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The Poo Poo Platter

I worked at a Chinese restaurant that’s known for their lettuce wraps. I was a host and I was taking a family back and I sneezed. I was polite, I covered my face with my arm. The problem was I farted extremely loudly at the same time.

My boss lost it. He berated me in front of the customers. He then took the menus and sat the family himself. Everybody around us was laughing by the way. Including me, though I was fighting it.

He ended up comping the families food and gave gift cards to all the people that were around me when it happened. Turned out to be like $400 in free meals and gift cards. The reason I know that is because at the end of the night he tried to tell me I was responsible for the food comps.

I told him that he can go right ahead and fuck himself. He never did pursue the money he said I “owed” the restaurant for my explosion. Though it was an awesome reason to get fired. Unemployment was easy to obtain.




My first job out of high school that wasn’t fast food was at an
insurance call center that had a contract with Medicaid. The only
thing I enjoyed about the job was the pay. I made $14.50 an hour at an
entry level position, it was absolutely amazing. The firs three weeks
I was there I received my basic training and the job seemed easy
enough, then I met one of my bosses. He was an elderly Iranian man,
and what made my jaw drop was that he was very stereotypical. When he
met all of the new employees (me included) he only addressed the men
and only want to know the men’s names. But I figured that it was no
big deal since everyone said that he never really came onto the call
center floor, so no one really saw him, unless it was bad news. So
after working there for a little over a month I see why there were so
many positions open for the company. The people were clueless and when
people called the employees seemed to just yell and hang up on the
callers. I understood their frustration because it was a repetitive
job. I worked on the doctors’ line, and every day it seemed the same
doctors called about the same problems. One of the biggest problems
was doctors calling about machines that we had sent them and
complaining about how it didn’t work or how the machine kept saying
their clients didn’t have insurance. 98% of the time the first problem
was not the machine, but because the doctors didn’t have the machines
on their own lines, they would have it plugged in with 3 or 4 other
machines. And 99% of the time when the machine said that the patient
didn’t have insurance, it wasn’t a problem with the machine, it was
because the patient didn’t have insurance!

But what topped the cake for me was when my boss (the stereotypical
middle eastern man) came onto the floor and went from desk to desk
yelling and screaming at people because they made mistakes and he had
the reports to prove it. But all of the people being yelled at were
the women. Finally he made his way to my desk. He told me to pull up a
doctor’s file and starting throwing the papers in his hand at me and
screaming about how I hadn’t documented the doctor’s call properly. He
then resorted to name calling and decided to finish off his rant with
“Get it right you fat American cow or you are fired!” When he finished
I looked at the file and noticed two big problems with it.

1. The documentation he said was missing was on the second page.

2. I hadn’t taken the call, it was a male coworker who started at the
same time I did. We didn’t even have similar names.

So I brought this to my boss’s attention and right there on the floor
he spat on the floor and started yelling about how ‘dare’ I insult him
by trying to correct him. And began another screaming rant about how
horrible American women are and how in his country women know their
place. I left midway through his rant and reported his behavior to his
boss and quit right afterwards. Last I heard he was told to take an
unpaid vacation for a month and then less than a year later he was
forced to retire because he had spoken to a customer in a rude manner
and the company lost its contract with the state.



The ‘Coffee Place’

Okay,so I worked at a coffee place, the canadian version of dunken’
doughnuts pretty much. And when I applied for the job I already had I
job at a catering serrvice (best job ever) and told them that during
the interview. that job came first. I also told them I was going away
to paris at the end of june 2009. (This was in march) That brance of
the store was so cheep and crappy it blew my mind. No discount on
anything for employees, even during breaks, which we only got a 15
minute break every 8 hours. Not to mention the number of safty and
health regulations they’re shattering. A rickty old latter that we
usee to get giant ass boxes of heavy mixes off the top shelf. (15ft
above the ground.) The floor was almost never clean, one time I had a
spare minute and it was a slow night so I grabbed the broom and went
to sweep the floor and i got chewed out saying I was showing contempt
for her athority. Okay then. There was no break room, no staff
bathroom, the regular bathrooms were hardly ever clean. I could go on
and on.

Like any person with 2 jobs there is sometimes scheduling conflicts
between the two and sense the catering one paid more, and I had it
first, it was my priority. So one day I had to work at the catering
place from 10am to 5:30, but I thought I had to be at the coffee
place at 5. So I called the night before and told them I would be
late showing up due to my other job but would be there as soon as I
could. They called me back the next day and told me they had no
record of my having another job and that If I wasn’t there on time
‘actions’ would have to be taken. Obviously I’m confused. I told them
that I informed the owner of the store that I had a job and that it
was a priority and hung up on them. Anyway, I got a call back from
them about twenty minutes later saying that I wasn’t on till 6
anyway. I called the owner that night after work and questioned her
about this, she just said “Oh I forgot.” and hung up.

