rSlash - r/Maliciouscompliance Force Me to Write Your Essay? Enjoy an F!
Episode Date: April 22, 2023https://www.youtube.com/rslash Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices...
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Welcome to our slash malicious compliance where OP happily follows company policy.
Our next reddit post is from Double Indar.
This happened in a large store in a European country.
When you purchase something from this store and for any reason when it return the item, their policy is that they never give money back. They only give you
a voucher that's redeemable the same day only. I went to that store today and purchased
quite a long list of items. I got home, my wife looks at them and says that we don't need
some of them. I go back to the store. At this point, barely 20 minutes have passed.
The returns manager smiled at me as I told her that I just purchased these items and I'd
like to return them.
She told me that since I stepped out of the store, she can't offer a refund.
She can only give me a voucher and I must buy something else.
I had already bought everything I needed.
Then she tells me to take the products home and keep them for the next time that I would
need to buy something. Then I could come and get the voucher and redeem it then.
I tried to reason with her, but she was adamant. Those are their rules. You stepped out of
the store so you don't get a refund. And then it clicked. I asked, so if someone wants
to return an item without leaving the store, they can get their money back? Yes. You see where this is hitting?
Malicious compliance kicking in.
I asked to return the items and get the voucher.
I take the voucher, go inside the store, and find a product with exactly the same amount
as the voucher.
I buy it with the voucher.
Right past the cashier, there's a returns manager.
I go straight from the cashier to the returns manager.
I hand her the random product I just bought and said, I'd like to return this, I don't
want it.
And I never left the store.
She's looking at me with barely contained rage in her eyes, I kid you not.
The awkward pause between us was getting longer.
Then her manager comes along.
He looks at us and I smile at him and say,
I never left the store and I would like to get a refund for this please.
He nods.
The returns manager, silent and not looking at me, proceeds to refund me the money in cash.
Company policy, right?
Our next Reddit post is from Critical Depth.
This story happened at my previous job, where my manager was the definition of a micromanager.
At this job, we had an hour for lunch, but the break room was small, so people usually
stagger their lunch breaks.
It was an unspoken rule that, as long as you didn't take more than an hour and your
work didn't suffer, no one really cared when you took your lunch.
That was, until our new manager, Dave stepped in.
Dave decided that he had to control when everyone took their lunch breaks.
He created a strict schedule assigning each person to a specific lunch hour.
My assigned time was right in the middle of my most productive part of the day, which
was super frustrating.
I decided to follow the new lunch schedule, but I also decided to take full advantage of
my rights as an employee.
You see, our company policy stated that any work done during our lunch break was considered
over time and had to be compensated.
So I started to accidentally schedule meetings, calls, and tasks during my lunch break, making sure
to meticulously document every minute of work I did.
Then, at the end of the week, I'd submit a detailed overtime report to Dave, showing
him all the extra work I did during my lunch hour.
Dave was furious, but he couldn't deny my overtime request without violating company
policy.
After a few weeks of paying
me extra for work that I would have gladly done during my regular hours, Dave scrapped
his strict lunch schedule and let us go back to our old system. Man, I feel like half
of all malicious compliance and pro revenge and tail-dream tech support story start with,
things were going great until we got a new manager.
Our next Reddit post is from Jeffrey Friedle.
When I started graduate school and computer science in the late 80s, back when there was
one monolithic mainframe that everyone had accounts on, I requested the username J Fried
1.
Because I'd had that on every system I'd ever been on.
The system administrator, who was master of his tiny domain, seemed to take great pleasure
in denying my request, citing policy that people use their initials.
Everyone had three letter usernames, from the dean down to the system administrator down
to the lowest students.
