, , , , | Right | May 2, 2018

(A coworker comes to the back of the store. She looks angry.)

Me: “[Coworker], what’s wrong?”

Coworker: “Stupid, rude customer just reported me to [Store Manager] and says she is going to report me to head office for being racist.”

Me: “What did you do?”

Coworker: “Nothing. I was serving a customer at the counter when I heard someone calling out from [Department]. They wanted someone to come and help them find something. I called out that I would be with them in moment when I finished serving. When I went over there, they demanded to see [Store Manager] and accused me of being racist because I didn’t come straight away.”

Me: “Could you see them from the counter?”

Coworker: “No, they were at [section].”

Me: “With two aisles of stock separating you? There’s no way you could have seen them; don’t worry about it.”

(She calms down and heads back to her station. [Store Manager] comes back, looking flustered.)

Store Manager: “That b****! First, she accused [Coworker] of being racist. I pointed out that where she was, there was no way that she could have even seen her. I was with a customer and saw the whole thing. She said that because she is Iraqi, she was ignored.”

Me: “But [Coworker] is Iraqi.”

Store Manager: “I pointed that out; now I am being reported for being racist, as well.”

It’s Becoming Whine Country

, , , , , | Working | May 2, 2018

(At the winery where I work, employees either run the register, serve at the tasting bar, or give tours. I’m trained on all three, but I hate the register because I get really flustered, so I give tours and work at the bar. Less than half of us are trained to give tours, and tours are the main reason I have the job, because I have previous tour guide experience and love it, and they are short on tour guides. Our old manager, who hired every single one of us regular employees, leaves for a new job and leaves detailed notes for the new manager, including what each of us does and is good at. I’m also pregnant, and standing is uncomfortable, but I’m fine if I can walk around. My new manager consistently assigns me to register. On the third day:)

Me: “Can I switch with [Coworker] today and work at the tasting bar? I really don’t like doing register.”

Manager: “No, I need you on register.”

Me: “[Coworker] actually prefers register over tasting bar, though. I’m not good at register; I’m the reason the lines are long.”

Manager: “No, I want you on the register. [Coworker] can do the tasting bar.”

Me: “Okay. Before [Old Manager] left, we had a talk about what my limitations would be now that I’m pregnant, and the register is physically hard for me because it’s standing in one place. At least at the bar I’m walking back and forth constantly, and it’s easier for me.”

Manager: “You’re pregnant? No one told me!”

Me: “It’s pretty obvious, but that’s okay. Or better yet, I could do tours; I see you only have two people doing tours, and we always used to have at least three.”

Manager: “You do tours?!”

Me: “Yeah… It’s why I work here. I thought [Old Manager] included all that stuff in the notes she gave you.”

Manager: “Well, I didn’t actually read them!”

(It was a good thing I finally got off the register, because soon after, the registers were always short and, despite very busy days, our tips jars were much less full than usual. We found out the manager was taking tips to cover the register shortage, rather than trying to figure out why they were short! I left soon after, since I was too pregnant to squeeze through the crowds of customers or stand all day. I’ve been back to visit several times and I haven’t seen that manager at all.)

Having A Field Day With This Parent

, , , , | Learning | May 2, 2018

(I work as a teaching assistant in a special education classroom. Every year, the students in each grade have a “field day,” which includes a number of games and activities held outside on the playground for most of the day. My students have theirs a week earlier than the others in their grade, to prevent them from becoming overwhelmed, and so that we can modify activities if needed. This takes place the morning of our field day, as parents are dropping their children off. I am outside setting up some of the equipment.)

Woman: *approaching me* “Oh, are the kids doing something special today?”

Me: “I’m just setting up for the special education students’ field day.”

Woman: “That’s great! My son loves field day; I’m sure he’ll have a great time today.”

Me: *thinking it’s odd that I haven’t seen her before* “Sorry, who is your son? I teach the special education kids; I’m sure I know him.”

Woman: “[Son] isn’t ‘special’! Why would you say that?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I must have misunderstood. Today is only field day for my students, so he won’t be participating yet.”

Woman: “Then where do I sign him up?”

Me: “You don’t. His class will have theirs next week.”

Woman: “No, no, he wants to do it today. I’ll write a note.”

Me: “Ma’am, this really is only for the special education students.”

Woman: “I know. Don’t worry; it’s okay with me.”

Me: “Well, that’s fine, but it doesn’t matter. Your son will have to wait until his class’s turn.”

Woman: “Of course he won’t. He’d rather play with the special kids, anyway. He hates losing.”

Me: *getting irritated* “My kids are very intelligent and capable. And anyway, he is not a part of their field day today. I’d like to finish setting up now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Woman: “Don’t be stupid; they’re not over here. You don’t have to lie like that. I know what they’re like. They would love to have a normal child pay attention to them! If you won’t help me, I’ll talk to the principal.”

Me: *fuming at this point* “You do that.”

(To no one’s surprise, the principal told her that her child would have to wait for his class’s field day. I later found out that she pulled her kid out of school early that day and attempted to send him into the playground with my students. Luckily, the security officer made it very clear that if she did not leave on her own, he would be escorting her out.)

Can’t Rise From These Ashes

, , , , , | Working | May 2, 2018

My grandmother recently died. Funeral arrangements were pre-planned. My dad and his sister do not get along. He started taking care of all the details, but his sister had to sign some paperwork. It took almost a week for her to sign it.

However, in this time, the funeral home director sent the proof of the death announcement for the papers that my grandmother wrote with my dad — to his sister. She made significant, inaccurate changes. The funeral home director didn’t consult with my dad, and that was published in the papers.

My father complained, since he paid for this service. He was told that they would look into it. However, when my dad showed up to pick up my grandmother’s cremated remains, he was told that he couldn’t have them until he paid the bill for the newspaper announcement. He paid it. Then, they spend half an hour trying to locate Grandma. Eventually, they found her in a storage closet.

My cat died two days after my Grandma. My vet treated my cat’s ashes, and me, with more respect than my dad and Grandma’s ashes received.

TL;DR: Grandma’s ashes were held ransom and misplaced.

Won’t Take This Baby-Sitting Down

, , , | Related | April 30, 2018

(I work part-time at a diner and I also babysit — not at the same time, obviously! One day while I’m working, I notice two boys I babysit, aged six and eight respectively, that live with their father in another town and spend their weekends with their mother.)

Me: “Hi, guys. Where’s your mother?”

Eight-Year-Old: “Shopping with her friends.”

Six-Year-Old: “She said you’ll watch over us.”

(I knew the mother was a little off but this takes the cake.)

Me: *sigh* “You little rascals go sit in a booth. I’ll bring you some snacks after I call your father, okay?”

(The boys nod and head to a booth within my visual area. I tell my boss what happened and then call the father.)

Me: “Hello, Mr. [Father], sorry to bother you at work, but your ex-wife dropped off your sons at my workplace while she went shopping.”

Father: “WHAT?! Oh, that woman’s going to get a piece of my mind.”

(I heard the phone being slammed and some muffled swearing. He arrived 45 minutes later to pick up the boys. They no longer spent their weekends with their mother after that.)

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