I hated her and this dumb, complicated recipe, and that it would be so much easier to just make smaller pans of tiramisu rather than go to the extra trouble.

"Wait! What are you doing?" she shrieked. "That's good gelatin! You're wasting that! Why don't you know what the hell you're doing?"

I'm a fucking Vulcan, RHUers. Calm and collected and quiet at all times. If I lose my shit, your life is about to suck.

I slammed the heavy glass measuring cup down on the counter and barked, "Why don't YOU know what the hell you're doing? Oh wait - I know! It's because you can't bake for shit! You have no idea what you're doing! You try to sneak in vegan items and fuck up the menus and mess up the simplest of projects, and I get stuck cleaning up your mess! People hate you here! You're rude and unpleasant, and to top it all off, YOU STEAL FROM THE RESTAURANT TO CATER YOUR FRIENDS' DRUG PARTIES! You make me sick!"

I was screaming now, advancing on her. It was Sunday afternoon, and the dining room was packed with people at brunch, with a full compliment of line cooks and wait staff. I didn't bother to keep my voice down. I wanted people to know what she had done. I could hear chefs behind me, making things for the brunch line. I could feel their eyes on the back of my head as I shouted out loud all of the things that they had suspected about Baker Bitch.

When I was finished, she growled, "I think you should go home", just as I shouted "I shouldn't have to take your shit anymore - I quit!" And I left.

I went home and sobbed. I had just quit a job that I had loved in order to get away from that toxic bitch. I called HR and cried that I didn't want to leave, that I just had to get away from her, but they told me that whether she had told me to go home or not was immaterial: I had left, and that was considered job abandonment. I asked for a meeting the following day with the HR manager and the manager of the restaurant and banquet halls. I told them how awful it was working with her, how I dreaded our shifts together, and how she had been stealing from the restaurant to cater her friends' parties. I mentioned that I had already talked to the head chef and second in command, but they had done nothing. The restaurant manager was stunned. This was the first he had heard about it.

So I moved on. I got another job that I liked less, but that paid about the same. A few months later, I went back to the restaurant to collect some things that I left behind. I went later in the afternoon to avoid running into her.

There was a new guy working the bar, and I casually asked about Baker Bitch on my way out.

"Baker Bitch?" he asked. "Oh, yeah, I guess I remember her. You say you left around (date)? Yeah, they asked her to leave about a month after that. Seems she was spending too much time working on her own projects and not working on the restaurant's projects."

That's it. I put a bug in the hire-up's ear, and they started watching her more closely. She probably fucked up and stole more stuff to cater her friends' events, and got caught.

The end. Satisfied? Me neither. Do you guys know How It Should Have Ended? They take movies and postulate new endings, then animate them. Here is my HISHE for Baker Bitch:

Me: (to head chef) Sir, Baker Bitch spent this weekend stealing supplies and time to cater her friend's party. Also, for months now, she's been screwing up tasks and altering the menu for no reason, and I've been fixing her messes.

Head Chef: Baker Bitch, come into my office.

BB: Why?

HC: Because you're fucking fired. Without Nametag, I'm giving you a raise and promoting you to Bakery Manager, even though you've only been here a year and a half. Clearly, you already know how to do the job, as you've been doing both. Thanks for being a loyal employee and bringing this ineptitude to our attention. Baker Bitch, the screen door: don't let it hit your ass on the way out.

Baker Bitch goes on to other jobs, but because she can't bake for shit and there is no one there to cover for her, she loses those jobs quickly. Eventually, word gets around that she is not a good hire, and she never fulfills her dream of starting her own catering company, and she moves out of state.

Amy and Samy Bouzaglo of Amy's Baking Company, tired of catching shit for reselling their baked goods, hire Baker Bitch to make them. Unfortunately, BB's baked goods still suck, and she pulls out the stunt where she tries to pass off vegan items as non-vegan.

Someone with severe soy allergies eats her secretly-vegan cheesecake and dies. The family sues ABC. Enraged, Amy and Samy kill Baker Bitch in the alley behind the restaurant and dump her body in a shallow grave in the Arizona desert. She descends into the tenth level of Dante's Inferno, where she is bound to a giant rock and force-fed cornstarch cheesecake until she vomits. Then she's fed more cheesecake.

At least I got to scream at her,

--Without Nametag

Craft Store Custys And Crustys Add To Retail Hell

Hello! ArtsyCraftySlave here. I work in a lovely place that rhymes with BC Gore. Now, when I first applied to work for this place, I told my boyfriend "I really hope I don't have a bitch manager."

He said, "It's a craft store, everyone is nice!"

THE HELL THEY ARE! Now, onto my stories:

Some 411: We were, at the time, having a sale on spring/summer flowers, they were buy one get one free. The way our computer does that is takes the item price which is originally $6.99, but the computer changes it to $6.98, and they will all ring up like that until you hit total, then it divides $6.98 in half, and charges you $3.49 for each flower, so essentially, you don't get anything for free. This isn't necessarily relevant to this story, but it will be later.

This lady, who shall be called Two Face, because she was real sweet and nice one second, then fucking flipped on me in another second.

So, I'm ringing up her Gold Leaf packet, which was $9.99. Then she had 4 sets of the buy one get one flowers. I accidentally rang up one too many, so, she was charged for 5. she had a coupon of 40 or 50% off one item. I totaled it and told her the amount, and she furrowed her brow and said 'Why is it so much?"

Well, you got the gold leaf and your coupon took $-.-- off, and then your flowers were buy one get one free, so...

She swiped her card and then the receipt printed, and I always say in a rather cheery voice "Here ya go, have a nice day!"

She took it too swiftly from my hand to just be taking it; she was out for blood as to why she had to pay so much. She threw her receipt down and said, "WHY is it SO much?"

When I was looking it over, I noticed I charged her one too many. Here's the conversation:

Two Face: God, this is stupid.

ME: Do you need this receipt back? [I had to do a return for the one she was charged]

Two Face: Of course I need MY receipt back!

ME: Then I'll need to see your Driver's License.

Two Face: (she violently reaches into her purse for her wallet, bitching constantly) I don't see why *I* have to give you MY ID for something that was your mistake. God.

ME: I'm sorry, it's just store policy. (I type all her information in)

Two Face: It's stupid that I have to give you my information because of your screw up! This isn't a hard job!

ME: (getting a harder tone now) I said I was sorry.

Two Face: You don't need my ID anymore.

She reached over onto my register and took her ID back and violently put it back in her purse and closed it.

ME: You paid with your card, so, your going to have to slide it again to get the credit.

Two Face: (slides her card without a word)

ME: Alright, there ya go. (hands her receipt)

Two Face: (in a genuinely sweet tone) Thank you! You're so sweet for doing that for me!

Really? Seriously? You stood there and bitched me out over $6.98, made me feel like a fucking imbecile and then you totally flip and act all sweet? WTF?

