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I Don’t Work Here Does Not Work Here, Part 13

| IN, USA | Right | December 7, 2013

(My roommate and I are doing some shopping at a popular supermarket chain. The employees wear red shirts with white name tags. My roommate works at a day spa and hasn’t changed out of her uniform yet, which is a black dress with a bronze name tag. As we are heading to check out, an elderly woman grabs my friend’s arm.)

Woman: “Can you tell me where the house robes are?”

My Roommate: “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

(The woman is still holding on to my friend’s arm, so my friend gently pulls herself loose.)

Woman: “Excuse me! I asked you a question!”

My Roommate: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I really don’t know where they are. I don’t work here.”

(At this point, a store employee has noticed us and approaches.)

Employee: “Can I help you ladies?”

Woman: “This lady won’t help me find the house robes! She isn’t doing her job. I asked a simple question, and she’s ignoring me to hang out with her little friend instead. I want to speak to a manager.”

Employee: “Ma’am, I don’t believe she works here.”

Me: “She doesn’t.”

Woman: “Well, then why is she wearing a name tag?”

My Roommate: “I work at a day spa down the street and I haven’t had time to change out my uniform yet.”

Woman: “Oh. How was I supposed to know that?”

(She’s being very rude and I’m getting fed up with it.)

Me: “Because her uniform looks absolutely nothing like his?”

Woman: “Excuse me? I won’t be talked to like that.”

Employee: “Ma’am, I apologize for this misunderstanding. If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you the—”

Woman: “No! I want to see a manager! I want both of these girls fired!”

My Roommate: “Neither of us work here!”

 

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His Lawyers Should Have The Book Thrown At Them

| England, UK | Right | December 7, 2013

(I work as a publisher. I get a visit from a very distraught client.)

Client: “Excuse me. I’m really sorry, but I was told you were the head publisher?”

Me: “Yes, I am. How can I help?”

Client: “Well, I’ve been writing stories my whole life. I even written a couple for my children that they love. I’m really good at it and it’s a great passion of mine. It’s my life long dream to make a living as a writer, but nobody will even look at my novel because I’m dyslexic. I know the spelling and grammar isn’t great but I’ve had people spell-check it for me. I just need someone to give me a chance. I know my book will be a hit.”

Me: “I’m so sorry to hear how you’ve been treated. Send me the first few pages of your book, the best scene in the book, preferably around the middle, and the last few pages, and I’ll give them a read.”

(The client thanks me, places the ENTIRE book on my desk, and then leaves. I start to read it later that day, only to discover that not only is the spelling and grammar awful, but so is the book itself. I continue reading much more than I usually do, wanting to believe this man was truly the great writer he claimed to be. The story gets worse and worse the more I read. I read a couple of pages in the middle. Then I skip to the end, only to discover he ended the book with the most despised sentence in the literary world, ‘and it was all a dream.’ Needless to say I wrote him a rejection letter. A few days later I get a message from the receptionist, who is in tears, claiming an enraged man is here, screaming about suing us. I told her to let him in. It was our dyslexic client.)

Client: “What is this?! You told me you were going to publish my book!”

Me: “No, sir. I said I was going to read your book, which I did. I’m sorry but I do not believe it is suitable to be published.”

Client: “That’s bull-s***. My book is brilliant. You have to publish it. There’s no good reason not to.”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but the book’s no good. I can’t publish this.”

Client: “Oh yeah? Name me five reasons why you can’t publish it.”

Me: “Five?”

Client: “Yeah, five. Otherwise there’s no reason your editing team can’t sort it out.”

Me: “Okay. First of all, there is next to no characterisation.”

Client: “What the f*** does that mean?”

Me: “It means that your characters don’t develop in any way.”

Client: “That’s complete bull-s***. What else?”

Me: “Your main character is suppose to be the protagonist and yet has no fatal flaw. He’s perfect.”

Client: “Main characters are supposed to be perfect. That’s why people love them. Hamlet didn’t have a ‘fatal flaw’.”

Me: “Actually, he did. He procrastinated and it resulted in many dying.”

Client: “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And that’s only two.”

Me: “I’m not finished. Three, I know you are dyslexic but almost every sentence needs to be edited. That is too much work for our editor and financially would not be beneficial for the company. Four, you not only use abbreviations in the narration like BTW for ‘by the way’, but you also use words that don’t exist.”

