rSlash - r/Idontworkherelady I Hit Your Employee, And He Bled On Me! FIRE HIM!

Episode Date: August 23, 2020

r/Idontworkherelady You may think that you've seen the peak of Karen entitlement, but you ain't seen nothing yet. The Karen in today's episode attacks OP and rips part of his skin, causing OP to bleed on Karen. Karen flips out and screams at him for bleeding on her, and wants him fired for what he did. Lady, YOU are the one who attacked HIM! If anything, you should be the one in trouble! If you like this video, be sure to follow for more daily Reddit podcasts! 🔔 Subscribe: https://bit.ly/2E3A8i6 💬 Discord: https://discord.gg/VD6eYD3 🎧 Podcast: https://link.chtbl.com/rslash ⚓ Send me a voice message: https://anchor.fm/rslash 📸 Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/rslashyt/ ♪ TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@rslash0 🛒 Merch: http://bit.ly/rSlashMerch 🎁 Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/rslash Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Gabby here is a meditation instructor who just created her business website. Just need to choose a domain. Hmm, meditativeminds.ca or.com. That Canada goose looks grumpy. Also, why is he here? Well, Gabby, he's here to tell you that 85% of Canadians prefer supporting local business on a.ca over a.com. And.ca it is. Now repeat after me.

Oooooom. We'll work me. Ooooooohhhh. We'll work on that friend. Go local. Choose success. Choose DotCA. Welcome to R-Slash, a podcast where I read the best posts from across Reddit. Today's sub-reddit is R-Slash, I don't work here, lady. Our next Reddit post is from Eric Davis.

This happened over 18 years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I had worked for a law firm in a clerical world for about 3 years. Though I wasn't a lawyer, I ended up doing a lot of work that lawyers normally handled, but not for the lawyer pay. Anyway, I landed my dream job in another field that was more interesting, had better hours, better benefits, double the pay, I hit the jackpot. And I was on my second to last day at the law firm, having respectfully given and honored my two weeks notice. As it happened, I needed to take an extended lunch break one day to handle some business

related to my pending new job. I arranged it ahead of time and even came in two hours early to make sure all my work was completed on time. Man, I was too conscientious. Anyway, my lunch business took me longer than expected and I returned about an hour later than planned. No big deal, right? I had very little left to do, and only two more days at the job anyway. Nope. The HR manager found me as I got to my desk, called me to her office, and fired me on the spot. I managed not to smile and think her because I was thrilled to have an extra couple of days off before heading to my new position. I had a little spring in my step as I walked to my desk to pack

up my stuff. I can neither confirm nor deny that I was whistling a happy tune. In truth, there was only one thing that I'd still needed to do on my final two days. Though I wasn't a lawyer, I essentially took care of all the estate planning clients. Will's advance medical directives and such. I'd take all the info from the client, generate all the forms, check the compliance with all the laws and hand it to the attorney. He'd skim it, sign it, and bill his hourly rate for the hours I worked. It was a cash cow for the firm because I made next to nothing. Anyway, though I was good at the work, the files were rather a mess. Let's just say my system worked for me, but I was eclectic. As I was packing my desk, I left them piled in a box in the floor. Moments before I was preparing to walk out of there for the last time, the young attorney

who had been assigned to take over that part of my work came up to my desk. He said, The HR manager told me to come find you and have you show me the estate planning files. She said you'd show me what I need to do. I had the incredible pleasure of being able to look at him and say, with the most sincere and innocent tone. I'm sorry, I don't work here. Then I pointed at the pilot files and suggested the HR manager would have to help him.

Then I picked up my box of personal effects and walked away. And just as sweet as could be, I poked my head into the HR manager's office on my way out to assure her that there was no hard feelings and to let her know that the young attorney would probably be looking for her. Honestly, how was this HR manager expecting things to go? You're fired, but before you go, could you do one last thing? Actually, no, go screw yourself. Our next breaded post is from the Quarantine.

Hospital food isn't crunchy. For whatever reason, none of it has a good satisfying crunch. The crunchiest thing they seem to have is raisin bran, and that just doesn't do the trick. And after a week of being held captive by tubes and wires, I was ready for food that was actually satisfying to chew. After a week of being held captive by tubes and wires, I was ready for food that was actually satisfying to chew. Finally discharge, I stopped off at a humongo chain grocery store for my craving. Don't judge, but all I wanted was a bowl of cornchecks and freezing ice cold milk.

With a handbasket containing my crunchy treat, I was rifling through the milk section looking for the coldest jug with the latest expiration date they had. When a Karen lit up my life in exactly the same way that a swarm of locusts blot out the sun, she was wearing some kind of dark expensive looking pants and a dazzling white overbork silk blouse with trapping folds that just screamed, I have more money than you. I was bending over with my head stuck in the cooler, and I could hear her talking about how we were out of some organic, grass-fed, free-range, no hormone, royal cows that exclusively make milk for rich people. I think the stuff sells it around $12 bucks a gallon, and the big grocery store keeps all that stuff in their pretentious section where freezers are filled with $10 microwave

dinners, $6 dollar designer chips, and tiny cans of artisanal sprint water carbonated with mermaid farts. And any raid, I'm not in that section, I don't work there, I don't care about her so I ignore her. Big mistake on her part. Suddenly, it sounds like there's a snake hissing in my ear the words, you will look at me when I'm talking to you, and my wrist is grabbed and pulled. Now I had just been released from a week at the hospital where I was on, among other things, a heparin drip. Blood thinner.

