Hit The Road, Jerk

, | UK | Working | February 8, 2013

(I’m about 17 and working the till at a small-town burger place. My supervisor is only about 15, but has seniority simply because he’s been there longer than me. There’s a biker’s meet-up unexpectedly passing through town on an otherwise dead day.)

Me: “Whoa! Head’s up!”

(I see about 30-40 guys piling up outside our store with all kinds of bikes.)

Coworker: “Awesome! Go take orders; I’ll be right back.” *runs off*

(I assume he’s going to grab more stock and proceed to take huge orders but no food comes through. However, when I go back to the kitchen, it’s empty. )

Biker: “Hey, what’s the hold up?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I’m currently working the shop alone. I’ll be as fast as I can. ”

(I leave the till and start making orders at full speed, opening the spare hatch to keep an eye on the front at the same time. 15 minutes later, my coworker re-appears.)

Coworker: “They have some really awesome bikes out there!”

Me: “You… went to look at the bikes? That’s nice. Get the fries out of the frier. There’s six onion rings to go in next and then you need to bag these orders.”

Coworker: “Hey, what the f***!? You can’t speak to me like that! You can’t give ME orders! I’M the supervisor! I’M THE SUPERVISOR!”

(My coworker continues throwing a tantrum, loud enough for the bikers in the restaurant to hear. One of them walks up and leans through the hatch with a growl.)

Biker: “Then F***ING supervise, you little s***, or I’ll come in there and supervise YOU out of a job.” *to me* “Doing good, darlin’. Carry on!”

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