Breaking The Break Cycle

, , , , , | Working | April 13, 2018

(The loan officer at the branch I’m at has a bad habit of going on 30-minute “smoke breaks” and not telling anyone. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m working with him and another teller. It’s a half-day. Due to seniority, I’m in charge, even though he is older than me. This starts before the branch opens.)

Me: “Okay, [Loan Officer], there’s only three of us today, so can you please tell me when you’re going outside to smoke? That way, I can cover your side of the lobby.”

Loan Officer: “Sure! No problem.”

(We open the branch at nine am. Not even thirty minutes later, I see him disappear out the back door. Twenty minutes later…)

Customer #1: “Hi, I’m here to see [Loan Officer], please.”

Me: “He’s not available right now. Is there something I can help you with?”

Customer #1: “No, I’ll wait for him.”

(He walks back inside five minutes later, saving me the need to go get him. However, this happens again. And again. And again. By 11:30, I’m pissed. He’s been outside four times, and I can’t even get away to use the bathroom.)

Customer #2: “Hey, is [Loan Officer] available?”

Me: “Oh, I thought he was at his desk.”

Customer #2: “Nope!”

Teller: “Guess again! He’s outside.”

Me: *in my calmest voice* “If you’d like to have a seat in the lobby, sir, I’ll get [Loan Officer] for you.”

(I have had it. I exit the teller line, walk down the back hallway, and stick my head out the door. He’s playing on his phone, with his ear-buds in.)

Me: “[Loan Officer]!”

Loan Officer: *jumps* “I was taking a smoke break!”

Me: “We only have a half-hour left to work today, so get your behind inside right now and stay there! Got it?!

Loan Officer: *defeated* “Fine.”

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Dr. Coke Versus Diet Pepper

, , , , , | Right | April 11, 2018

(I’m working the front register during a very busy dinner rush. My manager was helping me put together orders, but then stepped out for a few minutes to prepare a specific salad we ran out of. Due to this, I have to ask the next person in line to wait a minute while I bag a couple of orders for people who have been waiting a while. I’m currently in my last year of high school.)

Customer #1: “Well, fine! But you guys are fast food. This is in no way fast.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we are slammed, both inside and in drive-thru.”

(I finish up two orders, and then I return to the register.)

Me: “Sorry about your wait. Will this be for here or to go?”

Customer #1: “I don’t have time for your stupid questions! Give me a [combo], and make it snappy!”

Me: *marking the order as to go* “Absolutely. What would you like to drink with that?”

Customer #1: “Your dumb questions slow everything down! Get me a Dr. Coke!”

Me: *thinking I misheard her* “I’m sorry, ma’am. You said a diet coke?”

Customer #1: “NO! DR. COKE!”

Me: “I apologize, but we don’t have a Dr. Coke soda. Did you mean a Dr. Pepper?”

Customer #1: “No, you dumb***! Get me a Dr. Coke, large!”

Me: *giving up and ringing it as a Dr. Pepper* “That’ll be [total], please.”

Customer #1: “Seriously, why do they hire dropouts? I bet you didn’t even complete first grade. You don’t know what ‘fast food’ means, and you don’t know what a Dr. Coke is.”

Me: *getting fed up by her rudeness* “That’ll be out for you shortly.”

Customer #1: “Get me that Dr. Coke, right now!”

(I look around and notice my manager hasn’t returned from making more salads.)

Me: *to the next customer in line* “I’ll be right with you, sir. Sorry about the wait.”

Customer #1: “Hello! I need that Dr. Coke!”

(Unfortunately, our soda fountains are right in the customer’s view, but I go ahead and begin to dispense a Dr. Pepper.)

Customer #1: “No! No! No! I said a Dr. Coke!”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am.” *getting fed up, and I decide to give a Diet Coke a try*

Customer #1: “Not DIET! DR. COKE! My God! How stupid are you?”

(By now, our line is almost to the door, and the next customer in line speaks up.)

