We have a coworker who is neurodivergent. He’s worked for the store longer than almost anyone else save a few managers, and he is known for keeping the fresh fruit and vegetable sections looking like works of art.

[Coworker] doesn’t interact with the customers too often due to some social anxieties and other factors, so he comes in very early at the same time as the produce shipments and makes sure the displays are perfect (and I do mean perfect) with minimal customer overlap. His shift is usually over only an hour or so after we start letting in customers.

Something happens with [Coworker]’s family, and he has to take two weeks off for it. He’s not too happy with this, as he is comforted greatly by his routine, but we’ve all been encouraging him how great he’s been doing in “trying new things” lately, and he can tell us all about his trip when he gets back.

Coworker: “Oh, no, that’s not what I am worried about. I’m worried about the displays. I have a specific way I make the apple pyramids, and it looks better when the cucumbers are stacked diagonal, not to mention—” 

Manager: “[Coworker], while I know for a fact that no one can do that better than you, we’ll find a way to manage without you, I promise.”

[Coworker] goes on his trip, and while we make our best effort, we can’t make the fruit and vegetable displays look as amazing as he does. It gets to the point where it’s noticed by the customers, and I have a variation of this conversation multiple times.

Customer #1: “Oh, your fruit displays aren’t as neat as they usually are. I know it’s a little thing, but it always makes my day when I can tell someone has made a conscious decision to stack the loose carrots by size. These things go noticed, you know!”

Me: “I’m glad you noticed, and yes, our regular stocker is off for the next two weeks.”

Customer #1: “Oh! Nothing bad, I hope?”

Me: “Not that I am aware, but I do know he’s looking forward to coming back to work to make the displays all pretty again!” 

After the two weeks are up, [Coworker] returns to work, and within a day, the displays are back to the perfect standards he is known for. This time, the regulars have noticed, and in that small window when [Coworker] and the customers are in the store at the same time, variations of the following conversation occur.

Customer #2: “Excuse me. Are you the man who puts out the fruits and vegetables?” 

Coworker: “Uh… yes. I am.”

Customer #2: “You do such a wonderful job! You were missed when you were away! You can tell they did their best in your absence, and I know it’s only a silly little thing, but it really is joyous to see how much care you put into your work! Now that I know it’s you, I simply had to thank you.”

Coworker: “Oh… uh… you’re welcome.”

Rinse and repeat to the point where, the next time I see [Coworker] in the break room:

Coworker: “I had to go away for two weeks because my grandad died. My mum was there, and she told me that I wasn’t going to ever make anyone happy in my life. But since I got back, I’ve been told that I’ve made six complete strangers very happy.”

Me: “Oh, my. I’m sorry about your mum, but I am glad you made some people happy.”

Coworker: “I think I am going to try some new designs with the cabbages tomorrow. That will show them!” 

Our manager has since promoted [Coworker] to the head of the produce department, and he’s developed several regulars who are “fans”. He even hangs around a little longer at the end of his shift instead of leaving immediately to talk to them.

The displays have only gotten better and better.

This is a multi-layer story, featuring both wonderful strangers and a customer not “processing” signs. (To be fair, this customer was ten.)

A long time ago, my parents took my two brothers and me to Paris because my father wanted to go to some professional fair. Before that, we tended to use an RV for holidays, but this time, probably both because of our ages and the fact it was in Paris (“the suburbs”), my parents decided to get a hotel.

We took to the road, and after six-ish hours, we got to the hotel a little on the late side of the day. (It was winter, so it was already nighttime.) And then, the ordeal started.

While the hotel itself was “open”, there was no one to greet us. We were able to go inside, searching for someone, without any results. It was a time before mobile phones when even beepers were restricted to emergency professionals. We tried to use a phone booth but without success. I don’t remember how long we waited and how panicked my parents must have been. 

We waited around and tried to find help for what I think was a few hours. I would guess that it was around 10:00 or 11:00 pm. The people from the house across from the hotel came to talk to my parents. After my parents explained the situation, the family proposed giving all of us a bed/couch for the night.

Even today, I still can’t believe it. They decided to let five complete strangers — including three kids — sleep in their house. 

The next morning, we finally get to the hotel for an explanation. The owner could not excuse himself harder. He explained to us that there was a family medical emergency, and he said he would upgrade us the next day for absolutely no charge at all, doing the grand gesture of ripping up our check. 

Yet, he tried to explain that there was a night caretaker we could have contacted. And then, I chimed in.

Me: “So, that’s what that sign meant that said, ‘In case of emergency, please contact Room 13’!”

Thirty years later, my parents still won’t let it go.

