Whilst at USF in Tampa, FL (circa 1990) , I got myself a job working the front desk at a hair salon called "Mantrap" in the mall.
The hair stylists were a bunch of emo, drama queens with tempers that make Blair on Gossip Girl look like Mary Poppins, you know the type.
One afternoon, a stylist went all cookoo bonkers on me because I gave a walk-in client to someone else. The encounter had pushed me to my drama-in-the-workplace limit, so I did what any fed up reactionary eighteen year old would do... I said I was going to get a coke-- and never came back.
Ah, to be young again. And oh, don't tell my husband, he gets all bent when people don't give two weeks notice.