Almost Foaming At The Mouth

, , , , , | Right | April 3, 2019

(I am making drinks and handing them out at a popular coffee shop. I am working on a cappuccino with extra foam when my coworker comes up beside me. Steaming milk to create extra foam is a little tricky at first, but she tells me that I made it perfectly.)

Me: “I have a small cappuccino with extra foam!”

Customer: “NO! This is all wrong! I wanted a dry cappuccino! Not extra foam!”

Me: “Oh… Well, as it turns out, ‘dry’ actually means, ‘extra foam,’ so…”

Customer: “Ugh! Everyone who works here is so stupid! I’m in a hurry, so I guess I’ll take this.”

(The customer picks up the cup.)

Customer: “This cup doesn’t feel right. There’s not enough foam!”

Me: “I’m sorry, you wanted extra foam right? I literally filled the cup with foam… Would you like me to remake it for you?”

Customer: “No! But I’m never coming here again!”

(She’s a regular and comes in every day.)

O Holy Wifi, Hallowed Be Thy Mainframe

, , , , , | Right | March 30, 2019

(A customer has requested that I send her an authorization form.)

Me: “You can download the form from our website at [URL].”

Customer: “Oh, we’re godly people. We don’t believe in Internet.”

Stealing Was A Mis-Steak

, , , , , | Right | March 28, 2019

(I am eight and a half months pregnant. I’m exhausted one night, eating lunch in the coffee shop next to the lobby of the store where I work. The registers are all clearly visible from my location, and our cashier has closed his register down and taken over the self-checkout so those cashiers can go home. The self-checkouts are now the only registers open. As I’m finishing my lunch and am about to clock in, I see a guy wearing a fantastic leather jacket looking around and acting kind of iffy. I casually take a look around to see what he can see, masking my movements in a yawn and stretch. He can see me in the coffee shop, the manager with their back to him opening the counting room behind customer service, and the cashier at the self-checkout talking to some guy who is bent over his work station. He probably thinks I’m half asleep due to my yawning and putting my head down on my folded arms, and takes that opportunity to dart through the closed register, with premium steaks in his hands. I run over to intercept him at the customer service desk. Even though I see him attempting to steal the steaks, it is actually a fireable offense for someone in my current job position to accuse someone of stealing, and we must offer them every opportunity to pay for their purchases prior to exiting the store.)

Me: *running in front of steak thief* “HEY! Sorry, sir, register #6, which you just went through, was closed at the time! Perhaps the cashier at the self-checkout might want to help you out with your purchase tonight, as our customer service is also closed!

(I’m walking backward at this point, chattering up a storm, increasing my volume as we’re getting farther away from the self-checkout. He’s trying to get past me, but he can’t maneuver between me and the bakery displays in the lobby, partly because I’m huge, and partly because I’m faster than the average pregnant woman.)

Steak Thief: “You f****** b****! You have no proof that I didn’t pay! Don’t accuse me of stealing! You didn’t see jack f****** s***.” *continues walking*

(I know that if I touch him, it’d legally be considered assault. The instant he calls me a f****** b****, I recognize him! He was a low-level manager from a different store in the same chain, who thought I was bitter over a promotion I had applied for, that he got, that I had to decline due to a poorly-timed interstate move. His hate for me since I declined the promotion has been intense, and he has stated before that I hate him over my failure to be good enough for the promotion. He’s basically a gas-lighting a**hat, but everyone who matters knows that I’m leaving the job as soon as my maternity leave starts.)

Me: “Oh, I was in [Coffee Area] five minutes ago; I saw everything. Furthermore, I remember you. Congratulations on the job you got recently, and that I’ll have to decline again. Either find me your f****** receipt now, or leave these items with me.” *continues walking backward in front of the steak thief* “Hey, [Cashier]! Come here!”

(The man that the cashier has been talking to straightens up to full height; he is much taller and a little broader than the cashier, who is 6’5″ and 250 pounds.)

Big Customer: “Stay here, dude. I’ve got this.”

(I hear this, but it doesn’t make sense that [Cashier] has been told to stay there, until the incredibly tall, sturdy, and broad seven-foot tall man that I had never seen before I saw him talking to the cashier strides over to us in about four steps. I am completely mesmerized by this man’s tallness, and the steak thief is clearly scared.)

Big Customer: *in a booming, loud voice* “Hi! I’m [Cashier]! Dude, you want to pay for those steaks any time soon?” *striding forward, as the thief backs up towards the registers* “Both this young lady and I saw you go through the sixth register without an attendant. So, either pay for the steaks, return them, or, if you do neither, I’ll get your a** fired, then trespass you from the store, and fine you $500 in addition to the cost of this premium meat.”

Steak Thief: “I… uh… um… err… Yeah, I was just totally leaving these here with this very, very nice lady, because I totally… uh… I forgot my wallet? And the cashier? She—“

Me: “We have no other women on shift right now. But we do have cameras that you know capture audio, as well.”

