6 of the Best Discipline at Work Stories

Contents

The Waitress
             
3

Management Training
             
11

The Bank Manager
             
21

The Shop Assistant
             
32

Office Discipline
             
41

The Advertising Agency
             
49

It had not been a good day for
Emma
. First, she had been late for work. Then, she'd dropped a pile of plates on the way out of the kitchen, smashing the lot - and wasting four people's food. Mr.
Wilson
would not be pleased - and now she had been summoned to see him He was a miserable man at the best of times - ran the cafe with an iron fist, and not a man to cross.

"Mr.
Wilson
- you wanted to see me?"

"Yes,
Emma
. Can you think why?"

"Well, Mr.
Wilson
, I'm really sorry about the plates. It's just - as I came out of the kitchen, a customer almost walked into me, and I had to swerve to avoid him. And...."

"Twenty-one pounds, that cost us."

"Yes, I know, but it was an accident - it's the first time it's ever happened."

"Well.... And was there something else you needed to talk to be about?"

"Err... I know I was a bit late this morning, but the bus got caught in traffic - I couldn't help it."

"I'm not interested in the bus - all I know is that you are paid to be here by 11 a.m., and this morning you weren't here until 11.20. How you get here is your problem - so long as you do get here on time."

"Yes, Mr.
Wilson
, I understand. But it is the first time I've been late."

"And I hope for your sake it's the last. Listen to me,
Emma
- I pride myself on running a tight ship here. Polly's is a good cafe - it's well run, it's in the good food guide, I make money from it. And slovenliness isn't part of the game plan. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mr.
Wilson
"

"Right.
Well, I think I've made myself understood. Now, there's work to do - the customers for dinner will be in any moment, so get about your duties. And I hope it won't be necessary for us to have a little chat like this again."

"Yes, Mr.
Wilson
. I'm sorry. Thank you..."

It was true. Polly's was good - always busy with tourists, lots of satisfied customers. She could think of worse summer jobs - eight weeks between finishing her A Levels and starting at Oxford: just enough to earn a bit of money for a holiday before going up for fresher’s week. And with her parents still in France - well, she felt quite adult, going out to work, looking after the house....

Of course, the whole place was a bit old-fashioned. Like the dresses they had to wear: trying to make them look like eighteenth-century maids, or something! Combined with
Wilson
's policy of employing only pretty girls - mostly slim, blondes like her - there was almost something strange about it! But the other girls were good company - quite a few had been with her in the sixth-form at the public school up the road, so all in all things were OK. Still - seeing
Wilson
like that made her feel like a naughty thirteen year old: she hoped she'd be able to keep out of his way for a few weeks. At least Wednesday was his night off, so he wouldn't be around that evening.

Dinner that night went smoothly - busy, but not too much so. One difficult old couple, but she felt like she handled them well. Until.... they were the last group in, six of them - all in their fifties or thereabouts, smartly dressed, obviously friends. Nothing seemed quite right for them - one of them had a dirty knife, another didn't like the vegetarian starters, they wanted tap water not Perrier. And spoke to her like she was a servant....

It was when she brought the starters out - she'd known that six was too much on one tray, but the chef had just kept piling them on, laughing. And as she got to the table, she lost balance, and the whole lot went tumbling down. If it had just fallen on the floor, it might have been OK - but the soup went right over one of the group.
Right over - into his lap.
He screamed out - it must have been quite hot - and chaos ensued. Diners shouting at her, the head waiter trying to calm them down, trying to dry off the soup, apologising - and then the group stormed out. "We'd get better service in a Little Chef than this," they shouted. And they didn't pay the bill for the wine they'd drunk, or the aperitifs.

Emma
was quite shaken - thank goodness
Wilson
wasn't in, or he'd have sacked her on the spot! She managed to get through serving desserts to the other three tables
who
were still in - although rather absent-mindedly: here heart wasn't in it. She just wanted to go home. Finally, the last group cleared off, and she was able to leave.

She got home at 11. She decided to slip into her dressing gown - get rid of that awful dress! As she took it off, she felt something in her pocket. She pulled it out. Oh no - it was the tip that the last table had given her.
Ten pounds - very generous.
They'd left it on the table for her after they'd gone, and she'd found it while she was clearing up, and just stuffed it into her pocket whilst she cleared up - and then she'd only forgotten to put it into the kitty to be shared out with the other staff... Well, she'd just have to give it in
in
the morning.

