That Snow Mountain…

, , , , , , , | Working | October 20, 2017

(My mother is an x-ray technician at a large hospital in Alabama, and it should be noted that she grew up in the Rocky Mountains of Nevada. One day, everyone starts rushing around frantically, and half the staff are heading home early. When she asks, she is told…)

Coworker #1: “I have to get up the mountain before the storm hits!”

Mom: “Mountain? What mountain? And what do you mean, ‘before the storm hits?’”

Coworker #1: “They just announced a snowstorm is going to hit Huntsville, starting in just a few hours. They’ve already cancelled schools and sent the kids home early. But a lot of us live on the other side of the mountain, so we need to get there before the storm hits, or we’ll never make it!”

Mom: “Again, what mountain? There are no mountains around here.”

(After a few more rounds of useless talk, and hearing the weather report for herself, she finally drags the coworker to a window.)

Mom: “What mountain?!”

Coworker #1: “Over there!”

Mom: *squints* “That’s not a mountain. That’s a hill. Maybe. More like a gentle rise.”

(Just then, another hospital employee comes up with a clipboard, looking rather harried.)

Nurse: “Okay, [Mom]… [Mom]…. Oh! Right. Your ride is [Coworker #2], and he’ll be there to pick you up at 5:30 tomorrow.”

Mom: “My ride? I drive myself, thanks. And my shift doesn’t start until 8:00, anyway.”

Nurse: “Oh, I know. But with all the snow, most people won’t be able to make it in. So, we’ve dropped to the bare essential staff, and everyone with four-wheel-drive is going around to pick up everybody else. You’re on [Coworker #2]’s route, and he’ll be there at 5:30.”

Mom: “You do realize I’m from Nevada, right? Rocky Mountains? Snow? My car has front-wheel drive. I’ll be here for my shift. You can take me off the list.”

Nurse: “But you need four-wheel-drive to drive in snow! What if you don’t make it? What if you crash? The ambulances won’t get to you in time!”

Mom: “We’re expecting ‘up to an inch.’ It’s not exactly a blizzard. I’ll be fine. Take my name off the list, because if someone comes pounding on my door at 5:30, my husband and I will not be pleased.”

(Mom left at her normal time and made it home, on the other side of the “mountain,” just fine. A little slow, due to traffic, but fine. The next morning, she likewise made it into work without incident, and was the only person who was well-rested, having slept her normal eight hours, instead of carpooling in hours early.)

For When Your Brain Just Goes Ker-Chunk

, , , , | Working | October 19, 2017

(I work in a small retail store, in which we have a manual “sticker gun” that we use to create price labels for merchandise. You set the price, pull a trigger, and a price label comes out. Due to the noise it makes every time you pull the trigger, my coworker and I start calling it the “ker-chunker” and the labels in it are always referred to as “doo-hickeys.” We always know exactly what we mean when one of us says to the other “hand me the ker-chunker,” but we get weird looks from customers, which is expected. My coworker calls the supply company to order more labels. She gets on the phone with the supply rep, and completely freezes.)

Coworker: “I need… some doo-hickeys. For my ker-chunker.”

Rep: *without missing a beat* “Oh. Labels for your price gun? What size?”

Coworker: *amazed* “How on earth did you do that?!”

You Said It Wrong, Son

, , , , , | Right | October 11, 2017

(Granted, southern people tend to blur words together or pronounce them differently, but this one takes the cake. It is busy at this time at the library; we have just finished our story hour we have every week for preschoolers, so there’s a ton of people at the desk waiting to be checked out. A grandmother comes up to my desk to check out books for her grandson.)

Grandmother: *sweetly* “Do I have anything else out?”

Me: “Just one called The Son, by Philipp Meyer.”

Grandmother: *suddenly irate* “I’ve never checked that out!”

(I go through the spiel about her double-checking at home to make sure she really doesn’t have it there, and I offer to check upstairs on the bookshelf for it and call her later since we are so busy.)

Grandmother: “Go check. Now.”

(I am irritated because there are lines of people and she’s being so rude, but I know she probably left it at home. Most patrons who claim to have never checked out a particular book really do have it somewhere. While upstairs, I overhear a coworker ask her if she is being helped. She says yes in a snippy tone, pointing upstairs to me, but asks my coworker for the name of the book again.)

Coworker: “It’s The Son, by Philipp Meyer.”

Grandmother: “How’s it spelled?”

Coworker: “M-e-y-“

Grandmother: “No, the title.”

Coworker: “S-o-n.”

Grandmother: “Oh! I thought she meant The Sun, kinda like the one in the sky. Oh, yeah, I still have that at home by the bed.”

(With that, she left. I wondered how different I said “son” from “sun,” seeing as we’re both from the same Deep South town.)

Call-Back Attack

, , , , , | Right | October 3, 2017

(I work as a secretary for a fairly high-end salon.)

Me: “[Salon], how may I help you?”

Caller: “Yes, I think I missed a call from your number and wanted to call you back and make sure.”

Me: *hasn’t made any outgoing calls* “No, ma’am, but if you would tell me the reason for your call, perhaps I could help?”

Caller: “Oh, no! I’ll wait! You can call me back.”

Me: “But, ma’am…”

Caller: “It’s okay. You can call me back.”

Me: *flabbergasted* “Okay. Goodbye.”

(I learned later that this woman made four of these calls, and all she really wanted was to reschedule her appointment, which I could have done if she had said anything.)

Unfiltered Story #95742

, | Unfiltered | October 1, 2017

(Granted, southern people tend to blur words together or pronounce them differently, but this one takes the cake. It was busy at this time at the library, we just finished our story hour we have every week for preschoolers, so there’s a ton of people at the desk waiting to be checked out. A grandmother comes up to my desk to check out books for her grandson.)

Grandmother: *sweetly* “Do I have anything else out?”

Me: “Just one called ‘The Son’ by Philipp Meyer.”

Grandmother: *suddenly irate* “I’ve never checked that out!”

Me: *I go through the spill about her double checking at home to make sure she really doesn’t have it there and I could check upstairs on the book shelf for it and call her later since we are so busy.*

Grandmother: “Go check. NOW.”

Me: *irritated because there are lines of people and she’s being so rude. But I know she probably left it at home, most patrons claiming they never had a book out and the ones who usually truly have it. While upstairs, I overhear a coworker ask her if she is being helped. She says yes in a snippy tone, pointing upstairs to me but asks for the name of the book again.*

Coworker: “It’s ‘The Son’ by Philipp Meyer.”

Grandmother: “How’s it spelled?”

Coworker: “M-e-y-”

Grandmother: “No, the TITLE.”

Coworker: “S-o-n.”

Grandmother: “Oh! I thought she meant ‘The Sun’ kinda like the one in the sky. Oh yeah, I still have that at home by the bed.”

(With that, she left. I wondered how different I said “son” from “sun” seeing as we’re both from the same Deep South town.)

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