-------------------------

Last year or so, We had a deal on Scrapbook paper, buy two get one free. Same deal as before. Now, we have a deal with our member's card that if you spend enough money in there, you get a $10 certificate sent to you that you can spend on anything, on any amount, and if you do it right, you can even get your purchase for free.

This lady will be called Paper Lady, for short.

Paper Lady got two packs of paper that were $3.99, and then she got another pack that was 4.49, I believe. The point is that they were not the same price. I ring up Paper Lady and she hands me her $10 gift certificate, which I scan. Then she owes me like $1.40.

The whole time she's turned her eyebrows in and looking from her wallet to the little credit/debit machine that tells you the prices/total. She reluctantly hands me the money. After she leaves, I get a few more customers. she comes back in, here is the convo that followed:

ME: Is there something wrong?

Paper Lady Yes, I don't see why it came out to be that total. I shouldn't have had to pay that much.

ME: Let's see here, (I whip out the ad by my register) we have a sale going on, buy two get one free. It made each of your packages of paper $-.--. But the way our register does it, your $10 rewards certificate came off first, then the scrapbook deal did it's thing.

Paper Lady: I just don't see why I had to pay so much.

ME: (I explain again, but changing it so maybe she will get it.)

Paper Lady: (Pauses for about a minute) I'm sorry. I just don't see why I had to pay so much.

ME: (I'm getting fed up, I call the manager, who happens to be a complete doormat/push over. Her mentality is just make them happy and get them out of the store. I wait for her to arrive, explain the situation. PushoverMOD grabs the calculator and does the figures.)

PushoverMOD: It's right, that's the way our register's do that, there's nothing we can do to change that.

Paper Lady: I'm sorry. I just don't see why it is that much. it looks like I wouldn't have had to pay that much if I hadn't used the $10 certificate.

PushoverMOD: Alright. Open your drawer.

ME: Why?

PushoverMOD: Just open it. You're going to do a return.

ME: (I open my drawer)

PushoverMOD: Now give her the $1.45 back.

ME: WHY?

PushoverMOD: Just do it.

ME: (On the verge of tears, because I am PISSED. No way is that right.) I have NO IDEA what YOU are doing. (I hand the lady her money.)

Later, PushoverMOD tells me, "I just wanted to make her happy and get her out of the store."

She then asked me if I needed to go to the back, and I did. I was livid. I get so fucking sick and tired of a customer just throwing a fucking fit and getting whatever the hell they want.

-------------------------

Last story, I promise.

This lady comes to my line, and she has several frames she's returning. FrameLady is what we'll call her.

FrameLady: I need to return these frames.

ME: Do you have your receipt?

FrameLady: Yes. I am returning them because every frame I have bought from here has a scratch or nick on it. like here and here. (points at them, obviously)

ME: (I go through the whole 'do u need ur receipt back, yada yada.' She goes to get the frames she wants.

FrameLady: here, but can I inspect them first. let me see your scissors.

ME: I'll have to do it, I could get in trouble if I give you the scissors. (Not true, I just didn't think it was polite to just demand my scissors. She goes to snatch the scissors from me, and I jab a little too hard, and it slightly touches the frame.)

FrameLady: *gasp* WHY DID YOU DO THAT? *nervous/pissed laugh* NOW EVERY FRAME IS MESSED UP! THERE ISN'T ANOTHER GOLD FRAME! I HAVE AN ART SHOW TOMORROW, AND NOW THE FRAMES WILL BE MESSED UP! YOU CAN'T HAVE SCRATCHED FRAMES AROUND ART WORK!

ME: I'm sorry, but I don't see a scratch.

FrameLady: I can't believe you did that! I am never buying frames here again.

Of course, a week later, I saw here in there again, and several times since then.

The whole time, I'm thinking, "It's about the art work, not the frame..."

Alright, I'm done ranting.

--ArtsyCraftySlave

RHUer With A Question: Hostile Work Enviornment

Umm...Hello everyone. This is my first time submitting to RHU...so I guess you can call me Shrinking Violet. Sometimes I can get very shy and quiet, so it is a good thing that my social skills have improved during the 6 months I have been working at a grocery store as a bagger or 'courtesy clerk' if you want to be all fancy pantsy about it.

It's a pretty nice place if I do say so myself; we have an AMAZING bakery with desserts that are usually worth the higher price and the deli food is also top notch in my opinion. I digress though, so let's get to why I'm writing in.

I am suffering a little bit of a coworker drama situation at work, and what makes it worse is that one of the coworkers involved is my younger brother. Let's call him Big Friendly Giant or BFG for short, since he is a huge softy despite being taller than me.

Now for some reason, BFG has some sort of issue with our coworker Van Hellsing (so named because he once showed me a wooden stake and told me it was to keep him safe from vampires). Before I started working there the two of them had been friends...but then Van Hellsing started dating another one of our other coworkers, (a girl named Fishy who also happens to be one of BFG's best friends and a possible crush of his) and I guess everything went to hell from there.

Every encounter between them seems to be hostile in some sort of way, even to the point where they would involve managers and even me... It has gotten to the point that I had to beg Van Hellsing to be nice to my brother despite how the latter treats him, because I want to avoid a hostile work environment.

So my question is, how the hell do I handle this?!?

--Shrinking Violet

Newbie Panty Chic Gets Ripped Into By Asshat Manager, Custys Defend Her And File Complaints

Panty Chic with another story for you. This story has to do with The Gasp. My first job ever. So, as other retail slaves, I'm sure you know that includes of a lot if confusion about how things work, and a lot of shy-ness toward management. It did in my case anyway.

This is actually a Custy celebration story. I had a seasonal job at the Gasp. I worked at the front mainly, as a greeter.

On this particular day we were only a few days away from Christmas. I was never concerned with refolding or any of that. At the Gasp, our breaks were typically posted on our schedule. So it was up to us to keep track of when our break time was and to inform the manager on duty.

This particular hectic day I became engrossed in customer service and missed my break. My manager pulled me from the front of the store to the shoe section. The shoe section was right next to the cashwrap. I had no idea what was going on, but the manager began screaming at me about "keeping my schedule." Apparently I had missed my proper break time, and now, I had to be let go 15 minutes early. I didn't realize this, I was new, and to be honest, I didn't even know I had a right to a break.

Since I didn't have to clock out, I thought I could work right through with no issue. While I stood there, all young and scared with a man screaming at me about not taking break the entire customer line started watching. I was no embarrassed, because I thought I did something wrong and I was getting more and more red.

At this point a woman who was no less than 80 stepped out of the line and threw her purchase down. She ripped into my manager like I had never seen before this day. She informed me that if this is how he chooses to treat his employees she has no interest shopping in his store.

She immediately stormed out. At least 4 other Custy's followed her out the door. I still had no idea what was going on. In my mind I didn't keep my schedule and I didn't take my break. However, the Custy's shoved it down his throat and made complaints all the same. Their complaints didn't stop in store either. Multiple complaints were made to Corporate.

I was beyond impressed. While my tenure at the Gasp didn't last long - neither did my managers.