The only other incedent of note was the on my last day. A few days
before this was my graduation prom, so of corse I’m going to get all
decked out, I got a french manicure, the ones with the fake nails
that are impossible to get off, the whole she-bang.
When I booked the appointment to get my nails on I also booked one to
get them off. Anyway, the day after prom I called in to work and
informed them that I couldn’t come into work. (They booked me for
days that I had booked off, I intended to have the nails off before I
went back to work as they are against the health code.) When they
asked why i told them it was because it would be against the health
regulations, due to my nails.
A rather acceptable reason, and considering my shift was only four
hours long I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. Boy was I
wrong. She told me it was fine and to come in anyway. So I did,
whatever. Its not like they would have falled off. I went in worked
my four hour shift then my boss told me I was fired. Of corse I asked
why and she said because my nails were agianst the health code and
that I was being unsainitary by comming into work with them. I
reminded her of the discussion we had prior to me comming in, and me
stating i can’t work because of them, (It was her I had the
conversation with) and she denied it completly. I wasn’t upset in the
slightest about being fired, I grinned the whole way home. Shittiest
place to work. EVER.



The South

Back in the mid-nineties due to some bad personal decisions I was
forced to take a cashier’s job at the only game in town–the
world-dominating discount megastore. When I and several new hires
were introduced to the customer service manager to whom we’d be
reporting, her eyes got wide when I introduced myself, then she
curled up her face like she was smelling something bad.

At first I thought I was just being paranoid, but after checking with
others it was plain that this woman had it in for me. I got the worst
shifts consistently while watching people with less time move to
better shifts. If someone released some disgusting bodily fluid
somewhere even if there were lines at the registers going to the back
of the store I’d be pulled to go clean it up. She would threaten to
write me up constantly for stuff like “not smiling wide enough.” I
lived for the days she was off because the other managers had no
problem with me. After about two months of this (remember, only game
in small town or else I would have fled) I went to another manager
who I got along with and asked what I did to make my boss dislike me
so much. The answer floored me.

See, this was the south. I’m from the north. I found out that her
nickname for me was “Yankee B—-.” Then I remembered her car,
covered with Confederate flag stickers. Apparently some people were
still fighting the Civil War and when my new boss heard my
non-southern accent I became the Evil Yankee and she the Avenging Reb
That Would Make Me Pay For Her Ancestors Losing The War. The worst
part of all this was that I couldn’t go to the main manager and
complain … because he was my boss’ father (unfortunately
anti-nepotism laws hadn’t kicked in yet).

“I need the money, I need the money” became my mantra as I trudged to
abuse every day. But then came Black Friday, the day after
Thanksgiving. I was scheduled to come in at five in the morning and
work until eleven a.m. This was the year that Tickle Me Elmo was all
the rage, so I started my work day nearly getting trampled by the
gathered masses wanting that stupid doll. There were huge crowds, of
course, and everyone had been warned to strictly adhere to time
limits for breaks and meals. I was so busy that I was surprised to
see it was nearly ten when I got a look at a clock. I was dying of
thirst and had to go to the bathroom, so when a manager walked by I
politely asked if I could take my break since I was overdue.

“You’re marked that you went at eight.”

“No, I haven’t, I swear.”

Fortunately another manager corroborated my story and I was released.
I went to the bathroom and was sitting in the break room drinking a
soda when my boss stormed in, screaming about me being late coming
back from my break. I’d only been gone five minutes but apparently
this was only considered a bathroom break, which was a mandated three
minutes. So to the tune of my boss’ screaming I ran back to my
register. Finally eleven o’clock came and I began preparing to leave.
My boss saw this and rushed over, asking where I was going. I told her
that my shift was over. I was told that it wasn’t and shown a new
schedule that I’d never seen. It had me coming in at eight and
leaving at four. “And you ain’t getting out of it,” my boss said.
“I’m keeping my eye on you the whole rest of the time.”

So yes, I was there for eleven hours. That five minute break? The
only one I had. At the end, I closed out my register, took off my
blue vest, went to my boss and threw it at her, telling her I was
quitting. I also informed her that the first person on either side of
my family to arrive in America did so in 1905, forty years after her
precious war ended. “You lost, get the eff over it!” were my final

I found out a few years ago that another northerner with better
resources successfully sued the store–and my boss–for
discrimination. There was also a class action lawsuit filed because
of stuff like not being allowed to go on breaks and having schedules
altered without knowledge. So that horrible Friday recently resulted
in a nice four-figure check for me. Ah, the sweet smell of karma …


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