Religion Is Just Not My Bag

, , , , | Working | October 11, 2018

(I work at a local grocery store chain. I’m currently in the break room on my lunch. A coworker is just coming into work, but as she is early she decides to sit down right next to me and chat my ear off until her shift starts. I’ve hardly said a word during the conversation, hoping she’ll leave me alone. Note that we are in a state with a high population of a certain religion. I’m talking nearly half the population of the state. I was raised in the religion but left after high school.)

Coworker: “[Coworker #2] was watching an R-rated movie on his phone yesterday.”

Me: “Hmm.”

Coworker: “I don’t think he’s a real member.”

(I know for a fact [Coworker #2] is a member. I also highly doubt he watched an R-rated film. The most violent thing I’ve ever seen him watch on break was a Marvel film, rated PG-13.)

Coworker: “I’m not going to bag for him anymore. He’s not a real member of the church. He’s a bad person, and I refuse to bag for him anymore.”

(I stopped saying anything and my coworker went to start her shift. I wish I’d told her I’m not a member. I wonder what the managers would have done if she’d refused to bag for two of the three cashier on that shift. I’m pretty sure that’s called “not doing your job.”)

Time To Return To The Fold

, , , , | Right | October 11, 2018

(I work at a popular clothing store, and my job is to fold and hang anything customers mess up or pull off hangers. A middle-aged woman and her young daughter — about six or seven years old — come over next to me while I am folding a pile of t-shirts. I have just finished folding the shirts when, without saying a word, she picks a shirt from the pile, holds it in the air, crumples it, and throws it back down, and then continues doing that with the rest of the shirts.)

Me: “Ma’am, please don’t do that; I have just folded those. If you tell me what size you are looking for I would be glad to help.”

(She keeps unfolding each and every shirt until she has unfolded all of them, and then starts browsing all the other clothes. After she has moved, I start to refold the pile all over again.)

Daughter: “I can help you fold these again; I am sorry about my mommy.”

Me: “It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t have to. Thank you.”

(Her daughter starts folding the shirts, anyway, and folds a few so perfectly and cleanly.)

Daughter: “It’s okay. Mommy makes me fold my clothes all the time.”

(She made my day. Thank you, little girl, for restoring my faith in humanity!)

What Leftist Nonsense!

, , , , , , , | Learning | October 11, 2018

(My right hand was amputated when I was a baby. My school isn’t told before I start there as there isn’t really anything I can’t do with one hand. I am eleven years old, on my first day at my new secondary school.)

Teacher: “Can everyone write their full names on their homework planners, please?”

(The class does.)

Teacher: “Can we be doing this with our rights hands, please? We do things properly at this school.”

(We all look up in confusion, then carry on exactly as we were.)

Teacher: *pointing at me* “I said, ‘right hand!’

Me: *holding up right arm* “I’m sorry, miss, but I don’t have a right hand.”

Teacher: “Stop being silly and write with your right hand.”

(I rotate my arm to show the front and back of my forearm.)

Me: “I’m really sorry, miss, but I don’t have a right hand; it was amputated when I was a baby.”

Teacher: “Then go and sit outside the Headmaster’s office. I will not have your defiance in my classroom.”

(I gather my things and leave, very confused as to what I have done wrong. The Headmaster calls me into his office and I explains why I am there.)

Headmaster: “So, you don’t have a right hand, and were told to use your right hand… which you don’t have?”

Me: “Pretty much.”

Headmaster: “Well, we can tape the pen to the end of your arm, I suppose. Yes, that is better than this left-handed nonsense. You’ll use your right arm from now on.”

(I left his office totally bewildered and used my left hand for the rest of the day with no issues. I told my parents, who reported it to the school governors. The headmaster retired a month later, and the teacher went on maternity leave later in the year and never came back. It wasn’t mentioned again. I wasn’t able to move schools, as no school in the area had a spare place. It was all a bit weird.)

Rates Are Rising The Mood Is Dropping

, , | Right | October 10, 2018

(We have a special rate for stays that are a week or more in our hotel. However, if the guest changes their stay, they no longer get the special rate. Most guests understand this completely, but every once in a while…)

Old Man: “I’d like to check in. However, I’m not sure if I’m going to stay for the entire week.”

Me: “That’s fine. But I warn you that the rate will go higher if you change your stay.”

Old Man: “What?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but—”

Old Man: *interrupts, pulling out paper* “Where does it say that? You robbers are trying to trick me with your bait-and-switches!”

Me: “Is that the reservation?” *points to where* “You see, it says so right here, in this fine print.”

Old Man: *reading* “‘If you change your stay… then the hotel reserves the right to make changes to your rate…’ Gad durn it. It still isn’t right! I want your manager!”

(I get the manager who, after learning what’s the matter, repeats what I’ve said. I think the old man, seeing that those are the rules, will finally understand, but no, he gets even MADDER.)


Manager: “Fine.”

(He stormed off. Little did he know that we own that hotel, too!)

Can’t Recognize A Good Sign

, , , | Right | October 10, 2018

(In the hotel where I work we have a lot of staff from different companies. Management implemented a rule where only English is to be spoken in public areas so customers don’t feel uncomfortable. [Guest #1], a man, and [Guest #2], a woman, who are not together, are waiting to check in. [Guest #1] hands me a piece of paper with his name, reservation number, and a note explaining that he is deaf.)

Me: *signing* “Do you speak sign language?”

Guest #1: *nodding and smiling happily* “Yes, thank you! I’d like to check in”

(I go through the check in procedure and explain the various facilities to [Guest #1] and notice that [Guest #2] has left. A few minutes later, [Guest #2] storms up to the desk with the hotel owner.)

Guest #2: “That’s her! She was the one who was talking about me in another language! She and her friend were pointing and laughing at me and I couldn’t understand them!”

Owner: “Is this true? I didn’t even know you could speak any other languages.”

Guest #2: “Well, she’s obviously been lying to you so she can talk about people without them knowing it. I expect my room to be free for this humiliation.”

Me: *whispering to owner* The guest that checked in before her is deaf. I was signing to him explaining the layout of the hotel. The only pointing I did was towards the restaurant and bar. He was laughing because he was happy he had someone to explain the area to him.”

Owner: *to [Guest #2]* “Miss, they were speaking sign language. They weren’t–”

Guest #2: *shrieking* “I know! I’m not an idiot! They shouldn’t have been talking about me!”

Owner: “They weren’t–”

Guest #2: “Stop it! Stop lying to me to protect yourselves! I know what I heard!”

Owner: “Miss, you’re either going to have to calm down and apologize to my receptionist or leave”

Guest #2: “F*** YOU!”

(The woman then stormed out of the hotel, got in her car, and sped out of the car park, knocking over a lamppost! Luckily we had her card details on her reservation and were able to charge her for damages. [Guest #1], however, really enjoyed his stay and wrote a lovely long letter to the owner thanking me and saying he’ll be back!)

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