--Panty Chic

Canadia Gets Screwed By Boss From Hell

Hello fellow RHUer's Canadia here, I really wish I came today in good spirits but sadly it's the second day in a row I've woken up in tears over the thought over how me and my family are going to get through. It seems yet again I've been stabbed in the back with a horrific boss from my past.

I worked for a company known as CCI. It's a research facility, long story short. I read my contract while I signed for employment, and I was supposed to be employed for a few months. Those few months were actually 2 weeks. At the end of February they told us that our department was finished for the year, and [2 days later] would be an optional last day. We didn't have to come in. There would be a few positions available to work in different departments, and if you wanted to see if you could get in they would look over your resume but there was no guarantee.

So I approached this logically; I had no seniority so I assumed the jobs would go to someone that's been there longer. At the time my dad was in fair health so we still had 2 incomes coming in. There was also about 15 of us, so with this information and my understanding. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, I was laid off on probably 2 days notice. It was asked out loud if it would be the final day and our supervisor nodded yes. This was straight from our Manager who she double checked with.

I came in Monday to see if there were any odd jobs I could do, they had guaranteed us 3 hours of work. When I got there there was 9 people there. At the time I had been told that I had to work a minimum of 3 hours to be paid. So when I saw everyone there I made the decision to see how I would pick up my final paycheck instead of taking away my coworkers hours and looking for employment elsewhere. When I went in to ask when I should come in for my final paycheck and ROE (calmly) she talked to my like I was being Irate. Quiet little old me tearing a strip out of her by saying;

"Excuse me [manager] do you have a moment?" and "I know that today's the last day for our employment, I was hoping you might be able to tell me when I could come in to pick up my final check?" What can I say I'm a monster.

She told me they'd call me to come and get it, and they could probably find some work for me to do for 3 hours but because of the amount of extra it might not be possible. I assumed I'd be doing something other than what the 9 other people were doing. My Supervisor came in and said we have a couple hours work, so 3 if I'm lucky and counting on no one else showed up. It was what I suspected, and it was an optional last day. So I explained I'd give my coworkers the extra hours and left the building.

Not even a few hours later I received an e-mail from my ex manager that said; "I understand that you no longer wish to work here. You refused work this AM I'll notify our employment office."

To me this makes it seem like I was fired not quit. This poked at me a few times because 1. You said it was an optional day. 2. I wasn't sure if I would have had 3 hours of work to do and 3. You told us there would be no work.

So I message her back explaining I was under the impression the project was finished and asked if I had misunderstood? Followed by I thought that I had been laid off. So instead of taking my coworkers hours away I chose to invest that time finding another job. She said yes there's no more work, and it took a month for them to even get my ROE ready!

I found a job at Burger Joint and well you guys know what happened there so when I was fired there I signed up for Employment Insurance to give me some money to keep me going. The Government of Canada however, refused my claim because according to CCI Research I quit, and my side of the story didn't even matter to the rep I was talking to. He saw the e-mails I sent her, heard how they only gave me 2 days notice before saying we were unemployed. It's like they purposely made it look like I quit instead of owning up to just laying off an entire department. To make matters worse, and this is according to the government. Moving up North with my then fiance and then moving back to spend whatever amount of time I have left with my dad who is dying is not a just cause to quit a job. Wouldn't have mattered if my dad wasn't sick because also according to the government, breaking up and moving home because I wouldn't have been able to support myself is not a just cause to quit a job. Said job was 4 1/2 hours away and is minimum wage I also don't drive. There is no way in hell I'd be commuting on the Greyhound bus.

I've lost faith in my government, one year ago today on June 6th I basically ruined my life by accepting the love of my life's marriage proposal. While there are cases of people probably actually milking the system for money; I sit here with my life in ruin with no support from my own government because of Bosses from Hell like her.

-- Canadia

How Creeper Got His Name: No Surprises Here...

I suddenly remembered that I had promised to tell why I call my ASM Creeper.

The frame shop in our store is an unofficial safe haven. It's where employees and managers alike come to hide and vent for a minute before heading back out to the floor, especially if they've had a particularly cranky crusty or another coworker is bothering them. This means the framers know EVERYTHING that goes on in the store. The SM doesn't ask because he knows that if we hear something that's really a problem (that he can do something about), we'll give him a casual heads up, but otherwise, it just helps keep most of the employees sane.

One of Creeper's first days, my framing manager (who I really should give a name... Brave. Red hair, spunky attitude) has one of the cashiers come into the frame shop looking severely skeezed out. I'll call the cashier Barbie, because if Barbie came in a 65+ year old version, it would probably look like her.

Brave: Hey Barbie!

Barbie: Brave, does GILF mean what I think it means? I was assuming it was MILF, only with Grandma instead of Mom.

Brave: Well, that's what I know it as. Where did you hear that term?

Barbie: Creeper and I were talking about friendly, slightly personal stuff and said that I 'really was a GILF' before wandering off to work. I'm creeped out, but I wanted to be sure it meant what I thought before I blew anything out of proportion.

Now, I was a theater kid for a long time, so I have a dirty mind, but know when to enact the filter. At this point, whenever Creeper gets that look in his eye where everyone knows he's going to say something inappropriate given a little time, they send him back to me. Why? Because his little stuff doesn't intimidate or overly wig me out and I can usually say something that just flabbergasts him, gets him to leave everyone alone and go back to work. Example from while Brave and I were laughing about how tiny I am, and especially how tiny my hands are, when Creeper walks in with 'the look'.

Creeper: You know what they say about people with small hands?

Me: Make any man look and feel bigger?

Creeper: *pause* *LAUGH* *wanders out again back to work*

Should I have to provide this vital service? No. Will I continue to? Yes, because I know the level of documentation we'd need to unseat Creeper is massive (though I've been taking notes about what I've heard/experienced) and everyone is scared about him destroying their schedules in the meantime if he found out about it. I wish I could dub him King Creeper, but he's not the worst I've experienced, which I'm pretty sure is a sad comment on my experiences.

Anyway, may all your coworkers and custies be appropriate.

--Framed

Oblivious Custys And Asshole Coworker: Temp Nova Shares Both

Temp Nova back again! I am free from store opening hell. According to Snow Witch Manager (She looked like Snow White, acted like the Wicked Stepmother), I was being too productive. I finished two days of work within six hours.

I have a thing about problem solving that I learned when I went to a charter school. They taught the idea you must find the quickest solution in your own style, attack the problem, and then conquer it. I applied it to my job, which caused Snow Witch to run out of things for me to do.

Alas, this story is not about Snow Witch's wickedness, but some custies who thought we were open and Short Name. First, the custies.

It seems everyone who walked by completely ignored the "OPENING SOON" signs plastered around our building, and walked in. Our standard greeting was, "Hello, welcome to Helland's, how can I help you today?" Most would answer they were just looking. "Well, we are not open yet, but we can offer you two 20% off coupons for your trouble!"

