Decades ago, me and my best mate worked for this absolute turdnugget of a boss at a busy gas station. The Owner and the Manager were both South Africans who had moved to New Zealand after the end of Apartheid because they obviously didn't like it in SA anymore. I only mention that as it is relevant background to help you understand the kind of people we're talking about.
Most of the people working at the station were Pacific Islanders – Samoans, Fijians, Tongans, Maori… but my buddy and I were a couple of whiter-than-white teenage dickheads who grew up on the multicultural streets of Auckland.
We got on well with the rest of the crew, but the owner and manager were both massive dickheads who obviously felt superior to everyone. Yes, they were racist AF but they also treated Josh and I like we were garbage.
Phrases I heard often were “Why would I pay more than peanuts if I employ a bunch of monkeys” and “Any monkey can do your job, if you don't like it you can leave”. They came up with nicknames for people that they obviously thought were hilarious, and would just refer to the staff by these. “Squeegee”, “Coolie” and a few others I can't remember. This is pre-smartphones and somewhat pre-internet so there was no way to really work out what they meant… but we knew it wasn't good. Still, we needed work, and people just put up with it, so we didn't make a big deal about it.
One day, during a big staff meeting (they liked to have one every month to tell us all new bullshit rules they put in place, that's another story), the owner and the manager come walking out, sniggering, and the manager loudly says in front of everyone, to my mate:
“Josh, you look like a Mulberry. I think I'll call you Mulberry from now on”
Cue laughter from the owner.
Josh, without skipping a beat, responds with
“Simon, you look like a Dipshit. I think I'll call you Dipshit from now on”
…stunned silence, with the exception of me trying desperately not to laugh. I think they both realised they had pushed it too far.
We never heard the word “Mulberry” again, but the others still had their names thrown at them constantly.
We both quit not long afterwards, and when I handed in my uniform I said to the owner:
“You know how you're always complaining about how bad the staff are? Well, if you shit on your staff, they're going to stink.” And I walked out. Super satisfying.
I discovered later that Simon, the manager, had been stealing from the owner, and ended up in jail. The owner ended up losing his contract with Mobil for repeated breaches of contract and discrimination.