It was constantly fed through an IV tube which had been taped to my wrist. Exactly where she was now grabbing me. The tube had been taped down and when I ripped off the bandages before I left the hospital room, there were still some significantly sticky tape gunk in the area. Whatever that stuff is, it usually takes three showers in a bottle of alcohol to get rid of all that sticky stuff. What else might stick to tape residue? How about a Karen's Fingers? She grabbed my wrist and yanked my arm up, but her fingers happened to stick to the skin a bit, resulting in two things. The sensation of her getting some pines up on her skin and my skin being

twisted far more than she expected, not that she would have cared anyway. The twisting and pulling of the skin released a bit of blood from the IV site, just a couple of drops, not really a big deal, but enough so that when she felt the sticky gunk on her fingers, she instinctively wiped her hand on her sleeve, leaving a small trail of blood on that field of spotless white. You know how some people passed out of the sight of blood? I mean, I don't, but she sure did. She dropped, like her facade of friendliness drops if her triple whipped ice-spice-happy

no-fat soy mocha at Starbucks isn't served on a silver trade balance on the back of a unicorn. And that's when the staff started to run up. Typical shouts of what happened, Colin Ambulance followed, with Malady regaining consciousness within a minute or so, and starting to scream about how I, the store employee, had thrown blood on her. Clowing at her blouse and going into absolute hysterics. Store security had arrived and was glaring at me menacingly, demanding to know what had happened.

Fortunately, I had an ace just a few inches up my sleeve. I said, this lady grabbed me and it really hurts. The thing about Heparin is that it's the only drug that can go into a specific IV site. I needed many other IVs in the hospital, so I had another IV site just a few inches up my arm where they've been injecting all kinds of other things. And that site looked ugly. A bruise the size of a silver dollar, brown and yellow and green, as if a parrot had binged on tricks and lucky charms and threw it up in a ball-pitted chucky cheese. Previously hidden under my sleeve, I made sure it wasn't hidden now and displayed that

bruise of honor like a middle-aged man displays a trophy yoga instructor in his convertible. I said, she grabbed my arm because I wasn't paying attention to her and yanked. She left his bruise and it really hurts. That, coupled with the hospital arm band I hadn't yet cut for my wrist, seemed to be all that I needed to turn the tide of opinion to my favor. I gave a statement to the police who would eventually arrive, told them I wanted to price charges, got my milk, and headed for the door. A few days later, I received a call from a detective, or a prosecutor, or somebody, and they told me that they had come to a plea agreement of some kind fairly

quickly, and if I wanted to write out a victim impact statement to have it done within a week, I told them that as long as something went on to a record I was fine. The crunch was indeed satisfying. Man, I would have loved to have seen Karen try to defend herself to the cops. After I assaulted her, she attacked me by throwing blood at me. Gabby here is a meditation instructor who just created her business website. Just need to choose a domain. Hmm, meditativeminds.ca or dot com.

That Canada goose looks grumpy. Also, why is he here? Well Gabby, he's here to tell you that 85% of Canadians prefer supporting local business on a dotca over a dot com. And dotca it is. Now repeat after me. Whooooom. We'll work on that friend. supporting local business on a .ca over a .com. And .ca it is. Now repeat after me. Whom?

Ah! We'll work on that friend. Go local, choose success. Choose .ca. Shop them as unforelasted minigames. Great deals for everyone on your list. If so, our moment gives work that. Even for your sister and your brother, Chad.

Ah, shoot. We didn't realize you were supposed to get a gift for our dog, Parker Guy. We almost forgot about it that disbucked a curb. We didn't expect to get a gift from her. Or our cousin might forget his name. He got us something nice, better as it per'kate. For last minute deals I give some people you forgot. Get faster, we should be at Amazon!

Our next Reddit post is from Ligamentary. I worked in a large department store back before there was an Etsy or any similar service for artists to open up independent shops. I worked in the back office administration piece, not out on the floor. One day, one of the checkout girls called me over and said they were trying to scan a lady out, but one of her items didn't have a barcode. I figured maybe it had been stuck on somewhere strange, but I checked it out and I didn't see anything. In fact, I didn't even recognize the item

when I looked to see where I could find a second one to scan. And I knew the store pretty well. It was an absurdly hideous piece of almost homemade-looking costume jewelry, not like anything we offered. I thought maybe we had a new supplier I was unaware of so I looked at the tag and, low and behold, it was a hand-drawn price tag. So, definitely not ours. There were a lot of shops in the area, so I figured someone bought it nearby

