With Pregnant Women You Really Have To Crack The Whip

, , , , , | Right | August 18, 2017

(I work at a self-serve frozen yogurt shop, where customers can serve themselves cups of yogurt with various toppings, and weigh it at the end. The one topping we offer that is not self-serve is whipped cream, because customers would have to touch the nozzle to serve themselves, and that’s unhygienic. Employees are the only ones who can touch the nozzle, because we wash our hands with sanitized water frequently. This story happens as a heavily pregnant woman comes in with her husband.)

Woman: “Can I get some whipped cream, please?”

Me: “Of course!” *holds can over her cup* “Tell me when.”

Woman: *grabbing for the can* “No, I’ll do it.”

Me: “I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t let you. It’s due to the health code; only employees can touch whipped cream cans.”

Woman: “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never heard that in my life!” *continues to try and snatch the can away from me* “Just let me do it. I’m pregnant!”

Man: “Come on, just let her do it. She’s eight months pregnant. Let her do what she wants.”

Me: “Really, I am sorry. It can seem like a silly rule, but we can’t be sure that customers’ hands are totally clean, so we can’t let anyone else touch the nozzle.”

Woman: “Oh, so now you’re calling me dirty?! Give me the can, you little b****!!” *she slaps the can out of my hand and proceeds to put whipped cream on her yogurt herself* “There, was that so hard?”

(I have to throw the can away at this point, since there’s no way to properly sanitize the nozzle, and we can’t risk other customer’s safety in the case that the woman’s hands might have been dirty. The woman rages when she sees me do this.)

Woman: “What the f***?! You just throw it away?! Because I touched it!?”

Me: “Yes! Like I tried to tell you, it’s unhygienic! I can’t keep using a can that someone else has touched—”

(The woman slams her yogurt down on the scale, which causes it to splash up and go everywhere, including all over herself. She starts screaming in frustration, before stomping out, leaving her husband behind.)

Man: “See what you did? This could have all been avoided! She’s pregnant!”

(They left without their yogurts.)

Should Have Checked

, , , | Right | August 18, 2017

(A vendor had requested a rush check cut and sent overnight. The check hasn’t arrived and he calls me, clearly looking for a fight.)

Vendor: *on the phone* “We never received the check today. We specifically requested the check be rushed and sent overnight so we would receive it by Thursday! I don’t know what you do sitting at that desk all day! Did you even cut the check?”

Me: *ignoring that and using my cheery customer service voice* “Let me look up the tracking number. Okay, it says your package is at the facility that had the shooting yesterday.”

(The San Francisco UPS facility had an employee shoot and kill three people and himself.)

Me: “It’s been delayed one day.”

Vendor: *silence*

Me: “So, it looks like we got that sorted. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

(The kicker is he had the tracking number. He could have looked up and seen the reason without looking like an a**.)

Your Memory Is Fluid

, , , , | Related | August 18, 2017

(A local amusement park that we frequent in the summer has a water park attached to it. I’m deathly aquaphobic so I avoid that part of the park which usually causes no problems, but occasionally on windy days the strong smell of chlorine will waft over and sometimes triggers a panic attack. I’ve just been calmed down after such an attack.)

Friend: “Wow, I’ve never seen anyone get triggered by the smell of chlorine before!”

Me: “That’s probably because the reason I’m so afraid of water is because when I was almost four years old, I tried to fish a toy out of my grandmother’s pool and fell in. Luckily I’d fallen right next to the ladder and was able to pull myself out because no one even saw me go in.”

Mom: “That never happened!”

Me: “Yes, it did. I know it happened because I was traumatized by it enough to remember it exactly as it happened. I even remember that the toy I was trying to get was the rubber seal that Grandma has on the shelf in the bathroom as a decoration.”

Mom: “I never left you alone by the pool, so there’s no way you could have fallen in!”

Me: “I wasn’t alone by the pool. You were there; you were just talking to someone. I pulled myself out before anyone saw me, but I clearly remember falling in and almost drowning.”

Mom: “We would have noticed!”

Me: “Well, you didn’t, and I was still wet because we’d been swimming in the pool earlier so you didn’t think anything of it, and I didn’t say anything to you because I thought you’d be angry with me for falling in. Why do you think I suddenly went overnight from loving Grandma’s pool to being too terrified to go near water?”

(To this day she insists I never nearly drowned in the pool, which I’m not sure is denial out of an attempt to not seem like a bad parent — she wasn’t; she was usually very attentive when my sister and I were around the pool; she just looked away for a second that one time — or because she doesn’t think I would be able to remember something that happened to me when I was so young, so clearly I either dreamed it or made it up. It’s worth noting that she also doesn’t remember the time my sister fractured her finger at school when someone slammed a heavy steel door completely shut on it despite the fact that she was the one who rushed her to the hospital and insists it didn’t happen, even though my sister clearly remembers the trauma from that, too, so maybe she just doesn’t like to think of her kids getting hurt and refuses to acknowledge it ever happening.)

Literally A Flammable Situation

, , , , , | Right | August 18, 2017

(Back in 1996, working an afternoon at the popular local convenience store with gas pumps. Gas is about $1.25 a gallon. Multiple cars at the pumps, a line of customers waiting inside at the register to pay. A little old lady comes up…)

Old Lady: “What do I owe on pump four?”

Me: *checking the pump total* “$13.96.”

Old Lady: “That doesn’t sounds right. Please make sure you’re looking at the right pump. Number four.”

Me: *checking again* “Huh, that’s weird. It’s $14.67, now.”

(My manager is organizing the shelves nearby and gives me a weird look.)

Old Lady: “That can’t be right; my tank has a hole in it and can only hold about $8 dollars of gas.”

(My manager, a 4’11” woman, LEAPS over the service counter, palming the emergency pump shutoff, races to the aisle with cat food, shoots out the front door with a bag of kitty litter, shouting “Call the fire department!” at me and “GET AWAY FROM THE PUMPS” to everyone outside.)

Old Lady: “So, will $8 be enough?”

Sometimes Those Do Require Some Management

, , , , , | Working | August 18, 2017

I’m working one day when a high school-age girl walks in and hands me a filled-out job application. Despite the fact that we don’t require a resume to apply here, she’s gone ahead and stapled one to the application. I thank her and duck into the back to put the resume on the manager’s desk.

Despite myself, I risk a peek at the girl’s resume. She has a previous job at a different fast food restaurant listed under “job experience,” and it looks as if one of her prior duties was “managing afternoon shifts.”

Unfortunately, she left the “f” out of the word “shifts.”

She didn’t get the job, but we all had a good laugh over the typo.

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