Apparently people opening boxes of merchandise wasn't a sign we were not open yet. One of these custies was a local newscaster famous for his tagline of "Make it count!" He was very kind. One lady completely ignored three of us. She was on her phone. Eventually she saw the boxes, blushed, and ran out of the store.

Now for the end of Short Name. No, I did not get hired. I don't mind, as it is experience, which is good for any resume. Neither did Short Name, much to everyone's jubilation. While on break, a coworker (I'll call him Link, because he's a LoZ fan) and I were chatting about video games. I was speaking highly of one of my favorite series when Short Name said he thought they were dumb.

That's all fine and good. Then he asked about the shirt I was wearing. One of my friends died, and we started a foundation in his honor, hence the shirt. I explained his death, and Short Name says, "Well, that was really stupid of him."

"I realize it was stupid, but you have no right to insult him in such a way." Eventually Short Name got angry with me, and started belittling me. I was irked beyond what is tolerable for me. There comes a point where I see red and snap. I told him to stop being a pretentious prick and get off his high horse. Then I clocked out for good.

Apparently, he was in the habit of belittling everyone, including the main manager. Well, suffice to say I am glad to be out of there. Now I can spoil the pets and look for something more permanent while I figure out my schooling situation.

I'll probably submit a story about Snow Witch at some point, but I'm too happy right now.

May all your custies pay attention to the signs!

--Temp Nova

Baker Bitch's Ill-Gotten Gains: Part 2

Hey, RHUers.

I can't stand it when you have to wait forever for the next part of a story, so I thought I'd grace you with Part 2 of Baker Bitch's party story fairly quickly.

Bringing you up to speed: Baker Bitch, my supervisor, has invited me to a "naked party", which is supposed to be a fundraiser for her friend's art gallery. The gallery space is in a really bad part of town, and she's been asked to cater. I arrive at the party scantily-clad, which was how I had been told to dress, only to find that she had stolen supplies from the restaurant and that she and I had spent the day before, on the restaurant's dime, making a bunch of stuff for this party. And now she wanted me to "help" her, not as a friend, but as unpaid staff. I wish I had told her to fuck off, and walked out. This story would have been shorter if I had.

-------------------------

Nope, I did everything she asked, because I can't bear to be unhelpful, and because she was my boss. I rolled her fucking sushi in a kitchenette in a Vicky's nightie and heels, and then I helped her place said sushi on a naked girl's body so people could pay to lick it off of her.

It started getting late. I didn't have a watch on me, but I knew I would have to leave soon. Baker Bitch had taken the next day off because the party would run late, and she was going to spend the night. I was going to have to work at 7 am the next day, running the Sunday brunch by myself.

I didn't know the neighborhood, or where the bus stops were, or the schedule they ran on. All I knew was that it was late, and I was in a bad part of town. I quietly asked Baker Bitch if she could give me a ride.

"No," she said casually, "I'm having fun."

Translation: "No, Without Nametag. I won't give you a ride out of this horrible neighborhood that harbors gang violence. I really don't care if you get mugged or murdered or raped. I'm having a good time."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The later it got, the drunker the crowd became. There were probably 150 people there, and guess what? They were stoners, to boot. Now, I have a lot of friends who smoke, and most of them are quiet about it. We don't live in an area where that's legal now, and it certainly wasn't then.

These people didn't care. Do you know what 150 people smoking pot looks like? There was wreath of smoke on the ceiling. Some of you are saying, "But pot smokes dissipates quickly." Not when a very large crowd of people is smoking it all at once. The front door was open too, and we were in a residential neighborhood. I knew it could be smelled by people outside. I started to panic. What if someone called the cops?

I went outside in my trench coat and sat on a bus bench, cold and frightened, and really just wanting to go home. A younger guy, maybe my own age, passed by and frowned at me. I was a tiny white girl in an ethnic neighborhood. I stuck out like a cheerful customer on Black Friday.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "This is a bad neighborhood."

Okay, seriously: when a resident tells you that it's a bad neighborhood, you KNOW that it is, and fuck what Baker Bitch said.

I went back into the gallery and found an office with a phone and a phone book. (Before you start in, no: no cell phone. This was 1999. Landlines, phone books and pay phones were still the norm.) My boyfriend and I worked opposite shifts, me in the morning, and he late at night. I called his restaurant first, but they reported that he had gone home. I called our apartment, but only caught my own voice on the voicemail.

Phone book open in my lap, I dialed the bar that he sometimes frequented with a waiter from the restaurant. He had to be there. He had come home very late a few too many times and awakened me in the middle of the night because he was still wired from work. His solution was to shoot some pool with a friend for a few hours before heading home, allowing me to get some sleep.

Unfortunately, this was my introduction to The Bro Code. A bartender answered the phone, and I asked for my boyfriend, who was a regular. I gave a careful description and his name. There was no mistaking my boyfriend for someone else.

"Nope," said the bartender. "Not here." And he hung up.

Because that's what you're supposed to do when a female calls, asking for a male: tell her you don't know who she's talking about. Because she couldn't possibly be trapped in a bad part of town without a reliable ride, dressed in a way that a rapist could later describe as "asking for it", panicked beyond belief.

No, it must be that she's some shrew, hell-bent on not allowing her hard-working man to put back a few brewskies with his friends! Fucking asshole. I think I was crying at that point.

I certainly felt stupid. Stupid for coming to this party, stupid for not realizing what an enormous cunt Baker Bitch was, stupid for allowing myself to go ANYWHERE dressed like that, and stupid for believing her when all of the evidence pointed to the neighborhood being dangerous.

On a whim, I went outside for air. Sitting on a bench outside the gallery, what do I see go by? Oh, Glory Be to Thrognar! A BUS! I ran in those damn heels and flagged that sucker down and thanked the driver profusely. There were a handful of others on the bus, and one by one, they started to exit at their stops. Most of the buses are east-west running, but it seemed as though I had caught a rare north-south.

When it was just myself and the driver, I timidly asked where to get off to catch a bus to get back home. He groaned and said he wished I'd asked that sooner. He was the last bus running ANYWHERE, and he was headed for the garage, nowhere near where I needed to be. Now I was totally crying.

Taking pity on me, he said that he needed to take the bus back to the garage, but that he could drop me off outside, and that if I waited, he would drive me home. I hesitated. I didn't know this guy, and he could drive me anywhere and take advantage of me. I think it was close on to 2 am at this point, and my choices were to trust a stranger, or take my chances on the wrong side of town.

I trusted the stranger. I'm sure he could have gotten fired for giving me a ride, but it may have saved my life that night. He was very nice, and dropped me off at my building, waiting until I had gotten inside to drive away.

My boyfriend was home and had to hear the whole story while I sobbed in that stupid nightie. Of course he had been at the bar; the bartender may have been looking at him as he told me that my boyfriend wasn't there. According to the waiter friend later, the boyfriend had lost his shit with the bartender the next time he saw him.