Big Customer: “Steaks. Now.” *extends hand*

Steak Thief: “Can I… I mean, can I go once I…?” *puts steaks on my belly and RUNS out of the store* “BYE!”

Big Customer: *as soon as the thief leaves* “Whew, he didn’t call my bluff! And yes, I am a [Same Name As Cashier], but I have nothing to do with loss prevention or anything. That little dude at self-checkout—“ *points at the 250 pound, muscular 6’5″ cashier* “—wouldn’t have been able to do much here.”

Me: *laughs* “Yeah, well, you gave a very good version of that spiel, and the dumba** has probably heard it often enough from places he doesn’t work at to believe you. Unfortunately, he knows that he could get through me just by talking and walking. He’d been trained in my job before.”

(The manager at the other store fired the steak thief because they had a video of him pulling a similar stunt at a store in a neighboring suburb. I, as predicted, declined the promotion again, and left the company during my maternity leave.)

Second Floor Is First Choice

, , , | Right | March 26, 2019

(My parents and I are on a trip through the American southwest. We have arrived at our hotel for the night; it’s unique in that it’s built into the side of a cliff overlooking a scenic valley area. Because of this unusual setup, the floor numbering is a little different than normal. We are in the lobby to check in, waiting behind an elderly couple at the front desk who is also checking in. We witness this exchange.)

Clerk: “…and here’s your room key. Let me know if you need anything else!”

Elderly Man: *looking at the room key number* “Wait, this says it’s on the second floor. We need a room on the first floor! My wife has trouble using stairs and you guys don’t have an elevator. We specifically requested to be on the first floor when we booked this place!”

Clerk: *very politely* “We are on the second floor now, sir. Since the hotel is built into a cliff, you would actually have to take stairs down to get to the first floor from here.”

Elderly Man: “We don’t want to have to use stairs! We specifically said we wanted a first-floor room in the booking!”

Clerk: “I remember seeing the notes on your reservation. You specified that you didn’t want to have to use stairs. In order to accommodate your needs, we booked you on the second floor, which is the street-level floor. The floor we’re on right now.”

Elderly Man: “But my wife can’t use stairs!”

Clerk: *finally giving up* “Okay, sir. I’ll change your room to the first floor; here’s your new key”

Elderly Man: “Finally!”

(The elderly couple walks off to find their room and we approach the counter.)

Me: “Wow, that was something. Does that happen a lot here?”

Clerk: “Yeah, but I’ve figured out a way of dealing with it. I didn’t even actually change their room in the system, just gave him a different key with a first-floor room number on it. Once they figure out they’re going to have use stairs they’re going to come back and ask me to change to a room on this floor. All I’ll have to do is give their original key back and they’ll be all set.”

(Sure enough, after we finished checking in and started heading to our room, we saw the elderly couple making their way back to the front desk with a look of defeat on their faces.)

That’s Just Not Cool

, , , , , , | Working | March 25, 2019

(I am working as a tire technician at an auto parts store that also does car repairs. I am always early to work, but at this job I often show up before the store opens when the store manager is not there yet. He is the only one with the key to the store, and we cannot get in until he shows up. After he lets us in, we have to stand in line to clock in on the only terminal set up for that. As a result, I often clock in late but I don’t think anything about it as my direct supervisor is often just as late. One day my future wife — at this time just a close friend — brings her car in to have the A/C worked on since I don’t have the equipment or the time to do it at home. The A/C specialist does the work and the night service writer writes it up with my discount. She picks the car up the next day. That night I get a call from her that the car has overheated for the first time ever and asks if I could look at it. The coolant is low, but when I add more it doesn’t seem to be leaking until the car is running, but it isn’t coming out onto the ground. While I am trying to figure it out, I discover that the carpet in the back seat of the car is wet, and after a little more investigation I find out that coolant is coming out of a hole in the heater core and running through the back seat vents. I pull it out and find a small hole poked into the side of the heater core. Immediately, I take it back to the night service writer. He gets a part off the shelf for me and writes it off. I fix the car and then go back the next morning to talk to the service manager.)

Me: “Yeah, I pulled the heater core and found this tiny little hole poked into the side, right on a seam; it had to have been done on purpose.”

Service Manager: “You’re right; that couldn’t have been an accident. He shouldn’t have needed to do any work inside the car.”

(Just then, the day service writer — my direct supervisor and the son of my friend’s coworker — comes into the service office.)

Service Writer: “You should have told me that was your car!”

(I looked at him for several seconds like he was crazy and then calmly said, “I quit.” I told my future wife, and she understood how ethics can be a burden. I don’t think she ever told her coworker, though. I had never applied for unemployment benefits before, but I then found out that I was eligible if I quit for cause. I wrote it up and turned it in. Later, I got the denial in the mail, not because they didn’t believe my explanation, but because the company claimed that I had been late over fifty times! By that time I had another job and fighting it was not worth it.)

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