Peppered With Assumptions

, , , | | Working | May 24, 2018

(I am out to eat with my friend. He eats a lot of chili and black pepper on pasta. He is also a vegetarian. He brought his own chili, but uses the restaurant’s pepper. The restaurant is crowded and busy, and our pepper-shaker has enough that would normally be plenty for an entire table. This happens before pasta is brought out:)

Friend: “Refill the pepper, please?”

Waiter: “Uh, we’re kind of busy. Use that up first?”

(My friend’s pasta comes first, and he uses up the pepper. Then, he realizes there are tiny slivers of meat.)

Friend: “Sorry, could you redo this? I wanted to remove the meat. I’m a vegetarian.”

Waiter: “Very sorry! That won’t happen again.”

Friend: “The pepper, too, please? I didn’t see the meat until I put it all on.”

Waiter: “Wow… Here, just borrow the full one from the next table.”

(It was forgotten until we paid. The place was half empty by then. We saw two notes on his order: “Vegetarian, remove meat from pasta,” as well as, “Probably autistic, too.” No, my friend is not autistic, just a bit odd. While I can understand warning staff in case of strange reactions, is it really appropriate to just guess someone’s condition?)

No Washing Machine Can Wash Away The Blame

, , , , , | | Working | May 24, 2018

(My first job when I turn 16 is at a high-end department store in the UK, famed for its customer service. I normally work in the tech section — a teenager’s dream — but today they are short on the customer help desk, so I am drafted in to help. This is my second day assisting. I’m stood at the desk, keeping myself busy, when a lady in her 70s appears, in floods of tears.)

Me: “Hello, madam, is there anything I can help with today?”

Customer: “Oh, God… It’s just… Ohh…” *wails uncontrollably*

Me: “How about you take a seat here and calm down?”

(She sits, and gathers herself slowly.)

Me: “Okay, what’s happened? How can we help?”

Customer: “Well, you see, I had a delivery of my washing machine booked in this morning, for my new kitchen.”

Me: “Okay, and did the delivery team arrive on time and with the machine?”

Customer: “Yes, yes, that’s not the problem. They arrived on time, they came upstairs to the flat to check it could fit, and then they went down to the van to get it.”

Me: “Sounds good so far?”

Customer: “Well, yes… They got up to the flat, and started moving the washing machine down the corridor. As they got to the kitchen door, my cats decided to run out of the kitchen as they were startled by the machine… I think the first man saw this coming, but the man holding the back of the machine didn’t, and after my first cat appeared, he dropped it.”

Me: “Dropped the machine?”

Customer: “He dropped the machine onto the second cat.”

Me: “Oh. I see. Well… I’m so sorry… Let me go and find a manager, then; I’m not sure of what to do or say.”

Customer: “That’s not all.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “Once they realised what they’d done, they said they’d take the machine back and replace it.”

Me: “And did they?”

Customer: “Well, they were in such a panic and rush to leave they reversed the lorry into my new brick wall.”

Me: “Oh.”

(Three minutes later in the office, where four section managers are:)

Me: “Okay, who wants a great situation to deal with today?”

(The chain paid for her entire new kitchen in full, all works to repair the wall, and the cremation of a cat.)

 

Out Of There Quicker Than You Can Say “Joffrey”

, , , , , , | | Working | May 24, 2018

(I work for a store that has a very loud and quite spoiled manager who constantly yells and berates the people under him in front of customers. The owner has never done anything about it because he never gets the chance to see it firsthand. The owner is a major “Game of Thrones” fan and all-around geek.)

Manager: *yelling at coworker in front of customers* “I AM THE MANAGER, AND YOU WILL LISTEN TO WHAT I TELL YOU TO DO BECAUSE I. AM. THE. MANAGER.”  

Owner: “Any man who must say, “I am the manager,” is no true manager. Can I see you in my office for a second?”  

(After a few minutes in the office, the manager was fired and escorted out of the store, screaming like a child the entire way.)

Home Is Where The Heartfelt Complaints Are

, , , , , | | Friendly | May 24, 2018

(I live in a house divided into three apartments. The largest is occupied by the homeowner, the upstairs apartment is occupied by the owner’s 20-something son and his girlfriend, and my husband and I rent the smaller, downstairs apartment below them. My husband has known the family for years, hence the good price; however, I am viewed as “the outsider” and often end up at the center of any gossip. The homeowner’s son and his girlfriend have been pushing to kick me out so that the apartment can be rented to one of their friends. Because of this, I make it a point to keep my head down, and try to be as polite as possible. I always get a kick out of hearing the latest gossip about what I’m doing.)

Husband: “So, [Homeowner’s Son] says that you’ve been spying on them through the windows.”

Me: “Oh, the bedroom windows with the blackout curtains? Or the living room windows that look out into the woods? Wait! I know! It’s the bathroom window isn’t it? The one that’s too high for me to see out of, and has the blinds?”

Husband: “Oh, and they say you spy on them on the porch. You’re always out there.”

Me: “You mean where I enter and exit through the front door?”

Husband: “Exactly.” *joking* “You’re not allowed to have a life. Just stay in your box. And no more windows.”

(Later:)

Me: “I ran into [Homeowner’s Son] in the driveway. He was working on his truck. He asked me for a jump, but I didn’t have any jumper cables.”

Husband: “I heard. He threw a fit to [Homeowner] that you’re bragging that your car works. He then threw a fit that you’re blocking the driveway and he can’t get out. He wants you to start parking up against the front door to our apartment.”

Me: “On the porch? What about [Homeowner]’s car? Or yours? His truck doesn’t even run.”

(It’s a very large driveway, with two entrances; it curves around the front of the house and then into the back. I’ve been parking in the same spot for almost ten months.)

Husband: “Yeah. Nothing said about that.”

(I continue parking where I always have. Another time:)

Husband: “[Homeowner’s Son’s Girlfriend] complained that she could hear inappropriate sounds coming from our bedroom the other night.”

Me: “But we just got back from [vacation] last night. Nobody was here.”

Husband: “I know. [Homeowner] called her out on it, and she got upset and ran off.”

(A few weeks later, I’ve picked up a box of a dozen donuts on my way home. As I’m unlocking my door, the son and girlfriend come outside and see me. As I get the door open, I wave hello, smile, then head inside, closing the door behind me.)

Husband: “[Homeowner’s Son] and his girlfriend threw a tantrum to [Homeowner], saying that you’re being unneighborly and rude. They said you bragged about your donuts, then didn’t invite them in to have any.”

Me: “Gee, I wonder why.”

(Nothing ever comes of their complaints.)

One Door Closes… And That’s It

, , , | | Working | May 23, 2018

(I’ve ordered some takeout and I answer the entry phone for the delivery driver. I let him in, but the main door doesn’t make a sound to indicate it’s open, so sometimes people don’t realise it’s open even after you tell them. Gathering that this has happened again, I go to the main door to let him in myself. My apartment door is in full view of the main door, so he’s seen me approach him.)

Delivery Driver: *aggressively* “I thought I’d got the wrong flat; you didn’t let me in.”

Me: “Sorry about that. Sometimes the door plays up.”

(We finish the transaction and all seems normal again, but as I’m closing the door, he shouts:)

Delivery Driver: “That’s what you get for living in a s***hole!”

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