I got up a few hours later, dragged myself into the restaurant, and served up the Sunday brunch by myself. A few days later, I went into the head chef's office and told him the story of Baker Bitch using the restaurant's supplies and our labor to fund her catering job. He thanked me, and I went back to work. Did they fire her during her next shift?

Nope. It was most likely a question of she said/she said, and the story may have sounded too far-fetched, and really, they had only hired her six months earlier. They didn't want to go to the trouble of looking for a new bakery supervisor. So I spent the next several months squished in that tiny bakery space with Baker Bitch, turned off by the sight of her, and I never did that fucking asshole another favor again.

May you never have a story for this site that makes you want to replace every word with "FUCK!!!!"

--Without Nametag

Useless Manager Raises Prices At Thrift Store, Doesn't Know Why Sales Plummeted

Long time chronic lurker finally crawls out of her corner of the internet to write a horrible story. I'm sure everyone knows the first-time-post protocol, so I'm skipping it. Call me Hjortron.

While I read RHU for the first time, I always thought, "I'm blessed to have never gone through what these people have gone through." Then, with some thought, I realize that I'm dead wrong. Of course I have. I've just trained myself to put the memories on a little shelf in my mind and pretend they don't exist. Everyone in retail has bad experiences. It may as well be in the job description that you will deal with horrible people who have no manners. And most of your managers will be completely ineffectual and bad at their job.

Speaking of managers, let me direct you to Nose Talker. He was one of my managers in Goodwill. I have no intention of ever working there again, so I don't much care if they realize who I am. Honestly, I'd be tickled pink if they did read this so they understand how thoroughly horrible their hiring decisions, and all decisions in general are.

Don't donate to Goodwill. Find a local thrift store.

Nose Talker is so named because of two habits. He liked to talk with his nose pointed towards the sky. Doubly annoying because the man was at least a foot taller than the rest of us. I suppose the ceiling might have gotten something out of his many "pep talks," had it been a living and thinking creature. Thankfully, it wasn't. Otherwise I'm sure we'd have to call someone in to exterminate the poor thing.

He also liked to condescend to people. Constantly.

When I first started working for mister Nose Talker, it was when we were preparing a store for its grand opening. We had many, many boxes of donations to go through and price. Prices were all made up by whoever was unlucky enough to hold a price gun. And generally we tried to price things reasonably. This stuff was, after all, donated to us. Processing was hardly expensive, since it was basically man-powered. Things were put in a bin. That bin was put on top of other bins, and we went through the bins by hand. It wasn't as though they had to cover the cost of machinery.

To price things, we used common sense. Little ceramic animals were priced at ¢25, for instance. Because that's exactly what they were worth. Larger ones may have been ¢50, but certainly not a dollar. And absolutely not the $2.99 Nose Talker wanted to price them as. Cheap, plastic cups were usually bundled up and sold for ¢25. Not so with Nose Talker. Each had to be ¢99. Any plates were $1.99 each. Books and CD's, which sell in competing (and locally owned) thrift stores go for ¢25. Ours? $1.25-1.99.

These prices were... Kind of ridiculous for things we got for free. I'm all for maximizing profit for charity, but from what I hear, most of Goodwill's profits goes into lining pockets of Goodwillian bigwigs.

I kept pricing them for what they were worth while Nose Talker wasn't around, and Mr. Sideburns was. (Mr. Sideburns had some very impressive sideburns. Really. They were amazing. And he was one of the only half-decent managers around, so we got along very well.) We both understood what our customers were willing to pay. What customer would walk into a thrift store and expect to pay nearly $7 on a shirt when Wal-Mart sells the same t-shirt for $5.99?

Eventually Nose Talker got wind that everyone sensible was pricing decent prices instead of his inflated ones. He approaches me and asks me if I understood how pricing works. In very slow, even tones he tells me that I should add at least a dollar to what I thought an item was worth. And I could even add two if I felt like it.

Hjortron: Don't you think the customers will be a little angry at the prices? That's not exactly the deal you'd expect from Goodwill.

Nose Talker: I am the manager. I know how to price things. You don't need to know the ins and outs of it.

Hjortron: Well, I'm a part of the manager team, too. Shouldn't I know why things are happening in my store?

Nose Talker: I'm not sure you could handle it. Mentally.

I'm not sure you could handle anything, Nose Talker. Except talking to the ceiling. Truly, the one thing Nose Talker excelled at. I don't think he ever looked me in the eye.

So I just set the price gun on $3.99 and stuck everything with it.

Understandably, sales were low. Abysmal. Nose Talker had no idea why.

When I (because I was supposed to be a part of the managerial team as resident mini-manager) brought it up to Nose Talker that the area had more thrift stores than it did churches, and that we needed to offer prices in the same range as our many competitors, Nose Talker gave me a look.

Now, I look much younger than I am. Puberty didn't affect me much, aside from acne and mosquito bumps. People often ask me if I'm "even old enough to be hired." Because "you have to be at least 16." And I'm 22. So I understand a much older man not wanting to take advice from someone who looks like they could be sitting in English I, writing essays about "people I look up to and why." Believe me, I understand not wanting to be made a fool of by a little stick of a person. But that doesn't make what I said any less valid.

Then Nose Talker went out of his way to say something to the tune of, "Oh, I suppose Hjortron knows all about running a store. She's only been doing it all her life!" He had a good laugh about it. Youth cancels out logic, I suppose. He then made a point of checking with me after talking about a change in the way the store would operate, making sure I gave it the all clear.

I knew the thrift stores that were in the area. I knew their prices, and the stuff they stocked. I shopped at many of them. We had the same stuff, except marked up to the point that someone may as well buy it new. People know we get our things for free. They don't want to pay top dollar for it. On the floor, we even hear customers say things like, "don't they get these things donated in?"

They will not pay $3.99 for a plastic bowl with scratches inside. And a random, possibly useless cord is not worth $1.99!

Prices steadily rose while sales plummeted, and I considered getting a liquid latex mask and some padding to make myself look older. Maybe then I'd be taken seriously. I have more Nose Talker stories, but if I added them here, the submission would have to be made into a novella. So you'll probably hear more from me soon.

--Hjortron

RHU Advice: Dealing With Bosses That Try To Steal Your Holidays

Hello again! This is Justin!

After seeing a number of articles dealing with holidays/time off, and how to deal with bosses that try to shaft you out of it, I thought I'd write my own guide to how I survived retail hell myself for several years (and how I made it work in my favor). Bear in mind that this is from an American perspective, but the basic principles should work equally well elsewhere.

Hope you enjoy!

***

Your phone rings on your day off, and a chill goes down your spine. That's right, it's work, and without even answering the phone you know exactly what they want.

"Can you come in?"

It's the single most dreaded phrase of any retail employee. Your boss has screwed up the schedule, or lazy douche at work didn't show up or call in (again), or some other major catastrophe has made your presence absolutely vital to the continuity of your employer. That's why you're paid minimum wage, after all! You're important. Thankfully, this is not always a bad call, especially if you know how to work it to your favor. Everyone is ultimately going to receive this call, and your decision on how to react to it the first time will dictate a lot about the relationship with your employer. First things first...

