This Is The New Way To Act Presidential

, , , , | Working | April 19, 2018

(I am meeting with the leader of a volunteer organization for my son’s school to interview for the treasurer position. As we are talking, conversation gets around to where I work, and I mention I work for [Fast Food Restaurant]. When I say this, the club president gets an annoyed look on his face.)

Club President: “You don’t work for [Fast Food Restaurant] in [Town #1], do you?”

Me: “No, I work for the one in [Town #2].”

(He looks relieved and goes on to tell me about his last visit to [Fast Food Restaurant] in [Town #1].)

Club President: “Oh, good. Those people who work there are useless. They are so stupid. I went there a few weeks ago at like two in the morning and they had their drive-thru all blocked off.”

(I used to work for this store, which is a 24-hour restaurant; however, they do have to close for about four hours every three months to have their exhaust hoods serviced. Since the hood cleaners need to have their truck close to the store and the roof access, the drive-thru is blocked off with large caution cones, and a brave employee will generally park their car at the entrance of the drive-thru to prevent someone running over the cones and entering the drive-thru, anyway. Signs are posted on the doors, the drive-thru window, and the drive-thru speaker, letting guests know about this. I am about to explain this when he continues.)

Club President: “Yeah, they had cones and a car right there so no one could get in, so I had to drive my truck over the curb.”

(I am pretty surprised at this. While he has a large truck that could easily do this, in all my years at that store I had never heard of someone seeing the cones AND a vehicle blocking the drive-thru and deciding to jump the curb, instead of trying to come inside to see what is wrong.)

Club President: “I get to the speaker and no one answers. I’m sitting there for ten minutes and no one is answering. I can’t leave because there is this truck just parked in the drive-thru, not moving, and there were a bunch of cars behind me that went over the curb when I did, so I can’t get out. I finally manage to get out, and I go to the door, and it’s locked. There is this little midget inside, and she won’t open the door for me.”

(I know the employee he’s talking about, and while dwarfism does run on one side of her family, it is considered very insulting to call a little person a midget. The club president is a VERY large man, and I could totally see a small young woman not wanting to open the door for a very angry man who is at least six times her size.)

Club President: “So I walk around to the drive-thru window, and finally the midget opens it for me, I ask her why the hell the drive-thru is blocked, and why the doors are locked. She gives me this annoyed look like I’m stupid and says, ‘Umm, because we are closed.’ I ask her if I could order now, since I am there, and she won’t even take my order! How useless is she? I’m glad you don’t work for those losers. I won’t go there ever again, if they don’t even know how to run a business!”

(He changed the subject after that, and I didn’t try to correct him. I didn’t want to cause a personality conflict when I was just trying to help my son’s school. He turned out not to be bad to work with, aside from trying to make me change my voicemail message on my personal cell phone, because it was inappropriate — it was an iconic character from a fast food chain saying I was his wing-man. The club president and his wife did a lot of wonderful things for my son’s school.)

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Needs A Profane Amount Of Restroom Breaks

, , , , | Right | April 19, 2018

(At our restaurant, which closes at 4:00 am and opens again at 10:00 am, the bathrooms close at midnight. They open again for neither love nor money, so at 2:00 am, I’m cleaning one of them.)

Random Dude: *kind of angrily* “Yo, can I use the restroom?”

Me: “Restrooms are closed. There’s a public restroom at the end of this building; it’s around the corner, on the left.”

(The guy mumbles something I can’t understand about his friend and the public restrooms, to the eventual effect of, “I don’t want to use those.”)

Me: “Restrooms are closed.”

Random Dude: “When do they open?”

Me: “10:00 am.”

Random Dude: *suddenly shouting* “Well, f*** you, too, b****!”

(I shrug and finish cleaning up the bathroom, and then come back behind the counter.)

Random Dude: *in the middle of talking to one of the managers* “That’s him! That’s the guy! He said, ‘F*** you! Restrooms are closed!’”

Me: “Sir, I did not use such language.”

(I continue to the back to put up the cleaning supplies, and when I return to the kitchen…)

Manager #1: “Did you really say that?

Me: “No, I did not.” *I relay the exchange* “—and then he started screaming profanities at me.”

Manager #2: “Yeah, I didn’t give him anything. I gave him the number to the franchising office, told him we were store number [other location’s number], and said your name was [Not My Name].”

(I nodded and continued with my shift.)

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Wishing For Her Hands To Be Bitten

, , , , , , | Right | April 19, 2018

When I was 16 years old, I worked in a children’s museum where I was in charge of the aquarium section. We had a “touch tank” where people could feel sea life. Because the animals are delicate, we had a strict policy that people could only touch animals I had put on trays at the edge of the tanks. Despite this policy, (and numerous prominent signs stating the policy) people would routinely stick their hands in the parts of the tank that were off limits.

One day, a woman came in and proceeded to repeatedly stick her hands into the tank, despite my requests. Finally, I forcefully said, “Ma’am, please don’t stick your hands into that part of the tank, as it distresses the animals.” She pulled her hands out, flicked water in my face, said, “You just need to chill,” and stomped off, cursing about “little s***s who think they know everything.”

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Sugar And Spice And All Things Not Nice

, , , , | Friendly | April 18, 2018

(My friend is venting to me about her annoying roommates. This conversation takes place over online chat.)

Friend: “They’re so awful. I got really fed up the other day and I did something bad.”

Me: “Oh, God, [Friend], what did you do?”

Friend: “Nothing that they could sue me over or directly attribute to me.”

Me: “[Friend]…”

Friend: “I just put sugar in their beds.”

Me: “[Friend]!”

Friend: “And salt in their conditioner.”

(Pause.)

Friend: “And chili powder in their laundry detergent.”

Me: “[FRIEND]!”

Friend: “They stole my pads and expensive hot chocolate!”

Me: “Oh, okay. That’s justifiable.”

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Doesn’t Even Sound Good On Paper

, , , , , , , | Working | April 18, 2018

I work in a small, open-plan office in a fairly small company. The husband-and-wife owners of the company don’t seem to want to update anything or invest any money in the company; the windows don’t fully close unless someone pushes on them from the outside, the blinds are damaged so you can always see in, and the computer system is over some early version of Windows with limited processing speed, which crashes on a weekly basis.

One day my boss gets an email — they can’t work out group emails — to say the wife has decided we are using too much stationary, she refuses to buy any more, and she wants us to be a paperless office. This is all despite us lacking the resources to be paperless, and the husband’s insistence that we keep a physical paper trail of every order, invoice, or query the customers have.

We make do as best we can, but eventually I bite the bullet and buy a pack of paper, pens, and a few nice post-its, etc. It’s not much, but when you are earning minimum wage and buying resources which work should be providing, it’s more than I want to spend.

I put all my stationary in my desk the next morning. I come back from lunch to find all of it gone, including a monogrammed pen my mum bought for my birthday. I eventually track it down to the female owner’s office, where she is happily using them. When I confront her about it, she repeats, “Paperless office,” like she is a parrot who has learnt a new phrase. I bite my lip and ask how we are meant to be paperless when we are also expected to keep written notes and print records of all our work. She eventually relents that she might, maybe look at a stationary order, “if it’s such a big deal.” I thank her, take my monogrammed pen from her hand, and walk out her office.

The next day, I replace the stationary and replace the lock on the desk, secure it before I go for lunch, and come back to find my coworkers giggling. Apparently, the female owner had heard I had more stationary and spent five minutes trying to pry open my desk before snatching the post-its from my desktop, screaming, “PAPERLESS OFFICE!”, and storming out.

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