He’ll Figure It Out
I’d been left on my own to do packing up multiple times; it was a fancy fish shop with a window display that was 100% a two-person job but the chef/manager was super lazy. I burnt the absolute heck out of my forearm one day while cooking some items we sold, as the batter plopped into the deep fryer harder than I expected. It was the most painful moment of my life—but it was about to get worse.
I had staff from other stores coming to help (with first aid, cold towels) and my manager sauntered past with a salad he’d made for the lunch rush and told me to hurry up because he was heading out early. Again. He knew I’d just burnt my arm and was in no shape to close up. I grabbed the keys, slapped them down, and told him to do it himself.
He had the audacity to ask me how he was supposed to close on his own as if I hadn’t had to close the thing on my own for countless shifts before.