Client: “Like what?”

Me: “Like the word ET. It does not exist.”

Client: “Yeah, it does. I ‘et’ an apple.”

Me: “Ate, sir. You ATE an apple. ‘Et’ is not a word.”

Client: “Fine, but that’s only four.”

Me: “And five, it’s not long enough.”

Client: “How can it not be long enough. It’s well over 100 pages.”

Me: “Sir, the quantity of a book is based on word count, not pages. Your book may be over 100 pages, but with the size of the paper, the size of the font, and also that you start a brand new page every time you start a new chapter, it’s too short.”

Client: “Well, how long does it have to be?”

Me: “The average novel is between 80,000 to 120,000 words. Your novel is just over 16,000. I have nothing against people with dyslexia and there are many great writers who have it. You, however, will not be one of those writers. I can continue to list more things wrong with your novel but I have listed the five you requested. Now I must ask you to leave my office as I am incredibly busy.”

(The client grabs his novel from my hands and storms out. A couple of weeks later we receive a letter from a lawyer suing us for discrimination, claiming that we were not publishing the man’s novel because he was dyslexic. I had our lawyers phone his, explaining the true reasons, and also that our conversation was recorded. We never heard from him after that.)

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Hardline On The Software

| TX, USA | Working | December 7, 2013

(My entire job description is to create material numbers for the company; then we can start to build the products people hire us to create for them. As a recent college graduate I can’t complain. I wrote a program that does 90% of my job for me. I take this to my supervisor so that I could be praised and put into an engineering group.)

Supervisor: “So, this program basically does your job for you?”

Me: “Yes. More than half of all my work is done by this program now, with only minor input needed by users.”

Supervisor: “So, I don’t need as many people working for me now?”

(A troubled look starts to show on the supervisor’s face.)

Me: “No. All of my current coworkers can be moved into the technical roles that we have been training for. We can hire a couple of high school graduates to do the work of the eight of us.”

Supervisor: *alarmed* “And this program is perfect, there are no flaws at all?!”

Me: “Well as long as the engineer assigning the work checks for correct tagging everything should be fine. There is a minor issue with transcription but no big problems.”

Supervisor: *relieved* “Oh! So, the program isn’t perfected yet. No worries, just keep me appraised and let me know if the program is getting close to finished.”

(The supervisor starts shooing me out of her office.)

Me: “But it’s done. I can’t—”

Supervisor: “No worries. Just keep me in the loop.”

(The supervisor all but slams the door in my face. Soon after, she tried to bury me in work so that I couldn’t ‘finish’ the program and shrink her empire. I still am bored out of my brain, but now I have time to look for a new job!)

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Chances Of Keeping The Job Are Minute

| Utrecht, Netherlands | Working | December 7, 2013

(At the factory where I work, we run eight-hour-shifts, 24 hours a day. We tend to come in ten minutes early on our shifts so the previous shift’s colleagues can ‘hand over’ the shift, along with any points of attention. It is 2 pm, which is the starting time of the shift. In my area, I work with one other colleague. At 2 pm on the dot, I finally see him coming to the room where we work. I approach him.)

Me: “Why do you keep coming in just past 2 pm? We should be here at 1:50.”

Colleague: “They only pay us from 2 pm on, so there’s no need for that.”

Me: “Then why are you leaving at 9:50? They pay you until 10 pm as well you know.”

Colleague: “Well, the colleagues from the next shift are already there then, aren’t they? So there’s no sense in sticking around until that time.”

Me: “So you don’t want to come here 10 minutes early but you expect them to be here?”

Colleague: “Yeah.”

Me: “That is wrong on so many levels…”

(Strangely enough, he didn’t get his temporary contract extended!)

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Phone Bill

| MA, USA | Related | December 7, 2013

(My mother has gotten her first cell phone. My sister and I have had ours for a few years, so while Mom mostly knows what she’s doing, we kids figure out a couple of features on her phone before she does. She has just discovered the ‘notepad’ feature of her phone, but there is already a note saved.)

Mom: *reading the note* “Give me a dollar?”

Sister: “I was waiting for you to find that! Now give me a dollar!”

(From that point on, whenever I get a new phone, I make a point of adding a note that says ‘give me a dollar’ before my sister can get her hands on it. And yes, my sister did get a dollar out of the prank.)

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