Millennials Can’t Even Make A Salad!

, , , | Right | May 1, 2020

I work behind the salad bar which is incredibly popular in our store. The employee in charge of maintaining it goes home around 2:00 pm. I leave an hour afterward, and since I’m also trained to take care of it, I don’t mind restocking it or cutting something for customers as needed. Today, I’m just finishing cleaning up and about to head up front as it is around 2:55 pm.

A woman approaches the salad bar, wanders back and forth for a moment, and then pokes her head in the gap in the bar.

Customer: “Excuse me? Do you have any more iceberg lettuce?”

Our lettuces and such are shipped to us already cut. When we run out of the precut, we are allowed to pull heads of lettuce off the floor to cut in place of it. Naturally, this takes extra time.

Me: “Oh, I don’t know if we have any already cut, but let me check in the back for you really quick.”

I run into the back, quickly shuffle through our supplies, and find that we are, indeed, out of the cut lettuce. I head out of the cooler to ask the woman if she would like to wait a moment while I cut some fresh lettuce for her only to find that she is nowhere to be seen.

Me: “Huh… Guess she didn’t want it that badly.”

I go to finish cleaning up. It is now around 2:57 pm. Suddenly, the woman from before charges up to the salad bar, head of lettuce in hand, and practically flings it at me. Catching it, I turn to her but she cuts me off.

Customer: “I don’t think your manager would be very happy with you if you didn’t do your job!”

Biting my tongue, I plaster a grin to my face, mutter a “Yes, ma’am,” and hurry to cut the lettuce for her. She then thoroughly trashes the salad bar I just cleaned before she approaches me again.

Customer: “I really appreciate you doing your job!”

She turns around and walks away, muttering to herself.

Customer: “Lazy kids taking hard-working adults’ jobs.”

I am 24, work two jobs, and average 46 hours a week between them. Gritting my teeth, I nodded with a “Have a nice day, ma’am” and bit my tongue again as she walked away.

Noting the time, I hurried to clean up the mess she’d made so I could punch out on time. Part-timers aren’t allowed more than 29 hours in a week anymore, and we get in trouble if we’re over even a little bit.

Yes, I made it on time and got praise from my supervisor the next morning, who said that he wouldn’t have handled it as well.

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