Fine, if your policy is that people use their initials, then my username should be Jeff,
J-E-F-F, because my legal name is Jeffrey Eric Francis
Fretel, forced malicious compliance. I could tell that he was positively fuming
inside, but he had no choice but to comply with the policy. I had the only
username that not only wasn't restricted to three characters, but was also my
name, Our next red
post is from Sarah's Hill. So I was once a sarcastic and easily annoyed guy in my 20s, and
this often didn't help me get along with older or corporate types. I was working at home
depot in the flooring department. It was just starting to get warm out, and the store
didn't have much ACs. So I was looking forward to a magical date where certain employees
were allowed to switch their pants for shorts.
The problem is that we had a new department manager, Dick, who was aggressively chasing
a promotion to assistant manager, then store manager.
He thought that he could accomplish that by being a super by the book Hardass and being
relentlessly metrics focused.
This translated into a manager who
was a know-it-all micromanaging dick. Anyway, I'm scheduled to open at 5 a.m. on the first
day that were allowed to wear shorts, and I walk in all light and airy and bare-legged.
Dick, who was the overnight manager the previous night, saw me, and threw a fit.
Why are you out of uniform, he asked? I'm not. I can wear shorts starting today, I proclaimed.
Not your position in your department.
Who told you that you could? He retorted.
The employee handbook and standard operating procedures.
I can show you if you don't believe me, I offered.
I know the standard operating procedures
in your department doesn't get to wear shorts.
That's only the garden.
Go home and change right now.
He demanded his face getting redder from my defiance.
Okay, Dick, if that's how you want to play it, I'll be back in an hour.
Maybe the loss of an hour pay will teach you something.
But I know better.
The reason I know better is because I'm one of those weirdos who actually reads the entire
standard operating procedure document and the employee handbook because I really hate
being wrong.
So I always check the documents before doing anything different day to day.
In my store, the standard operating procedure document was like invoking God.
If that document said so, that one every single argument. So I go home,
change into pants, but bring my shorts back to work with me. By now, Dick's shift is over,
and I ask the new morning manager on duty, Darren, to meet with me. Why, he asks, what's up?
Oh, just a standard operating procedures issue. Oh, okay. Give me like 10 minutes. So I swung by my desk and printed
out several things. One, my latest paystuff that included my official
job title and department number. Two, the company directory that listed the department
names and their associated numbers. Three, the standard operating procedure document
that dealt with when and which departments can wear shorts.
Four, the annual email from the regional VP confirming which departments can wear shorts. For, the annual email from the regional VP confirming
which departments could wear shorts starting when,
which also included the line.
And this letter is to be posted at the time clock
between the dates of X and Y.
Five, this standard operating procedure
detailing the company transportation
and mileage reimbursement policy.
Six, a Google Maps route that mirrored the route
that I had to take to and from work
with a total mileage highlighted.
So I meet with Darren and I explained what happened
and handed him each page in turn
as they became relevant.
At the end, we agreed that I was right
on every single account and asked me what I wanted.
I said that I wanted five things.
One, I want to get paid for that hour.
Two, I want reimbursement for the mileage. Three, I want that get paid for that hour. Two, I want reimbursement for the mileage.
Three, I want that email to be posted by the clock like it said it was supposed to be.
Four, I want you to talk to Dick about this because I told him that this was on the SOP
before he sent me home. And five, I'm changing back into my shorts. All of that sounds more than fair.
Get the paperwork for the clock adjustment and mileage to me today and I'll sign it.
The printed out email mysteriously went missing from the time clock the next day.
But I replaced it every day until I happened to see Dick angrily snatched it off the board and throw it away.
I reported that as well, and the letters stopped going missing.
He didn't talk to me much, and I was transferred to another department a month later, so all in all, this is a win-win.
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Our next Reddit post is from Brinky Stitches.
This happened nearly 20 years ago during my first year of college.
I was assigned a group presentation and placed with three random people in my class.
The first meeting went well.
When we all got up to leave, one of my male group members, who all called tool, squeezed
my arm hard.
I looked at him like he had crusty boogers all over his face, yanked my arm away and asked,
do you need something?
He scowled at me.
