Boyfriends For Everyone!

, , , , | | Right | July 16, 2019

(I’m a gay man in my mid-20s and have been in a long-distance relationship for about a year. I am at work helping customers when I notice two rather small ladies — no more than five feet tall — who look to be in their early 20s, looking at some large storage sheds that require at least two people to move.)

Me: *after approaching them* “Did you two need help with the storage sheds?”

(Neither responds, so as per policy, I try again.)

Me: “Did you two need help with anything today?”

Lady #1: “Look. I’m married and she has a boyfriend. We’re not interested!”

([Lady #2] just giggles.)

Me: “Yay! I’ve got a boyfriend, as well!” *shows her my ring that’s half of a matching set I bought us* “So, once again, I’m asking if you two need any help?”

(The two of them went red in the face and shook their heads, saying they didn’t need help. About twenty minutes later, a coworker called on the radio for help getting two storage sheds, and a male coworker and I went to help. It was for both of the ladies who I’d talked to before. I didn’t say anything; I let my coworker tell them we were going to take the shed to the front, and they looked embarrassed about the whole thing. I’m hoping this was a little bit of a lesson on not making assumptions, especially when it’s a worker at a store that has to ask if you need help.)

Doing A Self-Disservice

, , , , , | | Right | July 16, 2019

(I work at a very popular discount department store. Around three to four years ago, we began rolling out self-service registers in the middle of the store; however, we still have manned registers for larger purchases, or payments of orders in the self-service area. It is 8:00 am and I am running the only manned register open, along with overseeing the self-service, as we are always quiet at this time. A woman approaches with a single pack of underpants. She stands in the middle of the self-service area and begins waving her arms in the air.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

Customer: *huffs, turns with her back to me, arms still waving*

Me: “Excuse me! Do you need a hand?”

Customer: *stomps feet, huffs, and sighs*

Me: “Hello! Ma’am!”

Customer: “Ridiculous!” *huffs and waves arms*

Me: “EXCUSE ME!”

Customer: *turns and looks directly at me* “I guess I can just help myself to this gum here and walk off with it, if there’s no one here to help me or stop me. What are the self-service machines going to do? Stop me?”

Me: “Yeah… Please don’t steal the gum.”

Customer: “Well, who’s here to see it?”

Me: “Me… and the security cameras.”

Customer: “There is never anyone at the registers.”

Me: “I’m at the registers; I can put this through for you.”

Customer: “And how many registers were open before self-service?”

Me: “At 8:00 am? One. Always one.”

Customer: “Well, there’s no one here to help me, and I refuse to use self-service, so I guess I’m not allowed to buy these.” *leaves the pack of underpants on my register and walks off*

Those Who Fling Won’t Go Far

, , , , , , , | | Right | July 16, 2019

(It is the mid-1990s, and I’m working at a fast food restaurant with an order-by-number value menu. Towards the tail end of an unusually busy lunch rush, a woman comes into the lobby. She waits very impatiently in line for the two people in front of her, and when she finally gets to the front of the line, she says:)

Customer: “Two. Coke. Hurry.”

(I press the buttons on the touchscreen till to order her a #2 meal with a Coke, but before I have a chance to say anything to her, she pulls a credit card out of her purse and flings it at me. The card misses me, flies past me, and lands in the tray of the shake dispenser, slipping into the thin metal grate and down into the mess of milky, sugary muck below. I stare at it for a moment before slowly turning back to the customer.)

Me: “That’ll be $3.21. Would you like that for here or to go?”

(I notice that she’s still staring at the spot where her card disappeared.)

Me: “Ma’am? For here or to go?”

Customer: *still staring*

Me: *a bit louder* “Ma’am!”

Customer: *finally looks back at me* “Um… to go.”

(I push the To-Go button, which finishes sending the order back to the kitchen.)

Me: “That’ll be $3.21.”