and it slipped out of their bag or they set it down by accident. And this customer assumed we were selling it because of the price tag. I figured that whoever left it would be back for it soon, because it was way overpriced. 80 bucks for one necklace. So I brought up the customer service and returned to business as usual, up counting minutes to close and regretting my life choices. But as the day marched on, a few more people appeared with similar stuff. More jewelry mostly. One with a sweater that was actually a sweater that we did sell, but it had huge, garish rhinestones added on that were definitely not an SKU we offered. People kept coming to check out with lots of things we actually sold like makeup mirrors,

handbags, and shoes. But all with unnecessary rhinestones, sequins, and beads glued on that definitely didn't come from us or the original manufacturer. So finally, the manager just had the staff do a sweep of the store and collect anything with rhinestones on it or anything with a handmade price tag and put them in loss and found. Though we did wonder how someone's personal belongings would become scattered all throughout the store and we didn't think they could have really been accidentally lost. Our working theory was that someone got in a fight with their shopping companion and did

it out of spite, like maybe a couple broke up or a sibling rivalry or something. But we resigned ourselves to the fact that we never know. Our loss in found was a single basket about the size of a TSA security bin at the airport. And there was so much of this stuff that it overflowed past the top, so after a couple of days we dumped it all in the trash. A few days after that, a middle-aged woman comes in decked out hid to toe in sequins and glitter and rhinestones, with neon makeup like what a sixth grader would wear to their first school dance and as to speak to the person in charge.

Identifying herself is one of your partners. I knew we were about to get some answers to the other day's mystery. I stopped all my work. I was ready to hear how and why she ended up leaving half of her wardrobe scattered around, and why anyone would voluntarily dress like that after age 40. So I listened to her going at it with customer service, and it became clear that she had bought things here. At least, I think so.

It was unclear if she had paid for things or if she had just used things from here without paying for them. She then bedazzled them either by purchasing them or covertly bedazzling in the store without buying the items. We never did find out which. She then put them back on the shelves and now expected to collect a check after they were purchased, at the upsell price that she had added on with her handmade price tag. Apparently, she had done this in a few other stores and was going around with business

cards claiming that her designs were sold in big department stores, like the card would read, Karen's fat designs, as seen on the shelves of Macy's Nordstrom's Tacy Penny and more. The manager explained that this was not a consignment store and she couldn't just leave altered products here for people to buy and expect to split the money with us. She was sure that we must just not understand that she had improved the items with rhinestones,

thereby making them more valuable. And was shocked when the realization said in that she had improved the items with rhinestones, thereby making them more valuable. And was shocked when the realization said in that we understood what she was saying, but still didn't want her doing it. She was irate, offended, threatened to break off the partnership that we didn't want and didn't know that we had and eventually she demanded her stuff back. The most senior manager of the floor would come over by this point. Not because she asked to speak to the person in charge, but because she was causing a scene,

and because none of us were sure what to do about being on our business card. Plus, because everyone, regardless of seniority, was equally curious about the rhinestones mystery. The senior manager explained that we'd gotten rid of the stuff because she didn't bother to explain this arrangement to any of us, and we aren't a pawn shop where you can hawk personal goods. A major argument ensued. She gave us two choices.

Go through the dumpster and salvage the things you threw out, or refund me the adjusted cost of the items you threw out. The manager then gave her two choices, leave or be escorted out by security. The manager did worry that there could be repercussions for throwing out all of our stuff since technically corporate policy was that we're supposed to hang onto lost and found items for seven business days. So he offered her some coupons to end things on a good note. She didn't take them and screamed at us that we needed to replace everything and pay for the new material to re-adazzle them. At that point, the manager more flatly insisted that she leave. She didn't. Security had to escort her out. To our

total shock, she kept telling security that she worked there and it really confused them because they'd never seen her, so they weren't sure if it was because she was crazy or if it was because she was corporate. That is, someone who could fire them. We had to explain to security and to her that, in fact, she did not work here and this partnership was non-existent. Again, we explained that she couldn't sell her own products here in our department store. She kept saying, we can negotiate you a higher cut, that was just my starting offer. So after a bit, the manager just gave up on explaining and stopped engaging with her. She tried to come in every day for a week after that, to the point that we had to get a security guard stand right near the door to redirect her before she could even step over the threshold.

She got in one more time through the fire door, which set off the fire alarm, and we had to evacuate the store. So we let her know loud and clear that the next time the police would handle her. I guess some other stores had already made good on that promise, so she stopped coming. But she kept doing this elsewhere around town for several weeks until she was blacklisted by every store from the highest in boutiques to the dollar store. I don't know if she just didn't understand how extra stores worked or just didn't care, but she really created a lot of extra work for us. I will say this, many people were coming to the register to purchase her items, and

that department chain is bankrupt now, so she probably has a lucrative Etsy type store and the last laugh. I've read a lot of r-slash, I don't work here lady stories, but I think this is the first r-slash you don't work here lady story. That was r-slash, I don't work here lady, and if you like this content, then be sure to follow my podcast because I put out new Reddit podcasts every single day. Stay safe.