Going Bananas Over The Bread

, , , | WI, USA | Right | May 12, 2014

(I’m at the self-checkout, and I can hear a woman yelling about her own self-checkout order to the cashier.)

Customer: “I can’t believe you would just let someone bag their own groceries! How was I supposed to know bananas would flatten my bread? I want a new loaf of bread, and I want it free!”

Supervisor: “Ma’am, we can’t just give you free groceries for your own errors. As we told you last week, putting heavy things on top of light things will cause problems. We’ve suggested you take your items to a cashier to be bagged properly, and—”

Customer: “I don’t care what you said last week! There is no sign here telling me the bananas will squish my bread! I want it free!”

Supervisor: “No. I told you, you can’t get any more free groceries.”

(At this point, I decide to intervene.)

Me: “Ma’am, can I help you with something? Do you need money?”

Customer: “What the h*** do you mean by that? Do you even work here?”

Me: “No, ma’am, I don’t work here. I just thought given the fuss you were making over a two dollar loaf of bread, you probably needed the money. Let me write you a check; how much do you need?”

Customer: “I don’t need anything! It’s the principle of the thing!”

Me: “And what principle is that?”

Customer: “Well… I… These people need to learn their place!”

Me:“They make minimum wage, and I’m sure many of them have second jobs. I’m sure many of them know ‘their place’ in YOUR version of society. So you mean to tell me you’re just being mean to make others feel inferior?”

Customer: “Well… I…”

Me: “In that case, I’ll buy you a free loaf of bread just to get these poor employees some peace!”

Customer: “Well, I never met someone so rude!” *storms out of the store with her squished bread*

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It’s A Warzone Up There

, , , , | Working | April 4, 2014

(We have a huge wedding party, over 100 guests. They are making noise in the hallways, breaking things in the lobby, and in their rooms. Despite repeated attempts to quiet them down, they refuse to stop. Our security can’t even handle them. I call my manager.)

Me: “[Manager], what should I do? I’ve had multiple complaints from these people. I’ve talked to the groom and every time he says he’ll quiet down, but he always starts them up again.”

Manager: “Okay, call the police. We can’t have this.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I hang up and call the police, and explain the situation. They send two officers to speak with the groom. After a while, they come back down to speak with me.)

Officer: “So… do you want to kick the groom out?”

Me: “Yes! I’ve told him so many times to stop. He doesn’t listen and keeps partying and disturbing others. Plus, the groom has over 20 people in his room, which is against the fire code. Please escort him off.”

Officer: “No can do. He’s a private in the military.”

Me: “What?!”

Officer: “We don’t touch military people. But it’s okay. We’ve spoken to him and he promises to keep his guests in check. Call us if he doesn’t…”

(They left and I stood there, dumbfounded. The groom and his guests continued to raise h*** all night long, and I called my manager and explained what the officers said. My manager was just as shocked as I. The next day, my manager took the groom’s name and reported him to his commanding officer. We eventually discovered that the groom was demoted and kicked out of the military for his behavior!)

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Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 6

, , , | Working | February 24, 2014

(I’m a young female business owner who does custom knives. As each and every one of my knives is handcrafted and designed by me, I only have a small shop with two helpers: my best friend and her boyfriend. We are all working on a special project for a client when a girl about college age comes in wearing six-inch heels and a mini skirt in the middle of winter. This is odd because most clients set up appointments or place an order on my site to buy a knife or have one custom made. She is texting on her cellphone the whole time.)

Girl: *without looking up, throws papers at my friend* “Yeah. Here’s my resume. I need a job here.”

Friend: “Thank you, but I can tell you now that we aren’t hiring.”

Girl: *still without looking up* “Do I look like I care if you’re not hiring? No. Get me the job anyway. It’s not like I’m gonna do actual work. I’m just here because my dad says I need to get a job.”

Friend: *shocked at the bluntness* “Well, I don’t know of anyone that would hire a person who doesn’t plan on working. Add that with the fact that we don’t even need help and you’re not getting a job.”

(The girl finally looks up and puts on a mean face. My friend notices me out of the corner of her eye, laughing my head off silently. My friend gives me a glare and I finally get a hold of myself and go into boss mode. I’m about to go to the front when the girl starts talking.)