I work with the Girl Scouts. A troop mom comes by who is usually a rude and problematic customer.

Troop Mom: “I need a box of badges — the hundred box since my girls are doing so much better than all the others, as usual.”

Me: “Okay… I’ll go check the back for the larger boxes.”

I go to the back room to see my manager shaking up the box I need.

Manager: “Every time she comes in, she wants to show off and bring everyone else down. That’s not the Girl Scout way. So, I make sure to shake the bag real good and get those badges all mixed up and out of order. Now that’s the Girl Scout way.”

For whatever reason, in the early 1990s, all of the fast food places in our town were in one short strip of the main street which, of course, got dubbed “Fast Food Alley”. I worked at a Wendy’s, directly next door to a Taco Bell. I had been working there for nearly a year and was so over their crap, and I was just counting down the days until I could start college.

One day when I was working in the drive-thru, we got a man on the speaker who was obviously trying to order Taco Bell menu items.  

I turned to my coworkers as I handed out a different order.

Me: “Dude’s in the wrong drive-thru.”

Manager: “Don’t tell him that! I’ll handle it. We can’t turn away a sale.” *Over the speaker* “I’m sorry, sir, were you looking to order a taco salad?”

Confused Dude: “No, I wanted…”

I can’t remember exactly what he wanted, but they were all Taco Bell items, at least one of which was a taco.

Manager: *Over the speaker* “I’m afraid we don’t have any of those. The closest I can offer is a taco salad. Would you like to order one of those?”

This went on for what felt like ages, with the manager just offering other menu items, and the guy in the drive-thru getting more confused and agitated with each exchange. I finally lost my patience, and I had run out of other orders to hand out while I bit my tongue.

Me: *Over the speaker* “Sir, I apologize for my manager, but you’ve entered the wrong drive-thru. You’re at a Wendy’s; the Taco Bell you’re clearly looking for is next door. And again, I’m sorry for the confusion.”

The guy shouted obscenities at the speaker for a few seconds as he put his car into gear and tore out of the drive-thru.

Manager: “Why on earth did you do that? I had it handled!”

Me: “No, you absolutely did not. You were riling him up by trying to sell him something he clearly didn’t want. There was no way that was going to end well.”

Manager: “We can’t turn away a customer!”

Me: “He wasn’t our customer. And now that you’ve pissed him off, he probably never will be. What was your goal there? Piss him off so he can abuse me at the window?”

Manager: “I should write you up for this!”

Me: “You can, but I won’t sign it. Deceiving customers, even by omission, is terrible customer service. If you’d gotten into the wrong drive-thru, wouldn’t you want to be told about it rather than baited with other non-related food?”

She grumbled something at me that I didn’t catch because the chime went off indicating another customer. She never did write me up, probably because I’d butted heads with managers on frivolous write-ups before and won, and a few weeks later, I left for college.

I do not miss working in fast food.

Related:
Sir, This Is A Wendy’s…

I used to be a manager in billing. A caller was screaming at one of my agents to the point that she was crying. The conversation went like this before they got to me.

Caller: “My services went out for half an hour, and I demand a credit!”

Agent: “Yes, ma’am, I can offer $25 as a courtesy credit.”

Caller: “Are you joking? That’s nowhere near enough to compensate me for my inconvenience! I know they hire idiots at your company, but you have to be the lowest of the low to think of even offering a figure that low! Put me through to your manager as it’s obvious I am just going to be wasting my time with you!”

She put the caller through to her supervisor.

Supervisor: “My agent was correct and following procedure by offering a $25 courtesy credit, ma’am. Since you have expressed that this outage has severely inconvenienced you, I can offer you $50.”

Caller: “You idiots aren’t getting it, are you?! I have been severely inconvenienced, and you think a measly $50 is going to cut it? Your company makes billions! Put me through to the manager; this is a waste of my time!”

The call got to me and irritated me to the point that I was grinding my teeth.

Me: “Well, ma’am, I have listened to the gist of the calls, and all I have heard is you hurling abuse at my agents for following correct and proper procedure. Therefore, I will not be offering the $50 that you should have taken from the supervisor, and I will not even be allowing the original $25 that was offered by my agent.”

Caller: “No! You have to give me the $50! You agreed!”

Me: “And you rejected it, so that offer is gone. But I am a fair man, and I am aware that your service was genuinely out for half an hour. At your current bill, that comes to four cents prorated, but I’ll make it eight cents and round it up to an hour since I’m a nice guy. You’ll see that credited in your next bill. Is there anything else I can help you with, ma’am?”

Caller: “You f******—”

Me: “Thank you for calling, and have a great day!” *Click*