Customer #2: “You know what, lady? This young lady has been working hard up here, and the wait has been long because they’re really busy, and you have been giving her a hard time. Seriously, I have never heard of a Dr. Coke before, and frankly, after how rude you’ve been to her, you should be happy that she’s giving you a drink, so shut up and let her do her job!”

Customer #1: “My God! The world is so stupid! That’s a Dr. Coke!” *points to the root beer* “You know what? I won’t take this!” *storms out without food or a refund*

(By this time, my manager has returned to the front and caught up on the orders. I flag him down as he’s bringing out the rude lady’s order.)

Me: “The lady who placed this order stormed out.”

Manager: “Did she get a refund?”

Me: “No, she stormed out before I could give it to her.”

Customer #2: *to me* “How much is that combo, sweetheart? I’ll take it.” *hands me over the money*

Manager: “You don’t have to pay for that, sir. Thank you for standing up to my employee. What would you like to order? It’s on the house.”

Customer #2: “I was going to order that exact combo, but with a Dr. Pepper instead of a Dr. Coke.” *winks*

Me: “You got it. Would you like anything else?”

Customer #2: “Just that customers don’t give you such a difficult time, sweetheart. You’re doing great, and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.”

Me: “Thank you, sir.”

Customer #2: “Thank you. You have fantastic customer service skills, and if you ever applied for a job, I’d hire you in an instant. Keep up the great work, and take care.”

(Thank you, kind sir; once you left, everybody was much kinder, despite the long wait. You certainly made my night.)

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Someone Bought A House Of Card-Fraud

, , , , | Working | April 11, 2018

(My friend is 16, with a specific bank account which does not allow card transactions or payments over £250. She rarely uses the account, and has about £100 sitting in there. She gets a rather nasty letter from the bank one day, stating she’s £900 overdrawn and will incur high fees with it potentially going to court. She’s extremely upset. I go with to the bank to try to get it sorted; I’m only a little bit older, but I look like I’m in my early 20s and people genuinely listen to me more because of it.)

Friend: *to the bank teller* “I want to know how I’m £900 overdrawn.”

Bank Teller: *condescendingly* “When you buy something, it uses money from your account. You have to make sure you have enough in there, or you owe us money.”

Friend: “But I didn’t buy anything.”

Bank Teller: “Well, you obviously did.”

Friend: “But I didn’t! I had £100 in it a couple of days ago.”

Bank Teller: “Which you obviously spent, and then some; otherwise, you wouldn’t be overdrawn. Get lost so I can do my job.”

(I step in.)

Me: “This is your job. Your client has stated that there is an unknown transaction, which means there’s possibly fraud involved. You have to look into it.”

(My mum works in banking, so I know that if I mention fraud, the teller has to look into the account. The teller scowls at me, but brings up the account.)

Bank Teller: “On [date a couple of days ago], there was a transaction of £1,000. Is this transaction familiar?”

Friend: “No!”

Bank Teller: “You’re a liar.”

Friend: “I’m not; my bank account doesn’t allow transactions over £250.”

Bank Teller: “Well, obviously it does, as you did.”

Me: “She has your student account, meaning it’s a cash-only card. Cash-only cards can only be used for taking money out, and you can only take out £250 a day. It has also been set up so you can only do payments of £250 via bank transfer. Who’s the money to?”

Bank Teller: “Erm… [Real Estate Company].”

Me: “It’s a deposit for a house?”

Bank Teller: *now looking sheepish* “Yes?”

Me: “Do you really think a 16-year-old is putting a deposit on a house?”

Bank Teller: “Well… She could.”

Me: “Not with a student account that has only had a £100 in it from when it was first opened, they don’t. How would she pass the credit checks, firstly?” *to my friend* “[Friend], we probably should also contact [Real Estate Company], as I reckon it’s their error, or a digit in the wrong place.” *to the teller* “You need to get the £1,000 refunded and make sure the overdraft fees are taken off, and you also need to issue some kind of statement of apology explaining how you could let a thousand-pound transaction go through on an account without £1,000 in it, and why my friend shouldn’t just cancel her account with you, period. You also need to apologise to her personally for being so bloody rude.”