The following morning, and it was 10 past 11.
The bus was late - again. What was happening to the traffic in this town? She knew it was peak season for tourists, but this was getting ridiculous. And after yesterday, as well...

She rushed into Polly's, and went to hang up her jacket in the staff room, when she heard the head waiter's voice.

"
EMMA
!
Wilson
wants to see you in his office NOW! And I warn you - he's in a foul mood with you, so watch out!"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. She was in trouble now. Would he sack her? Or dock her wages? But she really needed to save up for her holiday. She reached
Wilson
's door, and knocked.

"Enter."

She went in, nervously, shutting the door behind her.

"Well, it's
Emma
. Sit down." He waived at the chair in front of his desk.
"Nice of you to join us this morning,
Emma
."

"Sorry, Mr.
Wilson
- the traffic: it's really bad this week."

"And is there an earlier bus?"

"Yes, Mr.
Wilson
- but it's an hour earlier, so I'd get here really early."

"Better early than late, my girl.
Well, then - yesterday you were late, then dropped £21's worth of food. And
you
promised me it wouldn't happen again. And this morning I come in to listen to an irate phone call from a good customer of ours about your incompetence YET AGAIN. And it cost me another twenty-five pounds in drinks they wouldn't pay for, never mind the cost of their dinners they didn't eat. And then you're late.
AGAIN."

"I'm really sorry - I had a bad day."

"Well, it's not good enough"

"No, Sir, it's not."

"And then there's the other matter."

"What's that?"

"What do you mean, 'what's that
?'
Why don't you have a little think?"

Silence.
What could he mean?

"I'm sorry - I really don't know."

"Theft, my girl."

"THEFT?
But that's nonsense... How dare you?"

"So the Peters didn't leave a tip, last night? How odd - they're normally so generous."

"Oh."
The ten pounds.
She brightened. "That's all right, Mr.
Wilson
- I just slipped it into my pocket while I was clearing up, and found it when I got home. I must have forgotten - I've got it with me to put into the kitty this morning."

"And you think I believe that?"

"But... but it's the truth! Why would I want to steal ten pounds?"

"I thought you were saving up...? Maybe you wanted to off-set any cut in your wages this week for the money you lost me yesterday?"

"No, Mr.
Wilson
, that's not fair..."

"Well, perhaps the police will be able to judge that." He reached for the phone.

"No, no, please."

"Well, why on earth not?"

"But that's so unfair. I didn't steal it - it was a mistake."

"Well, you can tell that to Constable Jones, no doubt."

"No!"

He paused, and looked her up and down. He leant forward, voice lowered. "So what do you suggest?"

"Whatever, sir.
Sack me - I'll go straight away. And - and you won't have to pay my wages for this week either." He looked unconvinced. "Or next week... I'll stay a week and work free for you"

"So you think you can buy me off from reporting a theft by offering to waive two week's wages? You're about to be reported to the police - you'll probably
loose
your place at Oxford, even if they don't put you away, you'll struggle to find a job with a criminal record - and you suggest waiving two-hundred pounds or so of wages?"

"Well, Sir, I don't know what else..." She was becoming desperate, almost tearful.

"How did they punish thieves at your posh school, I wonder...?"

"I don't know, Mr.
Wilson
. Probably expelled them, I should think."

"Oh - I thought they had other remedies..."

She looked puzzled - then a horrible thought occurred to her. "You don't mean
.."

"Mean what,
Emma
?"

"I mean - no - you don't mean caning...?"

"Well actually, that IS how I thought they would have dealt with it. So I thought you might prefer that, to resolve this little problem."

"But Mr.
Wilson
..." The thought was just too awful.

"OK, then, the police it is. But never forget I tried to help you."
Wilson
reached for the phone.

"NO! No - I need time to think."

"You have one minute." He looked up at the clock, and started drumming his fingers on the desk.

My god.
The cane.
From this man! No! She'd never even been smacked by her parents, never mind beaten. But otherwise - the police! And what if Oxford did decide they didn't want her. No! And surely it couldn't hurt that much?

"I need a decision,
Emma
- which is it to be?"