Girl: “I know the owner, and he said that you guys would give me the job. If you don’t I’m going to tell him how rude you guys were!”

(I start laughing again, finally get a hold of myself, and go to the front.)

Me: “Is there a problem?”

Girl: *still texting* “YES. This employee won’t give me a job. Maybe you won’t be so stupid as I know the owner!”

Me: “Oh, really?”

Girl: *still texting* “That’s right! The owner won’t be pleased when I tell him that he has such a bad employee!”

Me: “You know the owner? How is it that I don’t believe you?”

Girl: “OH. MY. GOD. Why are all his employees soooo stupid?! I’ll be back with my DADDY!”

(She storms out fast, breaking her heel in the process. She spits onto the window and screams at us about the broken heel. We don’t think much of it after that until she comes back with a big burly man.)

Man: “My daughter tells me that you did not give her a job even after she let you know that we know the owner! The owner will not be pleased!”

(The girl is behind her dad. She has her arms crossed and a smug look on her face.)

Me: “Wow. The owner doesn’t seem to have great friends, huh?”

Man: “I will have you fired!”

Me: “Look. Why don’t we settle this now? There is the owner’s number on the wall. If you call the owner and you can tell me that he said he wants her hired, then I will.”

Man: *gets a smug look on his face* “I WILL.”

(He takes out his phone and the girl mouths at us ‘you guys are sooo in trouble!’ He dials a number then starts talking as if he is talking to someone.)

Me: “EXCUSE ME. I know you’re not talking on the phone.”

Man: “How dare you! I’ll have you know—”

Me: “I know for a fact that you are not calling the owner because if you were, my phone would be ringing.”

Man: “LYING B****! I know for a fact you’re just saying that! I know the owner! Plus you are way too young to own a business and you’re a girl! Quit lying before I have the owner sue you!”

Me: “If you were smart you would notice right next to the number that there is a picture of the owner and the two employees. First of all, I don’t see a man in the owner’s position, but a picture of me. Also, if you would notice my name tag I have on, it says ‘owner’ and has the same name as the sign outside. So, you are talking to the owner. Would you please leave or do I have to have you escorted out by police, as you are causing a disturbance in MY shop?”

(The man and girl got very red in the face and left as fast as they can. We haven’t heard from them since.)


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Should Have Vetted The Owners First

, , , , , , , , | Right | December 27, 2013

(I’ve just graduated and I can’t find a job. My older brother is a veterinarian, and gets me a temp job at the animal clinic where he works. On my sixth day, when my brother has the day off, a client walks in with her dog. She cuts about eight people to the front.)

Client: “My dog is sick! I need to see the doctor!”

Me: “Okay. Do you have an appointment?”

Client: “H***, no! I thought walk-ins were welcomed.”

Me: “Yes. They are. Is this your first time here, or is your dog already in our system?”

Client: “Of course I’ve been here! You must be stupid because this is, like, my 100th time here. My name is [Client] and my dog is Puddles.”

Me: “And what seems to be the problem with Puddles?”

Client: “I just told you! Don’t you f****** listen? He is f****** sick!”

(By now everyone in the waiting room is looking at us. Feeling a bit embarrassed at being cussed at, I don’t ask her anymore questions. I hand her a form.)

Me: “All right. Just fill out this form and a doctor will be with you in about 20 to 30 minutes.”

Client: “What?! Why can’t I see the doctor now? My dog sick and he is going to die!”

(I look at the dog. He is wagging his tail and eating the free doggy treats we have out.)

Me: “I’m sorry. Since you don’t have an appointment, you’ll have to wait. We have about eight other walk-ins still waiting with their pets.”

Client: “Is Dr. [Brother] here? He’s the guy I always see. Just tell him I’m here.”

Me: “Uh, no. That particular doctor has the day off. You’ll have to wait for Dr. [Other Vet]. She’s the only doctor in today.”

Client: “What?! I’m not going to wait in this f****** line! My dog is going to die and if he does I’m going to sue you for everything you got.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait like everyone else.”

Client: “Don’t you know who I am?”

Me: “Yes. You are [Client] and that is Puddles.”

Client: “You little b****! I am Dr. [Brother]’s girlfriend, which makes me like family. I get to see the doctor first, before any of these people.”

