Customer: *Sneezes*

Me: “Gesundheit.”

Customer: “No, it’s ‘God bless you’.”

Me: “Well, I’m not religious, so it wouldn’t be much of a blessing.”

Customer: “You don’t believe in God?”

Me: “No.”

Her body language changes to something defensive.

Customer: *In a mocking tone* “So, how does that feel?”

She looks at me like she has just asked the most profound question in history and I am going to drop to my knees and accept Jesus into what was clearly the massive, moralless hole in my life.

Me: “Do you believe in Buddha?”

Customer: “No…”

Me: “It feels like that.”

She didn’t look very happy with me and walked off.

Back in the early 1980s, I was a telecommunications tech in Pinetown, South Africa. My job? To swoop in and rescue people with malfunctioning phones. 

One fateful day, a call came in complaining that the lines at a local firm were throwing a daily tantrum at 10:00 am. I rushed there, arriving at 11:00-ish to meet a receptionist with tales of woe. Little did I know, a storm was brewing in the form of an irate director.

As we discussed the issue, the boss stormed in, unleashing a torrent of anger and colourful language. Amid the chaos, I promised that I would be back by 9:45 the next day.

The following morning at 9:45 sharp, I confidently strode in, prepared to unveil my telecom wizardry. The director, true to form, resumed his tirade from the back room. Ignoring the commotion, I awaited the magic hour.

At precisely 10:00 am, half of the telephone lines waved a white flag of surrender. I swiftly investigated, finding myself in the “dedicated” PABX (Private Automatic Branch Exchange) room — a room that, as I soon discovered, moonlighted as a storage space amongst other jobs.

Lo and behold, the culprit of this daily telephonic rebellion was none other than the office tea lady. She had unplugged the phantom equipment to power up the kettle for her morning tea ritual. The tea, I might add, was for the director. The irony was too delicious to resist.

Summoning the director with a triumphant bang on his door, I led him to the scene of the crime. Pointing at the kettle, I declared, “That’s why your phones don’t work.” Without another word, I left him to digest the bitter truth. The look on his face was indescribable.

Lesson learned: sometimes, the most sophisticated problems have the simplest solutions, and in this case, it boiled down to a tea-related power struggle.

Quite a few years ago, I was a bartender in a corporate-style cookie-cutter restaurant. I mostly worked nights but had one regular mid-shift on Fridays. We were always super busy at the bar for lunch on Fridays and usually had quite a few of the mall workers coming in to eat and then head back to work.

Nearly every Friday, the same smug, borderline rude lady came in for lunch. Every time, she paid with exact change — zero tip. Maybe half the time, she would complain over some minor inconvenience, and more than a few times, she got a comped meal. The more I had to wait on her, the more indignant and pissed I got.

Around Christmas time, I was out and about in the mall buying for family and friends. I picked out something nice for my girlfriend at the time — a sheer top that I thought would look amazing on her. It was decently priced with it being on sale, too.

Walking up to the cashier, I was a bit surprised to run into… [Rude Lady]. Whatever. In street clothes, I felt like she barely registered who I was, or maybe she really didn’t care who was at her register — maybe both. So, I handed her a $20 bill. She examined it for a moment, turned it over twice, and even held it up to the light. Then, out came the counterfeit pen marker. I was thinking, “A bit excessive, no?”

Change should have been around a dollar and change. Surprisingly, she handed out $81 plus change.

She called for the next customer in line, so I stepped to the side for a moment in contemplation. I could honestly feel the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other.

It took me a moment or two… but I finally let my moral compass win and stepped back in front of the register.

I nicely explained that a mistake had been made, but before I could continue, she shot me down and briskly told me in a semi-professional tone to GTFOH.

So… I did.

The way I look at it? All those lost tips and the money she had just gifted me were just Karma. Sucked to be her, I guess.

Related:
A Fellow Retail Worker Should Know Better!

I work for an amusement park that has a large green replica of the Eiffel Tower. I work at the stands at the base of the tower, right outside the shops.

Guest: “Do you have one of them paper things that shows you where things are?”

Me: “Do you mean a map?”

Guest: “Yeah, one of them map things!”

Me: “I don’t, but the store behind me does.”

He goes in, comes out with the map, and asks:

Guest: “Do you know where that Eiffel Tower thingy is?”

I don’t say anything and just point behind him.

I explain this encounter to a coworker later, who happens to be German. 

Coworker: “Oh, forgetting the name of something I can understand. In Germany, we call it ‘Sprachenkrise’ which I guess in English means ‘language crisis’. Once, I couldn’t remember the word ‘cemetery’, so I made do with ‘sadness park’.”

We called her “The Governess.”

It was the 1990s, and I worked in a restaurant. The Governess was a woman, perhaps in her sixties, with short hair set in curls that were close to her head. She dressed and spoke with a stiff sort of formality. She was strict, bordering on mean.

We didn’t hate her. I don’t think she ever got the cold shoulder. We were all extremely nice to her in hopes that she wouldn’t be too demanding with us. She tipped adequately. But she was draining to serve.

After a solid year or so, she came in, and I thought, “No… I just can’t deal with her.” I was waiting tables, pregnant, and exhausted. But this was my job, so I forced a smile onto my face and greeted her.

To my surprise, she smiled back. Throughout her whole meal, she was pleasant and warm. It was like a switch had been flipped, and she had become a completely different person. Another server whispered to me that she had been in a few days before and was just as cheerful then.

She became one of our most beloved customers. When one of our servers found out she was a dean for a small private school, he let it slip that we had nicknamed her “The Governess”. She loved it!

She came into the restaurant one day stating that she wanted to book a large party for an early dinner: her retirement party. One of our line cooks suggested that we get a custom sign made that said, “Governess Parking Only”. Several of us chipped in to have it made.

When the party came, her husband laughed hysterically at the parking sign and asked if he could take it with them. Every employee of the restaurant was there to wish her well. A few of our former servers even stopped in to give her a hug.

Shortly after that, she was gone from our lives… relocating to a warmer state. I never knew what caused her shift in personality, but I’m so glad we could get to know her as well as we did.