1. Pick up the phone and listen to the offer.

It doesn't hurt to see what's being asked of you. In fact, merely by picking up your phone on your day off shows that you're always willing to at least hear them out. This creates a positive impression, even if you don't actually do anything about the offer. You've got nothing to lose, so don't let it ring to voicemail unless you're busy with something else important.

More than likely, the offer will be to come in to work, work for two to four hours, and go home to enjoy your weekend. It's a sweet deal! Well, except...

2. The caller is always lying.

Call them on it. "Are you sure? I mean, I can only commit to two hours, then I have a dinner date." It doesn't matter if you do or not, make something up if you have to. Always give the impression that you're having to sacrifice to save their hide, and remain non-committal until they cough up the beans. Suddenly, that two to four hour shift has ballooned into a six hour shift in the food service during closing - hardly ideal, but hey, they need you, and now that you have a grasp on the true situation, you can...

3. Negotiate.

They need you. Your presence and skill set are a commodity, as is your day off. You are sacrificing a precious day off for normal pay, a shit shift, and nothing in return? If so, I have some prime real estate in Siberia I'd like to sell you...

Anyways, hopefully you're not stupid (and if you're reading RHU, you're leagues ahead of your coworkers), and you realize that this deal is skewed heavily in favor of your employer. Further, this is your day off! You're not obligated to jack today. So they need to sweeten the deal. Likely, extra pay is out of the question (stupid timecards), but that doesn't mean compensation is off the table. If you're really needed, just kinda mull over it, verbally. "Well, I mean I could use the pay...but I've been looking forward to this dinner all week. I've had this gift card..." Employers are always willing to dole out gift cards, it's free petty cash to them. Start out simple - enough gift card funds to cover your lunch, or maybe a cheap bargain bin DVD or paperback book, something in the $5 to $10 range. Asking for an extra hour of pay is pulling teeth - asking for a $10 gift card in exchange for a shit shift? Please, they think they're getting a deal.

Keep negotiations brief, though. Mention things you need or want that your store sells. Hem and haw verbally, but know when to stop. Remember, the employer needs to feel like they're getting you for chump change or for free, even if you're cleaning them out. Need new jeans? Rather than buy them, maybe take up boss lady on that Saturday closing shift. That being said...

4. Demand payment up front.

Do NOT let your boss promise gift cards or negotiation payments AFTER your shift. Remember, it's likely not in writing, and they aren't bound to honor it. Demand payment before clocking in, and be prepared to walk out the door if they refuse to honor the terms. Until you clock in, you're still not obligated. Once you clock in and haven't been paid, however, your negotiations are worthless, and you've fallen into their trap of free, on-demand labor. For longer shifts or busier days, it may be okay to wait until lunch (this especially works during the holidays), then remind the boss of the agreement. "I thought you said you'd give me a $10 gift card?"

When the boss weasels out, threaten to walk. They'll likely say you can't, but they're wrong - you're not scheduled! This is volunteering, after all, so any work done is considered you being generous. If your boss doesn't follow up with their end of the deal, clock out and head home - and leave them high, dry, and screwed. They won't screw you over again like that (though you'll likely earn their eternal ire and hatred, so again, payment up front).

5. Do a good job.

This goes without saying, but still. If you're working, day off or not, do a good job of things. Make the boss feel like calling you in was a better decision than whoever was scheduled there originally. Know your coworkers' weakness or oversights and exploit them. Brownie points make future negotiations easier, and can actually help reduce the times you're called in - they don't want to abuse you, after all, since you're always so willing to help out and do a good job of it!

There are some exceptions...

Vacations - answer the phone, but don't try bargaining. Politely explain you're on a scheduled vacation, and that (obviously) you're preoccupied. Never, ever compromise your scheduled vacation time for your employer, as this basically screws you over for any future negotiations, and renders any scheduled vacations null and void at the employer's discretion. Be polite, but be firm - "I'm on vacation, sorry. I wish I could help."

Probationary Period - in the US, we usually have a probationary period of thirty to 180 days. During this time, do not try bargaining - just follow steps one and two, and make a decision whether or not to take the request. You'll also want to get those brownie points and take a few shit shifts that are offered, just to make future negotiations a little easier on you; there's also the benefit of learning about how badly your boss will lie to your face, etc.

Holidays - holidays are a double edged sword. On the one hand, lots of temp work means you're easily replaced. On the other, it also means that they really, desperately need you if they're calling. Your boss will also pay through the teeth if this is the case. What, you think I volunteered to work Christmas Eve AND New Years? Heck no. I got holiday pay for New Years Day (time and a half) and $100 in DVDs for that epic sacrifice of my personal time. Oh, did I mention time off for the 360 Launch party, smack dab in the middle of November (typical vacation blackout time)? Yeah, cash those brownie points in once Holidays come, and you can make yourself some nice "Holiday Bonuses".

60+ Hour/7+ day weeks - At this point, you've made yourself well known as the local punching bag. If you're working more than seven consecutive days or sixty hours in a calendar week, you need to start turning down requests more often. Try to keep a ratio of 3:2 - for every three calls you agree on, turn down two others. This makes yourself seem available, but your time more valuable.

And above all else, use common sense. Don't sacrifice all of your free time, or a day off when your body needs it most. Life isn't all about work, and you need to know when it's more lucrative to take a nice, relaxing day off versus making some extra cash. You've only got eighty years on this rock, and sixty of them are spent working, so make sure you set time aside to enjoy life.

--Justin

Updates From Luna: Turkey Is Still A Dumbass, Hopefully To Be Arrested

Hey guys, it's Luna. I have a few shorter Turkey stories for you.

I was sick with a throat virus, but since we're so short-staffed I couldn't find anyone to cover for me. So I went in to work sick. Turkey said something about "If you get me sick I'll fucking kill you," but I'm trying to ignore the little stuff.

I was working with a fever of 102.5, doing my best not to faint. We had 3 customers in the store, one lady in a motorized scooter. I was at the back of the store fixing up the clearance section, when Turkey yells out that I should start a fitting room for a lady. This means opening a door, making sure there are no clothes or other junk left in the room, then taking the customers clothes and hanging them up. Since I was 5 feet from the fitting rooms, I happily opened a door and got the room ready.

Seconds later I hear Turkey say, "GOD she's lazy. I guess she's just too important to help you, ma'am!" and I hear her tromping back my way. As soon as she turns the corner I say "I'm right here, room is started!" in a cheerful voice.

She gives me a death stare and yells out, "WELL HOW LONG DOES IT FUCKING TAKE?!" right in my face. I'm stunned and sick, so I just meekly murmur that it took about 10 seconds. She replies that she meant I had to take the customer's clothes back for her.

Um. No, you said start a room. The last part of starting a room is to put the clothes inside. I was on my way to do just that. Plus, who died and made you my boss? We're supposed to be equals here, dummy.

