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The original was posted on /r/maliciouscompliance by /u/Ancient_Educator_76 on 2025-01-15 04:05:52+00:00.

Back in the sun soaked streets of Phoenix, Arizona my 14-year-old self squints gleefully into the window of. Chevy impala, rolling down as slowly and choppily as OPs writing.

It’s time to sell some candy.

I hop into my new favorite escape from my life of picking up cigarette butts for my father, rife with opportunity.

My job was to sell boxes of cheap candy that my boss , “Al”, got from who knows where. We sold the candy door to door , an army of tweens driven around by someone triple their age. Five to six bucks a box was our price, a dollar a box was our profit.

Al got the rest.

One weekend he drove us way away from our usual spot, thrust us into ahwatukee , a prominent neighborhood with lush houses. Al expected big things of us.

The day was hot and grueling. That bright shiny day quickly turned into a sweaty hellscape, ending in anger and the disappointment of only selling three boxes. Al was furious.

He picked us up from our drop off locations and drove us to another neighborhood in ahwatukee. He reamed us, insulted us, and accused us of not trying. The truth was it was just brutal in every way. People were on vacation. The only people answering was the occasional hired help He didn’t care. He demanded for us to

“Start making way more sales!”

Enter malicious compliance.

The next neighborhood he dropped us off in was about a quarter mile from a convenience store. We took the cash we had from our original sales and bought a bunch of cheap candies from the convenience store. We resold those dollar thin mints at a significant mark up. We kept the extra cash and occasionally sold one or two of his candies only because people saw them in our box of candies and chose those. Each o e if us had about thirty bucks cash for ourselves , and twenty or so for AL. We made more sales alright. Al just didn’t know how much more.

TLDR

We were told to sell more candy and we sold our own.

Update.

One more detail

This started a plan where we brought a bunch of our own personal things to sell for one hundred percent profit , like little toys and baseball cards. It was our most lucrative summer. Mine anyways.