(She reaches into her purse, pulls out a $5 bill, and very carefully sets it on the counter in front of me. I hand her the $1.79 in change along with the cup for her drink. Since there are no customers waiting, I step away from the till to get ready to assemble her order. When I hand her the bag a minute or so later, she is still staring at the shake machine’s drip tray.)

Me: *handing her the bag* “Have a nice day.”

If You Have To Tell People You’re Nice, You’re Probably Not

, , , , | | Right | July 16, 2019

(I am placing my order at a Chinese takeout place when a woman comes in and goes right to the side of me and tries to order herself. The man taking my order holds up a finger to tell her “one moment.” The woman turns to the people cooking in the back.)

Customer: “Hello?! Can’t any of you take my order?! I guess you’re all just too busy.”

(She moves into line behind me and taps her foot impatiently. When I’m done, I move to a nearby table to wait while she goes up to order.)

Customer: “I’ll have a wonton soup.”

Cashier: “Okay, ma’am. Which size?”

Customer: “Extra wonton.”

Cashier: “Yes, ma’am. Which size—“

Customer: “WONTON SOUP?! Can you not understand?!”

Cashier: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I understand. I just need to know which size you need.”

Customer: “GOD! SMALL! AND THERE HAD BETTER BE EXTRA WONTONS IN THERE!”

(The cashier places her order and she steps off to wait, turning to me.)

Customer: “Can you believe some people?!”

Me: “I really can’t sometimes.”

Customer: “They could at least learn to speak—“

(I’m a very reserved person, but right about here I just go off on her.)

Me: “I’m talking about you!”

Customer: *clearly taken aback* “Me?! What did I do?”

Me: “For starters, as soon as you came in here you tried to cut in front of me while I was in the middle of ordering. You then proceeded to be incredibly rude to the people running this place.”

Customer: “Well, I’m in a hurry! I’m double-parked outside!”

(I look outside and, sure enough, there is a car parked in the middle of the small street with its emergency lights on while cars coming from both directions are struggling to get past it.)

Me: “And you’re blocking traffic.”

Customer: “Well, I’m a very nice person! I really am.” *pauses for a few seconds* “Would it help if I said I’m sorry for trying to cut in front of you?”

Me: *very surprised* “It’s fine. Just try and be a better person and be more aware of others in the future.”

(Her food is suddenly up. She grabs it and bolts for the door but turns and stops right before she gets outside.)

Customer: “Really, I am a very good person.”

Me: “Well, if you would like to show it, they do have a tip jar here.”

Customer: *suddenly turning rotten again* “I would never tip these people. If they are so great, why don’t you tip them?!”

(My food was now up, as well. I made a big show for her of putting a few dollars in the tip jar. She just scowled before running to her car.)

The Number Of Times This Happens…

, , , | | Right | July 16, 2019

(I work in a pay-producing third-party company. We have more than 3,000 different clients who count on us to calculate deductions and pay their employees the right net amounts. I work in the department that works with employees. I often receive calls like these, but this one was one of my best mic-drop moments.)

Caller: “I want to know why I pay more taxes this week.”

Me: “It would be my pleasure to verify. Can I have your company ID and your employee number?”

Caller: “I don’t have them. Can’t you look with my name?”

Me: “I am sorry, I can’t. Human error is too much of a risk factor and we don’t want to risk giving your information by mistake to someone who has the same name you do.”

Caller: “Just be careful and ask me something else.”

Me: “I can’t, I am sorry. I can’t even look by name. I need your company ID and with this, I can then add your employee number.”

(She is getting frustrated because she doesn’t want to call her employer for this information or look for a pay statement. She keeps repeating that she can give me other information such as her social security number, address, mother’s maiden name, etc., and she doesn’t want to understand that I CAN’T look any other way.)

Caller: *really sarcastic voice* “I don’t understand how a big company like yours, in this day and age, does not have a security code we can give you as we do with any other companies!”

Me: *in a sweet voice, even though I am starting to get really mad* “We do. We simply call it your company ID and employee number.”

Caller: “UGH!” *hangs up*

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