The Cry Baby Here Isn’t The Baby

, , , , , | Right | April 4, 2020

(I am working at the circulation desk at the library when a woman comes up with a stack of VHS tapes that she wants to check out for her son, who looks to be about three. As part of the checkout, we open the boxes and make sure that the videos match the box. 

One of the videos doesn’t match the box, so I tell the mom I won’t be able to check that one out to her.)

Mom: “But he’ll cry!”

(Wishing I could just tell her that the kid will only cry if SHE makes a big deal out of not getting the one video, I explain again that I cannot check out that video because it is not the one that is on the box.)

Mom: “But he’ll cry!”

(I offer to hang on to the videos while she goes and gets another one to replace the one I can’t check out.)

Mom: “But he’ll cry!”

(I start to point out that if her son really wants that video and it isn’t in the box… And then Mom shouts:)

Mom: “You don’t UNDERSTAND!”

(She shoved the whole pile of videos across the counter at me, grabbed the kid’s hand, and dragged him out. And yes, he cried.)

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We Have Bigger Fish To Fry

, , , | Right | April 4, 2020

(I work at a crab shack. I answer the phone:)

Me: “Hello, [Business] Seafood; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. A few weeks ago I bought eight pounds of your steamed shrimp, and I feel there were a lot of smalls.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry about that. What size shrimp did you order?”

Customer: “I got the medium shrimp. But they were all smalls.”

Me: “Well, sir, we don’t sell ‘small’ shrimp. We buy them prepackaged and sorted by a company in the Gulf of Mexico. The medium shrimp we use are labeled 36 to 42 in a pound.”

Customer: “They were all very small, though. You gave me smalls.”

Me: “Sir, we don’t sell smalls. They come prepackaged—”

Customer: “Well, I guess I won’t be buying shrimp from you guys ever again.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir? Why did you wait weeks to call us about this?”

(All I hear is a click. All right, then.)

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Tipping The Scales

, , , , , | Right | April 3, 2020

(I have just handed the check to a table of four young customers who look like they might be in high school. Their bill is $42.58 and they leave me $43 in cash. I immediately chase after them as they are just leaving the building, thinking it must have been a mistake.)

Me: “Hey, guys! I was just wondering if something was wrong with my service tonight? You only left me 42 cents as a tip.” 

Customer: “Well, no, there wasn’t a problem. We just didn’t have enough money extra to leave you a tip.” 

Me: “Okay… Just so I’m understanding correctly… you think it’s acceptable to come into a restaurant and order enough food that you can barely pay for down to basically the last penny and then not tip your server?” 

Customer: “Well… like I said… we just didn’t have enough left over.” 

Me: “Then next time you want to come out, either make sure you have enough money to pay for what you want, assuming you all can add correctly, and either order less food so you can tip appropriately… or, to save everyone the headache, just stay home. Because now, when I clock out of here tonight, I will have to tip out the bar, the bus boy, and pay taxes from all the tips I made, which technically means it cost me money to wait on you. That is literally the opposite of what my purpose is in coming to work every day. So, thank you very much for wasting my time. If you come back, just be aware that I will absolutely refuse to serve you and I can’t tell you that anyone else here will want to, either. Have a nice night!” 

(One of the girls came in to complain to my manager, but when he heard my side of the story, too, he basically laughed in her face and told her that we don’t really need customers like them, anyway. At the end of the night, he even bought me a beer. WINNING.)

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Lost And Losing It

, , , , , | Right | April 3, 2020

(I work at a theme park. I am off-duty and leaving work after a long day. On the way out, I am accosted by a very frightened guest. We have a cabin labeled “Lost Parents” where children who have been separated from their parents are taken when found.)

Guest: “My daughter is missing!”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Guest: “She’s only eight years old. She has blonde hair and is wearing a green shirt and khaki shorts.”

Me: “I haven’t seen her; I’m sorry.”

Guest: “Can you page for her?”

Me: “They don’t usually page for lost children, but you can ask at Guest Services. First you should try Lost Parents.”

Guest: “What’s wrong with you? Do you think this is funny?”

Me: “No, sir. But if your daughter’s been found, then someone will have taken her to Lost Parents.”

Guest: “I’m not lost! My daughter is lost!”

Me: “Yes, well, if you go up that hill and then right at [Ride], you’ll see the cabin on the left. It says, ‘Lost Parents’ on it.”

Guest: “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? MY DAUGHTER IS LOST!”

Me: “Would you like for me to walk you to Lost Parents?”

Guest: “No, I want you to find my daughter! I WANT YOU TO PAGE FOR MY DAUGHTER!”

Me: “I’m a food service worker. You have to talk to guest services to have someone paged. But our security guards are pretty vigilant; your daughter is probably waiting for you at Lost Parents.”

Guest: “I AM NOT LOST! MY DAUGHTER IS! You know what? I’M GOING TO REPORT YOU AT GUEST SERVICES WHEN I HAVE THEM PAGE FOR MY DAUGHTER! YOU GO FIND HER!”

(The guest stomps off in the wrong direction.)

Me: “Um… Lost Parents is the other way.”

Guest: *over her shoulder* “I AM NOT LOST!”

(I go to Lost Parents to check on the child and immediately spot her. She looks very frightened, so I get her a drink and sit with her until her parent arrives with the security guards.)

Guest: “You again! You knew where my daughter was the whole time, and you didn’t tell me!”

Security Guard: “She didn’t tell you to try Lost Parents?”

Guest: “I thought she was joking!”

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Not What Is Meant By Giving A Voice To Minorities

, , , , , | Right | April 3, 2020

(I am a white male working at a well-known fast food franchise in a predominately-black area. I am working the drive-thru order and payment window. A car pulls up to the speaker box and I talk into my headset.)

Me: “Welcome to [Store]. Can I take your order?”

Customer: “I’ll take a [order].”

Me: “That will be [price]. First window, please.”

(So far, it seems like a standard order. The customer drives around. The customer is a black woman. Before I can even repeat the price, she looks up with a shocked expression.)

Customer: “YOU’RE NOT BLACK!”

(I am speechless.)

Customer: “You sound black on the box! WHY DO YOU SOUND BLACK?!”

(I do not know what else to say except:)

Me: “That will be [price].”

(The customer pays and then drives off to pick up her food. Then, she starts talking to herself.)

Customer: “Shouldn’t be making himself sound black like that. He’s not black.”

(My coworkers at the food window told me later that she told them to tell me to stop pretending to be black.)

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