Bank Teller: *meekly* “I’m very sorry. I’ll get this refunded and make sure any fees are removed. I’ll talk to my manager, too.”

(We did also contact the real estate company, who were extremely apologetic for the account error. They gave my friend £500 for the inconvenience! The bank also contacted her, putting £100 in her account as an apology for letting the transaction go through and for the nasty letter.)

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You Know Gender Disparity Is Bad When It Hits The Salon

, , , , | Working | April 11, 2018

(I tell the stylist I want my hair really short and show her a couple photos of the style I want. My hair length is at the middle of my back.)

Stylist: *pointing to the hair washing station* “I need to wet your hair down good, first.”

Me: “Um, no? I want to give it to [hair donation charity], so I just need it cut above the hair elastic. Also, my hair is really thick and it does better when cut dry.”

Stylist: *insistent* “Honey, I need to wet your hair to cut off that much.”

(I sigh as I go sit down, and she proceeds to not only wet my hair but shampoo and condition it, as well, which I know will cost extra.)

Me: “Why are you washing it? I thought you were just wetting it?”

Stylist: *snappily* “I know what I’m doing.”

(I sigh because she’s already started, I’ve got the money to cover the difference, and I’ve had a long day so I don’t feel like arguing. After she finishes, I get into the chair, and she asks me to show her the pictures again. She realizes how much hair I’m cutting off and gives me a surprised look.)

Stylist: “Are you sure, honey?”

Me: *nods* “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve had it cut much shorter than that before.”

Stylist: “Is your husband okay with that?” *to my husband* “Are you okay with her cutting all her hair off like this?”

(My husband ignores her, because he’s playing with our toddler and his stuffed dinosaur.)

Me: “He only came in because the baby doesn’t like waiting in the car.”

Stylist: *louder* “What do you think of her cutting her hair off so short?”

Husband: *glances up* “Eh, whatever. It’s hair. It’ll grow back.”

Stylist: “You might want a picture of it before I cut it all off.”

(He ignores her and she puts my hair in a ponytail, which she then snips off and tries handing to me.)

Me: “Er, I don’t want to hold that. It’s wet.”

(She sighs and lays it on her workstation, then goes back to cutting my hair. As she cuts, she keeps trying to tell my husband he shouldn’t let me cut my hair so short, and asking why he is letting me cut it off so short and why I want my hair so short. My husband ignores her, and I tell her that short hair is easier to maintain. Finally, she finishes and gives me the soggy ponytail, then leads me over to the register to pay.)

Stylist: “Your total is $38 for a wash and cut.”

(I give her my debit card. She runs it and then passes my husband the receipt, which he gives to me. I fill out the tip line and sign the receipt, and we leave.)

Husband: “So, what did you tip her?”

Me: “$2.”

Husband: “Ouch! Why so low?”

Me: “She kept asking you how she should cut my hair; that’s why.”

Husband: “Fair point.”

(I will NOT be going back to that salon. EVER.)

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A Memory That (Glow)Sticks To You

, , , , , , | Related | April 11, 2018

(This is many years ago, when my aunt is ten. She has just gotten her first ever glow stick, and is very excited to start playing with it. Her older sister, my Troublesome Aunt, has one, as well.)

Troublesome Aunt: “You have to crack it first to make it glow! Put it in your mouth and use your teeth to crack it.”

(My aunt enthusiastically cracked the glow stick, accidentally breaking it in half and getting the liquid in her mouth.)

Troublesome Aunt: “Oh, my God! Don’t swallow it! That stuff is toxic! If you swallow any, you’ll die!”

(My aunt sprints back to her house with her arms flailing and her mouth wide open, glowing bright green. After washing out her mouth, she rushes to her mother.)

Aunt: *crying hysterically* “I swallowed some! Mom, I’m going to die!”

Grandmother: “What in the world are you talking about? That stuff is non-toxic. Who in the world told you… [Troublesome Aunt]! Get over here now!”

(My Troublesome Aunt ran away laughing, and my aunt won’t go near glow sticks to this day.)

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