When I was studying for my English degree, I had a temporary summer job working in a warehouse alongside numerous other university students and permanent staff. The supervisor was a letch, making inappropriate comments, scratching his bollocks in front of the young women, and leaving porn mags lying around. Once he grabbed me from behind, hoisted me into a lorry, and bound me in clingfilm so tightly I couldn't move. Apparently, this was him having a 'laugh' - it was the 90s and somehow acceptable among the managers.
The canteen was at least a 10-minute walk away, making it a very tight squeeze to get back from lunch on time. One day a snotty letter from the supervisor appeared on the notice board. It warned about timekeeping, threatening to dock our wages by every minute we were late back from lunch. Our pay was £3ph. The letter was so poorly written it was barely comprehensible. I'd had enough by this point and when no one was looking I took a red pen and did a stylistic analysis of his writing, word by word, tearing it to shreds.
When he found it he went ballistic, demanding that everyone took a handwriting test until the culprit was identified. This backfired, with refusals all round and permanent staff threatening to get the union involved. No one suspected me and I certainly wasn't owning up to it - I only had a week to go until I left for university.
I kept my head down during that week, listening as everyone gossiped about the incident - the general consensus was: good for whoever was bold enough to do it, wiping the leering grin off his face.
My stomach still churns when I think how hideous that job was but I don't regret my actions for a minute.