Later when she saw my eyes glossy (from yawning) she thought I was going to cry so she apologized. Then she said she was just angry because whenever I work with her it seems like I'm either tired or in a bad mood. It took a lot of restraint not to tell her exactly why I felt that way.

One day she was showing pictures from her phone and she accidentally flashed me a topless photo. I literally gagged. Those of you who haven't heard my description of Turkey, just be aware that it was like half deflated beach balls right above a belly button. She just giggled and said it was for one of her many younger suitors. (Read: "One of my boy toys." Ugghhh...)

Two weeks ago she got in trouble with the assistant manager for leaving the bank deposit (which she should have taken to the bank) on top of the safe. The open safe. With the door to the back room open.

A week ago I had to report her to Loss Prevention. She was trying on clothes in the fitting rooms on her break time, and she came out in a dress saying how good her "brand new" shapewear made her look. She had gone back there with a shapewear. A few minutes later I'm cleaning out the fitting rooms, and in her room I find a hanger and the tag to her size shapewear. I ask her about it, and she denies bringing the piece back there. I then point out that she said she was wearing some, and she says, "Oh, that's from like a year ago."

So I reported her for suspected theft.

Yesterday, not only did she put $600 in my sales under her own name, she processed a fraudulent return. Custy came in with a receipt for a store-done online order, saying she never got the item. Turkey calls E-commerce and verifies that the item never left the warehouse. Refund was given.

The thing is, if it doesn't leave the warehouse, it doesn't charge the card on file. NAT got away with $72. Turkey was almost in tears after I told her company policy says we cannot do a return unless we actually take the item back into our inventory. She should know this, we go over it EVERY QUARTER.

Oh, and one last thing. She did a cash refund that I wasn't aware of, and tried to get me to sign for it. I asked where the merchandise was, she said she put it back on the floor already. Long story short I refused to sign, so she FORGED my signature.

Angel manager will hear of this when I go into work tomorrow. If she doesn't do something about it I will either go to the police, or sue her for forgery. Something to look forward to, I guess.

May all your coworkers have brains. Or if they're morons, at least let them be nice ones.

--Luna

Un-Cooperative Gets A Slap In The Face With A Big Middle Finger From The Asshat Boss

Hi guys,

Un-Cooperative here again, with a (not so) quick update on the question I asked earlier (I read through some of the responses and you guys are great!)

Just got home from an 8 hour shift and my other half is comforting me with juice and chips as I've had the shift and news from hell, and I just can't stop crying at the moment.

After getting to work today, I was left with one other CSA, no keys, no instructions, and no staff due for another 2 hours. I was told I would no longer be paid an extra hour for the team leading anymore, as the team leader who should have been in charge walked out the door.

I'm pissed. I decide to write a note - polite, but in all honesty, I wasn't planning on leaving it behind - I was venting. I said, quite politely, that I didn't think it was fair that I was being asked to team lead, being left with extra responsibilities, with no extra pay, and I wasn't happy to continue doing this.

NB comes in two hours later. He gets to the note before I can.

He asks me what the note is about. I say I'm sorry, I hadn't planned on leaving it, but as he's read it, I'm not happy team leading without being paid to do it - especially when on some shifts the person being paid to team lead is doing my CSA job while I do her team lead job.

I get told, quite bluntly, that he thought I wanted to learn. Either I want to learn and do it at my current pay, or I don't.

I say I've been promised the job since last October, and I've been doing it since last June.

He says he can't do anything about that. But that he can tell me I'm not going to be promoted.

Wait. WTF?!

I've been working my ass off for this place, for almost 3 years, I've been promised this job for the best part of a year, and I'M NOT BEING PROMOTED? THE ACTUAL FUCK!

Apparently it's not in the budget. Even when a team leader does lead, I'm not first in line - I'm second or third, if that. He more or less tells me that my chances of being promoted at this place are 0.

So we've got the budget to transfer over Incompetent Bitch Team Leaders from other stores, but not to follow through on the promises made to those of us who actually work for our meager pay packets?

OH! And according to him, I've not been left team leading since he got there! HA! I've done at least 5 team lead part-shifts and at least 1 whole shift since he started 3 weeks ago. So that's another £40 I'll be down as I'm not going to be paid the extra.

They expect me to cover at least 2-3 hours team lead on Sunday, from the look of the rota, as the regular team leaders are off.

I am so freaking mad and upset right now, that I just want to tell them where to stuff their job, but I really can't afford to. I just want to get out of there now.

Is there anything you guys think I can do? I've only had verbal promises and the fact that I've been doing the job for 6+ months on my side, nothing written or recorded, and OM is long gone.

I've got a union form now from a colleague who's been fucked over as well, but as I'm not already a member, I'm not sure if they can or would do anything to help at this point.

Unfortunately, we don't have any union information at work! And no staff room to speak of with any contact details for any helplines as someone recommended. :( I lucked out with Nice CSA having a spare form for me to take.

Thanks guys.

You really did give me some great advice last time. I'm gonna have to start keeping a log of things. Unfortunately, OM's out of the question for a reference now he's demoted himself, but I can still get lectures to give me reference letters at least. Definitely gonna stop answering my phone when it's my day off as you guys suggested.

--Uber Upset Un-Cooperative

Coworker Proves He's Not Fit For The Job

Another long time lurker and recent temporary slave here. You can call me Temp Nova. After several months of looking for work, I recently got hired in a temporary position for a store with a Star Trek captain's name. It's rather fancy, and I'm enjoying the work. It's nice seeing the store come together.

There are eight temporary hires, and two of us will ascend to "permanent hire" status if they find our work within quality lines. I'm doubtful of getting to be permanently hired, but I keep a smile, as a paycheck is a paycheck. Today I was helping put lamps together with two other males.

These two happen to have the same name. Tall Name is about 6'2", rather nice and helpful. Short name is about four inches taller than I am, and quite rude. One of the managers asked us and a permanent (referred to as Awesome from here on out) to put lamps away. Awesome and I joke around a bit along with Tall Name. Short Name shows up and asks us repetitively, "Who do you think will be the permanent hires?!" for half of our shift.

This is a ten hour shift. Eventually, Awesome gets frustrated, and I don't blame him. I took half a mind to tell Short Name to shut his trap and do his work. Eventually, Tall Name, Awesome, Blondie (another co-worker) and I get the lamps all done.

Awesome is teaching me how to tag and we're talking about what we're doing with our paychecks. "I'm really excited about my hours!"

Short Name appears and says, "What, like, prison hours?"

Awesome is African American, and I swear to Odin, he wore the most incredulous look on his face. I can't blame him. Short Name wanders off to tell jokes to the managers to get on their good sides.

I honestly was shocked at what Short Name said. It made me wonder what he would say to me as Puerto Rican, as we don't necessarily have a good reputation where I live. Either way, I'm probably not going to get the position, and according to the manager I worked with, neither is he. I'm glad I only have five more days to deal with him! Until next time!

