Because All White People Come From New Zealand

, , , , | | Right | June 18, 2019

(I work in a store that is predominantly staffed by foreigners, but I am Caucasian. A customer approaches my till.)

Customer: “Hi, there.”

Me: “Good evening.”

(I start scanning the woman’s sizable cartload of groceries.)

Customer: “I’m so glad to see a white person behind the till for once!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “Well, I am so sick of dealing with all these foreigners every time I want to buy some groceries! I’ll be sure to come back here when you are working in future!”

Me: “Uh, ma’am? You may leave now. I will not serve someone as incredibly rude and racist as you.”

Customer: “What do you mean, you won’t serve me?!”

Me: “Exactly what I said. Leave now. You will not receive service here, from me or anyone else.”

Customer: “How dare you?! I demand to speak to your manager at once!”

Me: “Certainly, ma’am. Let me call him over for you.”

(I call the manager on duty over to my register. The manager in question is a Chinese immigrant.)

Manager: *in a thick Chinese accent* “What’s the problem?”

(The customer’s face turned paper white, and she virtually ran from the store, leaving all her groceries behind. My manager turned to look at me, but it took ten minutes for him to get an explanation because I was laughing so hard.)

 

Playing A Game Of Duck, Duck, RAGE

, , , | | Right | May 13, 2019

(I run sideshow games at an amusement park, and because of all the negative stereotypes of carnival games portrayed in movies and such, many people often wrongly believe that the games are rigged. One of the games uses a fishing rod to pick up a duck with a hook in it. Each duck has a different colour dot underneath it to identify the type of prize the player could win. The best prize is a stuffed bulldog and there are two ducks out of fifty that have the proper colour needed to win one.)

Customer: “How do I win one of those bulldogs there?”

Me: “You need to pay for a turn to play the game. Then, if you manage to pick up a duck with that rod that has a certain colour underneath it, you can choose that prize.”

Customer: “Pfft, probably rigged, anyway.”

(He then leaves for a few minutes and comes back when I’m serving two other customers who are playing the game.)

Customer: “Oi, give me one of those bulldogs!”

Me: “You have to play the game to win one, sir. I can’t just give it to you.”

Customer: “How the f*** am I supposed to win it when all the games are rigged?”

Me: “The games aren’t rigged, sir, but if you feel that strongly about it, you don’t have to play.”

Customer: “Give me the toy, then.”

Me: “Sir, I have already said that you need to play the game first to win the toy. If you don’t think you can do it, then you can probably buy a toy just like this in a store somewhere.”

(The customer then goes on a rant about how he’s already paid to get into the amusement park and how I am trying to scam him with a rigged game.)

Customer: “Give me the toy or I’ll jump over there and f****** smash you.”

(I get a bit nervous at this point as he is much bigger than I am and looks like he could really hurt me.)

Me: “I wouldn’t do that, sir; there are children around and a security guard just over there.”

(I signal my coworker to call the security guard over.)

Customer: “I swear to God I’m gonna smash your f****** head in.”

(The security guard was almost there at that point. The customer realised this and, after a few more curses, he left. I was still shaking with nerves an hour later.)

Not Exactly The Helpful Type

, , , , | Working | March 31, 2019

(I create the ads for a small weekly magazine, and I have a pretty strict time frame to have them completed and signed off before the layout of the publication can commence. The advertising sales manager, however, will take new bookings with no regard to deadlines in an effort to make herself look good. From my point of view, this just means working through lunch or staying late, with no extra pay, to get them done in time.)

Sales Manager: “We have a new ad to make for [Customer].”

Me: *worried* “We’re getting really close to print deadline. I’m not sure I can get it done and signed off in time.”

Sales Manager: “It’s okay. I typed up all the ad copy for you.”

(It’s the layout, design, and sign-off of the ad that tends to take a lot more time than simple copy typing. Still, we’re really short of time, so I’ll take anything I can get that will shorten the process.)

Me: “Thanks. Where did you save the document?”

Sales Manager: *blank look*

Me: “Is it on the shared folder on the server or will you email it to me?”

Sales Manager: “Oh, I didn’t save it.” *hands me a typed piece of paper* “But I typed it up for you.”

Me: *baffled* “But… why would you type it up, and then not save it?”

Sales Manager: “So it’s easier for you to read than handwriting.” *looks very pleased with herself, as if she thinks she’s done me a huge favour*

Me: “…”

Over-Priced

, , , , | Working | March 11, 2019

(I am in the mall with my kids, hurrying to drop them to a movie at the cinema in the mall. I see a product I have heard a lot about but not seen in a shop at a pop-up kiosk, and I stop. My plan is to go shopping while the kids are watching their movie, so I want to know if the product is reasonable, and then I will come back and look at the options.)

Me: “How much are these?”

Salesperson: “Well…” *launches into a spiel about benefits of the product, which I already know*

Me: “Yes, but how much is it?”

Salesperson: *repeats spiel, does not give price*

Me: “Right… I have to go.”

(Surprise, I didn’t buy it, but the kids had fun at their movie. A week later, the shop was gone when I went past again hoping to talk to someone else. Maybe it’s just me, but if you refuse to answer a simple question, I am not going to buy anything from you!)

I’ll Have A Black Hole Pizza With A Side Of Nothing

, , , , , | Working | March 2, 2019

My girlfriend and I and our flatmate decided to pop in for a pizza. It was a quiet night, and we decided to eat in. A round of drinks was ordered and delivered, and a pizza was ordered. Then came the waiting…

And the waiting…

After about thirty minutes, in a quiet restaurant, only three other tables occupied, still no pizza. We called over a staff member and asked politely about the whereabouts of our meal. He said that he would look into it.

Five minutes later, he returned to our table to tell us that our pizza was “lost”! Apparently, somewhere between the kitchen and our table, our pizza had mysteriously vanished into another dimension or something. It may have made its way to the pizza buffet instead of being delivered to our table as ordered. That’s cool — mistakes happen — so he tells us that another pizza is being made and will be delivered as soon as it’s ready. Meanwhile, more drinks are ordered, and we are told that our pizza will be free of charge.

Fair enough, mistake made, rectified, compensation of free pizza, and we’re in no hurry, so we settle down and wait…

And wait…

And wait some more…

Another twenty minutes pass, which is a long time to wait for a pizza that is being made especially for us to replace the earlier lost pizza, so again, we inquire politely of our waiting staff, paraphrasing Oliver Twist, “Please, Sir, may we have some?” A look of horror crosses his face, and he beats the well-worn path to the kitchen.

He returns very swiftly, and sadly empty-handed. He comes straight to the point and says, “I don’t really know how to tell you this, but we’ve lost your second pizza!” He then tells us that a third pizza is being made for us, and that he is going to physically stand next to it, and that as soon as it is ready, he will personally grab it, and deliver it to us.  

Which he does. It’s taken over an hour for one pizza to be successfully delivered the twenty or so feet from the pizza oven to our table! As he delivers the pizza, he is accompanied by the manager of the restaurant. The manager apologises for the apparent black hole in his kitchen, and asks that at the end of the meal we ask for him at the counter.

So, we eat, finally, and at least the pizza is fresh and hot, and quite tasty. After the meal, we go up to the counter and ask to see the manager. The manager comes out to us and apologises again. He asks the cashier for our bill, which he then just tears in half, chucks in the bin, and thanks us for not being d**ks about it.

Still not sure where the pizzas went!

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