I thought of this question because someone joked about double-dipping their hands in the chocolate fountain at Golden Corral and boy did that invoke one of my least favorite paying-for-college memories.
Yes, someone did dip his hands into the chocolate fountain at the Golden Corral. Worse, he was a repeat offender, a man that was at least in his 30s if not older slurping it off of his fingers and all, sometimes while making eye contact with me or my coworkers. Worse, there was no enforced rule against doing so, at least at my location, so my manager just told me to let him do it, don’t make a big deal out of it, and hope he doesn’t bother anyone else.
That same manager once insisted on me making the place extra clean a little before Christmas, so they insisted that I use double the amount of cleaning bleach in the same bucket. I explained that’s not how cleaning works or how OSHA compliance works. I got a write-up. I said that wasn’t an offense that qualified for a write-up, and what they said was “thanks for the tip, I’ll find something that is. Your word against mine.” 
That same manager punched me out early without telling me, because the place wasn’t perfect enough before I left over an hour late, missing my family waiting to pick me up outside by that long to go out to do holiday stuff. I did call that in on the supposedly anonymous tip line later, but you can guess what happens when an anonymous tip about wage theft is called in on a manager that already knows who would call in that tip in a “right to work” situation. 
That same manager was fired a week later for embezzlement, and not the cool kind. They were writing up and firing people for months for money missing from the register. I found out when collecting my last check and noticed someone new. 
My first job as a teen was dreadful. I’m socially anxious and was incredibly awkward when I was younger, but I was always polite and patient with people. The real problem was my parents. They made me get a job, which you’d think is pretty normal for a teen, learn the value of money and all, but my step-siblings didn’t have to work and got new computers and cars from their other parents, so here I was with no car, expected to get to work and back everyday. I had to go to school, get dropped off from the bus at the church, cross two roads, and go to the other end of a stripmall to the dollar store I worked at. Then I’d work until dark and have to wait in the parking lot for them to pick me up because while they wanted me to have the job, they didn’t want to help me get a car, so they’d consistently come an hour late, pretend like they forgot, and act annoyed that they had to go out of their way to drive me home. And I didn’t have a phone to call and was too anxious to ask to use a phone. So then I’d come home and do all the chores in the house while my step-siblings just did whatever I guess. I was literally the red headed stepchild trope but without the red hair. And the real kicker was, I never saw a dime of the money I made working. My stepmom took the card I got paid on and I never got any of it. One day she accused me of getting a new card to access the money because she had somehow lost track of a few hundred dollars. My money that she lost, I don’t know how you even manage that, it’s on the damn card, you should be able to track where the money goes. Not that I would have seen it anyway. Eventually dealing with my stepmom had me so sick with anxiety and depression everyday I started messing up change and stuff and got fired.
Another time when I was older and not living with those people, I had a nightshift at a walmart where I’d get home, go to sleep, and be so worn out I’d only wake up just in time to go to work again. It was so bad that once they fired me for calling out too much I literally cheered in my car. I wasn’t sure how I’d pay for food or rent but I was just so happy not to have to work there any more.
Then there was a fast food place I worked, Sonic I think.
self harm
I got to a point where I just couldn’t take working these shitty jobs that didn’t pay enough to afford living. I took an entire bottle of sleeping pills with the intent to kill myself. I’m gonna get real graphic, but you imagine sleeping pills and you think “aww, just drifting off peacefully in your sleep, how romantic”. Nah. Your body isn’t stupid, it knows when it’s been poisoned and it doesn’t want to die even if you do. I didn’t know projectile vomiting was a real thing, but it came out like that scene in the Exorcist. I passed out in a literal puddle of vomit, woke up not dead, and then… I just went back to work. What was I gonna do? My entire body felt like how your limbs do when they’ve fallen asleep and are waking up, that prickly feeling but all over, for about three days after that.
Then there was the bakery where we were literally working 12 hour days 7 days a week, and I had a 40 minute commute living in a disgusting, moldy, rat infested trailer with my mom and her husband and getting giardia or some shit. When I saved up from the bakery I got my own place, but I couldn’t take working that much for long.
Then I worked at a Food City where I didn’t get paid enough to afford the food I was stocking. I was literally having to live off of 10 dollars a week for food.
I was actually at my wits end again a year or more ago when I lost my car and was coasting on Covid rent relief to not be homeless. Luckily, there was a place within walking distance where I work now. I don’t have to work too much, I don’t have to interact with too many people, I get to dick around a lot and my boss is pretty cool as far as bosses go. So who the fuck knows where I’d be now if not for pure dumb luck. I’m pathetically allergic to work and I know full well there’s no assistance for people here, so I don’t know what I’d do if this job stops working out for me.