Karma Rewards Patience

, , , , , | Right | December 12, 2017

(I work the overnight shift at a location that has two drive-thru lanes. A young woman pulls up in the drive-thru.)

Me: “Your total is $3.47, miss.”

Female Customer: “Thanks. Could I also pay for the guy behind me? I accidentally cut him off.”

Me: “Of course! That’s so nice!”

(I process her order but have to call a manager since she is using the same card twice. The whole time the guy behind her is revving his engine, clearly irritated. I finally get her the second receipt and the guy behind her suddenly guns it around her and pulls out of the parking lot. Both she and I just sit there, dumbfounded.)

Me: “Well, I guess he really didn’t want to wait. I’ll get the manager to refund that order for you.”

(Kudos to the young girl for being willing to pay for him in the first place and then for being patient so we could refund her. The staff working that night had a good laugh about it.)

Making Boobs Of Themselves At The Entrance

, , , , , | Right | December 11, 2017

(I am with about ten other security guards, checking ID cards and tickets at the main entrance gate for an under-18s festival. This is my first day on the job, but for the most part, things run smoothly once we get into the swing of things. A group of four young women in their teens get to the front of my queue and hand me their tickets.)

Teen #1: “Here’s our tickets.”

Me: “I’ll also need to see your IDs.”

([Teen #1] removes her ID and presents it to me. After briefly comparing her ticket and ID I pass her through, where she waits for her friends. [Teen #2] then hands me her ID, but the photo has been completely scratched off.)

Me: “The photo on this card has been scratched off.”

Teen #2: “Yeah, it was a bad photo, so I got rid of it.”

Me: “You do realize I need photo ID to let you in? Do you have any other ID?”

([Teen #2] looks confused at the concept that a photo ID needs a photo, but then proceeds to try and give me her credit card, along with various other non-identifying cards, looking more and more dejected as she goes.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept any of these. I need a valid photo ID before I can let you in.”

Teen #2: *hopefully* “If I show you my boobs, will you let me in?”

Me: “Unfortunately, that’s not a form of photo ID, but I will call over my supervisor and see if he can sort this out.”

(I raised my arm to call over my current supervisor, who quickly arrived and asked me what the problem was. He was just as confused as I was at the lack of a discernible picture, but he took the group aside and talked to them. They ended up having to wait for about an hour outside the gate before someone came and gave them valid ID. Unfortunately, I lost count of the amount of times I had to deal with this exact same situation throughout the day.)

 

Giving Handicapped People A Bad Name

, , , , , , | Right | December 11, 2017

(I’m the fitting room attendant today. From my post, I can see a man shopping with his toddler. He keeps holding up outfits and making comments according to her reaction.)

Dad: “How about this?” *toddler shakes her head* “I know, stripes and spots; what was I thinking? How about this?”

(They joke around for a few more minutes before coming up to me.)

Dad: “Do you have a family fitting room?”

Me: “Of course. How many?”

(I set them up in the room and return to my post. A few minutes later, a woman on a handicapped scooter drives right past me and towards the family fitting room.)

Me: “Ma’am, excuse me.”

Lady: “Two, don’t bother with a card.”

Me: “Ma’am, that handicapped stall is occupied.”

Lady: *ignores me and beats on automatic door button, which won’t work when the door is locked* “What’s wrong with this piece of crap?”

Me: “Ma’am, the room is occupied. You’ll have to use the handicapped stall in the women’s fitting rooms.”

Lady: *shakes doorknob* “I need to use this one; it’s bigger. Open it!”

Me: “Ma’am, that is the only family stall we have, so families take priority. You’ll have to use the other stall.”

Lady: “I’m f****** handicapped; I take priority! Get them out!” *keeps shaking doorknob and hitting door*

Dad: *pops head out door* “Is there a problem?”

Me: “I’m sorry—”

Lady: “Get out of my stall! You can’t use that; you’re not handicapped! It’s for handicapped people only! This is discrimination.”

Me: “Ma’am, this is our family stall; he needs it because he has a daughter trying on clothing, and they can’t use the other fitting rooms. There is another handicapped stall in the women’s fitting room.” *gives man apologetic look*

Lady: “No, I get to use this stall! Get out!” *tries to push in*

Dad: “I need to put my daughter’s shoes on.” *closes door*

Lady: *pounding on door* “Get out of there, you b******! Why isn’t your wife taking your daughter shopping, huh? I bet you’re a f****** [homosexual slur]! Get out of my stall, you [slur]!”

Me: *frantically paging security with my silent alarm* “Ma’am, please. His child is very small; you must be upsetting her.”

(Security finally arrived to escort her away!)

Committing Career Suicide

, , , | Working | December 11, 2017

(I used to volunteer with a suicide prevention charity while at university. I put it on hold while I moved around the country looking for a job. Once settled down, I start up again working on Saturday evenings. A month later, my employer has fired a manager to cut back on costs, and for us agreeing to jointly fulfill the role, we have each gotten a small increase in wages. Said manager was also involved in the night shifts, which we now have to fulfil.)

Manager: “All right, so it’s [My Name] and [Coworker] on Saturday and Sunday… [My Name] Saturday and [Coworker] Sunday.”

Me: “I’d rather we switched. I’m busy Saturday evenings.”

Coworker: “I don’t mind switching.”

Manager: “No, you have that report due in on Mondays, and you can’t do it if you have worked the Sunday shift.”

Me: “I can do the report on Sunday. It doesn’t take long.”

Manager: “No, that won’t work.”

Coworker: “[Manager], it’s fine. I’ll do the Saturday.”

Manager: “No, [My Name] is new, and he has to learn proper respect and authority. He will work Saturday.”

Coworker: “Mate, he volunteers with [Charity] on Saturdays. Also I have been here long enough to learn ‘respect and authority’ and I say I’m working the Saturday!”

(Our manager scoffs at us but eventually lets us switch. I arrive at my next shift with Charity, and am told someone has been ringing in every few minutes. We suspect it might be a prank caller, or someone who is in distress and is unable to maintain the call. We’re on alert, though, in case they phone back. I end up being the next person to take the call.)

Me: “[Charity]. This is [Alias]—”

Manager: *recognising my voice* “No, you’re [My Name]. It’s [Manager]. I’ve been calling all night to see if you actually do work there and not just being lazy… See you on Monday!” *hangs up*

(The others at Charity weren’t happy with me, and I had a few choice words for Manager when I got in. He didn’t understand how inappropriate it was to flood a suicide prevention service to prove someone volunteered there.)

Valar ēdruta qringaomagon

, , , , , , | Learning | December 11, 2017

For a literary theory class, we had to give a presentation about the topic we were planning to write our research paper on, so the professor could green-light it. I was really excited that a girl was going to write about feminist agendas in A Song of Ice and Fire, because I’m a huge fan of the franchise. However, it started out bad with the professor, who was also the chair of the department, stating that he thought “fantasy [was] crap,” and it only got worse from there.

Besides writing several names wrong (such as “Rob” instead of “Robb”) and mentioning several characters that only exist in the TV show, the student portrayed the fairly empowering books as the most sexist piece of fiction ever written. It soon became very obvious that she had only seen (at best) a few episodes of the TV show.

At the end of the presentation, several other students and I tried to correct the mistakes, but the professor rejected them all regardless, as the presentation reinforced his beliefs that fantasy is garbage.

Through a mutual friend, I later heard that the girl got an A for her research paper. I took note, avoided that particular professor, and when I wrote my master’s thesis on a similar topic, my supervisor told me that this professor had been trying to get the university to boycott research into fantasy literature for years.

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