There was the usual lead up which I'm sure you're roughly familiar with. New manager, we knew what was up with the store, he didn't. Etc. He was an ass to just about everyone, but most of the people I worked with were paycheck to paycheck, whereas I just needed a little cash to take high school girls out. As I recall, the last straw was when I went up to help a customer up front at the counter, who was waiting, and he flipped out at me because he had earlier asked me to work the oven (illegal until you're 18 incidentally) and literally pointed to two places on the floor and said, "That's where your feet go. Don't move." I laughed with the gleeful incredulity of youth and told him to fuck off. I ended up leaving with my Papa Johns polo on the ground covered in flour dust and a lot of formerly disgruntled but suddenly entertained customers chuckling. One of the best evenings of my life.