--Temp Nova

Asshat Manager Breaks The Labor Law, Gets Huffy At Slave For Not Staying Longer

Hello, it’s Ambassador Sparkle again.

As you’ll recall, the last time I posted, I was wondering if I should transfer to a cashier position to try and get more hours. Well, as I was pondering that, a 12 hour a week position opened up in the store office. I figured, I’d take that and another part time job, make some decent money.

Little was I aware I was descending into a special circle of retail hell. The job has been a lot of ups and downs, and I average 30 hours a week, now, working six days a week as basically the only person counting the money for this store.

There’s one other lady, but she clearly just wants to get out of there ASAP, and she only works Sundays, so I only see her for the big count at the end of the month. Luckily, while my boss is coarse, he’s fair and seems to have a bit of a soft spot for me, and tosses bones my way when he can. I’m pretty much responsible now for the counting of the money, filing the papers indicating how much money I deposited, and sorting various reports for the store. My access level is fairly strange, higher than a slave but lower than a manager, so I’ve pretty much become the oddjobs person around the store, fixing registers, getting in touch with the help desk, ordering certain supplies. It’s hard, invisible work, but I didn’t mind it until recently, and this day has just brought it to a cap.

About the time I transferred to the office, our Store Manager got transferred to another store, and they brought in another guy. He was completely new to the company, but he was an exceptional manager. He kept things together without bugging people, and did his best to learn from the staff we had on hand how to run the store. He also was super friendly, and actually told me once he knew if he handed something off to me, it would be taken care of.

About two months ago, he was promoted to a District Position, and we had a new manager come in. We’ll call him Narm. Narm is a micromanager, and treats the staff like we’re children. It’s almost fine with the main store staff, who more or less doesn’t care, but it’s clear he doesn’t trust or respect us. Which brings me to today.

Today I was supposed to have a three hour shift; even though it means less money, it’s a welcome break when I work nearly every day. I pulled the morning reports, sent them to their departments, and set aside the office papers to work after I counted the money. I started up the office register and checked the callout line.

One of our three cashiers called out, so I notified the Assistant Store Manager, who asked if I could cover the breaks of the remaining two. I told her sure, but it would mean punching out an hour late or so because doing all the office work took me about three hours. We had our store meeting, and I went back into the cash cage and started counting the money.

By the time the store had been open 30-45 minutes, I was finished counting the cash, but there was a large shortage in one of the registers. Sometimes bills would get stuck inside one of the registers, or the money would be counted improperly (since we leave the register funds in the registers, shut off and locked, of course, overnight), so I went out to double count it. I didn’t see anything there, so I started back to input the totals when I noticed the cashier struggling with a return. The sale had just been rung, so I assumed that it simply hadn’t gotten into our server yet, but it soon became clear the register was down.

I tried another, same thing. I called over to another register, who reported theirs were down, too, along with all the registers in the store. I went back to the office to inform the managers, who were already aware of the issue, and asked me to call the support desk for help. I did so, and once the ticket was in, I assumed that’d be the last I heard of it.

Before I could head into my office again, Narm had the Assistant Manager call each of the registers and ask the cashiers if they knew how to ring when the servers were down. One of the selling associates (Lazyasses) said they couldn’t figure it out, so I said I’d go down there and have a look at their procedure. Once I had shown them how to manually input the item number and price, I went back and resumed my work.

I had just finished verifying that the money had been correctly input when the Assistant Manager asked me if I was comfortable enough with computers to work with the tech over the phone on fixing the server. I said sure, figured it might be fun, and put the money in the safe to deposit later. Well, I got in there, and it was broiling, which means the server likely overheated.

I got the tech on the phone, and he asked me to do some basic checks to see if the server was frozen, which it was, so he had me shut down and start up the server again. He told us it takes 10-20 minutes for that to occur, and he’d call us back when we were on the grid again. As I was doing this, Narm was hanging over my shoulder, poking around and trying to fix the issue as well as telling me to tell the tech we had a cooling malfunction but it was being fixed.

Once I was sure the server was booting, he had me head out, and said, “I could have just turned the thing off and on again…”

I figure okay, whatever. I finished the deposit, set the papers off to the side to work on tomorrow when I had time, and prepared the sheet that showed the deposit, now about half an hour behind. Not great, but not too bad. Before I could finish my papers, I got a call from a register asking for change. It takes me about 10-15 minutes to get to the register, take the money, and get back with the change, so by the time I returned, I was coming close to an hour behind, and in the store for four hours.

I managed to finish up the paperwork with just enough time to cover both breaks in the five hours I’m permitted to work without taking a break, and was feeling pretty good about myself. When I got to the first one, the cashier was struggling with a return, so I waited about five minutes, then sent her off on her break and took care of the return myself. Everything went fairly smoothly, and I got to the other cash wrap just in time to relieve the second cashier…and then the other cashier called for backup since she was getting slammed.

Narm told the cashier on her way to take her break to go help her, and since she’s a bit of a pushover, she did. He caught me, too, and asked me to cover that register, I guess forgetting he sent the other one there or not trusting her. I went there and saw her, and told him she was there, but that meant if I covered her now later break, I’d go over that five hours.

Narm says, “Well, what’s more important, helping customers, or staying in that five hours?”

So, I resign myself to working 5 and a half hours with no break, 2 and a half hours past my shift, but it turns out one of the selling associates could cover that cash register for the cashier when she did go on break, so I let the Narm know, then I went into my office to do some things before leaving, and Narm comes and tells me that he needs something else taken care of. 

It’s important enough that it does need to be taken care of quickly, but I remind him I’m about to go over the five hour line, and he says, “Well, why not take your break and then do it?” When I let him know I’d pretty much be taking a half hour break to do a ten minute task he said “Well, that’s silly. Go ahead and stay past your five hours and I’ll approve it.”

First off, it’s not corporate policy that he can approve, it’s, as I recall, law that I don’t go past fifth hour without a break. If I happen to tip over because I was doing something and couldn’t get away, fine, but when it’s a completely new task, that’s a little more worrying. Still, since I am also a pushover, I stay the extra time, get it knocked out, and clock out.

I pass by Narm again, and let him know I took care of it, and he says “Okay, can you go and cover this wrap now?” and I let him know that I can’t, since I’m already clocked out, and he just gives me this look and carries on.

And I’m just fuming by this point, because I’ve done all this running around, stayed two hours and change, and the sum of my efforts comes to a look that says, “I can’t believe you did that.”

Maybe I’m overreacting, but I feel really and truly shat on. I was planning to request a transfer to another store in a place where I can afford to live, then looking for a fulltime, wellpaying job out there, but I was putting it off because I’m basically it for cash count and stuff. Now, though? I called the other store and they have an actual lead position open. I know I’ll be doing the same thankless work, but at least I’ll be getting hours and good pay, rather than minimum wage. I’m just…so mad right now.

--Ambassador Sparkle 

Police Force Kindness: 300 Phoenix Officers Show Up To Kindergarten Graduation of Fallen Officer's Daughter