I'm running for class president and I won't have time to do this presentation. You are going
to do my part. I laughed. I most certainly am not.
Tool put his face close to mine and whispered somewhat menacingly. You're a woman and you
will do as I say. I laughed again and said, I don't even know you, dude.
You don't get to tell me what to do.
Tool whispered even more menacingly.
You aren't going to do my part of the presentation, and that's that.
Then he walked away quickly.
I had no idea what to do.
Do I tell the professor?
Do I tell the campus police about him squeezing my arm super hard?
Do I tell the other group members?
Obviously, I was not going to do this guy's presentation.
I wanted to get back at him, however, because he put his hands on me, I was petty.
Then it came to me.
Time for malicious compliance.
The day of our presentation, and just before it was our turn to present, I handed Tool
his project, a single piece of paper with only the words,
Tools Presentation typed on it.
I, Grandin, asked, isn't it great?
Tool looked like he wanted to vomit.
I then leaned in and whispered,
You are going to get a terrible grade, and that's that.
He stuttered some nonsense during his portion of the presentation,
and while I don't know
for certain what grade he received, it couldn't have been good.
I got an A+.
He never came to class again, and I never saw him on campus again.
I don't know if he dropped out or what happened, but I do know that he wasn't elected president.
Our next reddit posted from Totkonex.
For context, I have less than zero religiosity.
I'm not saying that God doesn't exist.
I just haven't seen credible, replicable, and verifiable evidence that proves God's
existence.
So my wife and I attended her sister's housewarming party earlier today.
Her sister's mother-in-law, whom we're just meeting for the first time, is apparently
a devout, outspoken, and an annoyingly preachy
Christian.
The father-in-law is chilled.
The mother-in-law, Karen, asks for all the guest attention, and for some incomprehensible
reason, orders me, as in, not a polite request, no please, etc.
To pray for the food in which we're about to partake.
I guess me holding the fine cutlery while chopping up some Costco rotisserie chicken makes
me the leader of men in prayer?
WTF?
My wife's sister interjects.
Some of our guests don't share the same fate that we have.
If it's alright with you, OP, can we just have a moment of silence so we can all offer
thanks in our own personal ways?
Before she can finish, Karen cuts her off and says,
it's only right to offer things in praise
for our Lord and Savior.
Blah, blah, blah.
Karen promptly points to me with her index finger
and sternly commands.
O.P. lead the prayer.
I silently think to myself,
malicious compliance jackpots,
then out loud, I say,
praise be to Alla for he has given us all this delicious food to consume and enjoy.
Except for the dishes with pork in it and all the alcoholic beverages,
for Allah doesn't allow their consumption.
At this point in my prayer, Karen turns around,
grabs her husband by the arm and leaves the party,
mumbling something about all of us being heretics and such. Needless to
say, everyone was giggling at her theatrics. Obviously, the drinks and food tasted way better after
they left. Our next reddit post is from ambitious writer. When I was a kid, my parents used the
My Home My Rules, period. I was told that when I have my own home and pay my own bills I can make the rules.
It drove me crazy, but I can't argue with that logic. Years later as an adult who was
paying my own bills my parents came to visit and wanted to stay with me. My mom smokes
and expected to be able to do it in my home. Nope! I told her that just like when I was
younger they have to follow my house rules, and those
rules include no smoking.
I had chronic bronchitis as a child until I moved out of the house.
If looks could kill, I'd be long dead.
When I had my kid, I told my mom that not only could she not smoke near my baby, but she
had to change her clothes if she wanted to hold the baby.
She knew that I was serious, and gave up 40 years of smoking. Down in the comments, we have this really
sweet story from USAF. My dad used to say that when he quit his nearly 20-year-old smoking
habit, it was because I crawled up in his lap, all of three years old, and said, Daddy,
you stink! He quit cold turkey. I got 35 more years with him, so it was a win.
That was our slash malicious compliance, and if you liked this content, be sure to follow
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