(I kind of giggle inside, because my brother is gay. He took the day off for his sixth year anniversary with his boyfriend.)

Me: “Oh. Are you a girl that is his friend or his romantic girlfriend?”

Client: “I’m his romantic girlfriend.”

Me: “Oh… But you’re still going to have to wait.”

Client: “Are you deaf or something? I told you I’m Dr. [Brother]’s girlfriend. You have to do what I say or I can have him fire you! You’re just jealous that I’m dating him and you’re too ugly for him to look at.”

Me: “Okay. First, Dr. [Brother] is my brother, so I don’t find him attractive in that sense at all. Second, my brother is GAY! He came out in college. So if you don’t have a wiener dog down there, I don’t think my brother would be very interested in you!”

Client: “You little c***! I’m his girlfriend and I’m going to tell him to fire you!”

Me: “If you’re his girlfriend, when is his birthday?”

Client: “I don’t have to tell you! You’re probably in love with him, you w****!”

(By now everyone is listening in on our conversation. There is a man in the walk-in line with a German Shepard. He comes up to the woman and tells her to back off and wait in line like everyone else.)

Client: “Who the h*** are you? You can’t tell me what to do? Who the f*** do you think you are?”

Man: “I am a sheriff’s deputy, ma’am. You’ve been harassing this woman for the past 10 minutes. She can file harassment charges on you and I will be her witness.”

Client: “F*** you all. I’m never coming back here ever again!”

(She came back the next day. My brother told her he will not be Puddles’ doctor anymore, and that, in fact, he is gay and not her boyfriend.)

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Store Of The D***ed, Part 2

, , , , , , , , | Right | December 23, 2013

(I work at a grocery/retail store that has a somewhat relaxed dress code for the cashiers. It is quite hot both inside and outside the store. Many of my female coworkers are wearing less clothing than usual. A customer comes to my check lane and unloads her groceries.)

Customer: “Oh, thank God. SOMEBODY around here knows how to dress in a way that pleases the Lord!”

(Right away, I know this is going to be unpleasant. I’m a transgender man with no religious belief.)

Customer: “All of these god-d*** heathens dress like streetwalkers! I’m so glad I found someone uncontaminated to handle my food!”

Me: “I’m sorry. Did you say ‘uncontaminated’?”

Customer: “Why, yes, dearie. Those worthless w****s you have to work with are contaminated by the devil! It’s too bad you have spend so much time around them, but I understand times are tough.”

Me: “Actually, I enjoy working here. I have excellent pay, flexible hours, and the opportunity to be part of a great team. I’ve made friends with several of my coworkers, and we regularly spend time together outside of work.”

Customer: “Oh, dearie, you know you shouldn’t yoke yourself to an unbeliever! But I suppose it’s hard to lead some to Christ if you don’t know them very well.”

(At this point, I’m finished scanning and bagging her groceries. She pays with her card and turns to me.)

Customer: “You know, young lady. I just feel so bad for you. You’re stuck in this awful, godless place, and I just—”

(The customer rummages in her purse and pulls out two $5 bills.)

Customer: “Take these are use them to do The Lord’s work!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t accept your money in good conscience. I happen to be one of those godless heathens you were upset about. Furthermore, I’m sorry to say that you have made a crucial flaw in your perception of me. I am not, as you said, a ‘young lady.’ I am a 21-year-old transgender man.”

(The customer begins to shout various racial, homophobic, and trans-phobic slurs. My manager rushes over to find out what’s going on.)


Manager: “Ma’am, you need stop verbally abusing the staff and leave the premises. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to call the police.”


Manager: “No, ma’am, and quite frankly I don’t care. You’re shouting some of the vilest insults in the English language at one of my best cashiers. Get your s*** and leave. NOW!”

(The customer flees, insulting both of us the whole time. The next customer in line has watched the situation unfold.)

Next Customer: *to my manager* “Excuse me. Would it be all right if I gave you both a gift card? You deserve something nice after all that.”

Me: “You don’t need to—”

Manager: “Uh, okay. Sure.”

Next Customer: “Here. Just [item] and two $25 gift cards for [coffee shop].”

(When the friendly customer gives me the gift card, his number is written on the back. We’ve been dating for almost two years!)


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