It was about a week before Christmas, and I was busy trying to get through the long lines as one of the few cashiers that actually showed up for their shift this day. A gentleman old enough to be my father came up with a few items. Before I could even utter a word, he proceeded to tell me:
Customer: “Your forehead is really wide. I like girls with wide foreheads.”
And then, he gave me his number. The rest of the transaction and that day were very awkward for me.
We are a store connected to a warehouse that sells a lot (and I mean a LOT) of mechanical items. Therefore, our prices are calculated strangely and aren’t the clean $X.99 you’ll find in most stores. A customer comes up to me holding an item and asks for a price check. The machine scans the item, and it comes to $6.66.
Customer: “Oh, no, no, no! No, nope! That’s not happening! It’s a sign. I can’t buy it.”
Me: “That’s the price without the state and sales tax, sir. With it, the total is $7.13.”
Customer: “Oh… good! Yes, I’ll take it, then. Just make sure you apply that… that Jesus tax.”
I work in a hotel, and my morning started off with a bang. As the night audit worker left, he mentioned [Man #1] and [Woman #1], who he’d checked into [Room] forty-five minutes prior. He’d had them pay the early check-in fee, but that was all the excitement of his shift.
About forty-five minutes later, a woman called.
Woman #2: “Is [Man #1] staying at your hotel?”
Me: “I’m not able to give out that sort of information, and I will not be checking to see if he’s staying here.”
Woman #2: “It’s fine; he’s my husband.”
Me: “Ma’am, it is not fine. Regardless of a relation to a possible guest, we do not ever confirm if someone is staying here or not.”
Woman #2: “Fine. I’ll just come down there.”
I hoped she wouldn’t.
About twenty minutes later, my hopes were crushed. [Woman #2] showed up with another man, and they approached the desk.
Woman #2: “Look, we know [Man #1] is here; his car is out front.”
Me: “I can’t help you; there is no information I can give you.”
Both of them were extremely frustrated that I wouldn’t help.
Man #2: “But it’s an emergency!”
Me: “If there’s an emergency, you’ll need to call the police.”
So, they called the police. The officer who showed up has helped me out several times, so I’m pretty familiar with him. He talked things over with [Woman #2] and [Man #2]. It turns out that these two were the respective spouses of our guests, [Man #1] and [Woman #1], and they believed the two to be cheating together.
[Officer] pointed out that this was not a police matter. The jilted husband then decided to insist:
Man #2: “There is no way my wife would have gone willingly with [Man #1]! She is obviously drunk and being taken advantage of!”
None of us believed him, but the officer wanted to watch security footage of the check-in and the paramours heading to their room to confirm that neither of them was under duress. The jilted spouses tried to watch the footage, but the officer told them off.
Watching the security footage, the lady was maaaaaaaybe tipsy but certainly there of her own free will.
Officer: “Try contacting the room. Tell them a welfare check was called in.”
To no one’s surprise, they didn’t answer, so we left it at that.
Officer: “I can tell these folks to leave for you, and I’ll hang around until they’re gone.”
[Woman #2] left in a van, but [Man #2] hung around for a bit and told the officer his car battery was dead. The officer told him he still needed to leave and could not wait for a ride on the property.
At first, he seemed resolute to toe the line and stand literally on the edge of the four-lane highway outside, which is obviously public property, but after a moment of that, he joined [Woman #2], whose van we spotted parked at the gas station across the way.
After the officer left, the head of housekeeping and I joked around, saying the jilted spouses should just get together; then, everyone would be happy. It’s not like we felt great covering for a cheating couple, but it was also super not our business. We wondered how long they would wait over there, considering they also had at least one child with them.
We did not have to wait terribly long to find out. Maybe twenty or thirty minutes later, the cheaters left their room. As the cheaters got close to their car, it became clear to us that their spouses had spotted them, but the couple seemed to be blissfully unaware. The van peeled off down the road to be able to make a U-turn to get back to us, while [Man #2] sprinted across four lanes of traffic. Once he got to our side, he pulled the car door open to scream at his wife as the van pulled into the parking lot. [Woman #2] got out and ran to the driver’s side to slap and scream at her husband.
I was concerned that things might become increasingly violent, so I called the police back before somebody got more than their ego hurt. While I was still on the phone, [Woman #2] ran back to the van, and honestly, for a moment, I thought she was going to ram her husband’s car with the van. But instead, she backed out and drove off. Meanwhile, [Man #2] was trying to coax his wife out of the car or something.
The police showed up and quickly defused the remaining situation. [Woman #1] got out of the car. An officer took each half of the couple aside to confirm the situation with them. A friend or brother of one half of the couple also showed up to confront [Woman #1], so she was just not having a great day. I did not feel too bad for her. [Man #1] was allowed to leave to go get his comeuppance at home with his wife, I assume.
Ultimately, [Man #2] and [Woman #1] seemed to leave together. I say “seemed” because about half an hour later, [Man #2] was back at the desk, no wife in sight. It turns out his car was still dead, and he needed a jump.
I felt for the guy even though he’d been a pain in my butt for the entire morning. I also just so happened to be parked directly next to him and have jumper cables, so I went out and jumped the guy’s car for him. He thanked me for my help and told me to have a good day, and I said, “You, too,” without thinking.
Pretty sure the chance of this guy’s day turning around is slim to none.
CONTENT WARNING: Animal Death
I’m a nurse in a hospital. I worked with a young woman in my first year after training. She is a perfectly pleasant individual but a little bit naïve and not the sharpest. She became a nurse because she is a genuinely caring individual, but she is also a daughter of rich parents, so she’s been a bit sheltered in her upbringing.
Around 2021, when the world has gone crazy and healthcare workers are being put through the wringer, she finally decides she can’t hack it right now and takes a sabbatical for a year. No one blames her; if we had rich parents to fall back on when the going got tough, we would, too!
However, as previously mentioned, she’s a lovely person, and she calls us regularly to catch up and talk to whoever is on break. We’ll call her Mandy. She actually spoke to a bunch of us over these next few calls, but to make the storytelling easier we’ll say it was just her and me talking.
Mandy: “My parents got tired of me lounging around the house all day, so they got me a job.”
Me: “Oh, really? What will you be doing?”
Mandy: “Our neighbors — the really rich ones — are going away skiing for a couple of weeks.”
Her family is already rich, so for her to consider this family “rich” must make them pretty loaded.
Mandy: “They have this old dog they don’t want to put in the kennel, so my parents volunteered me to live in their mansion for two weeks to look after the dog.”
Me: “Oh! That’s good!”
Mandy: “It’s sweet! Big house all to myself, a cute dog, and I’m getting paid! What could go wrong?”
A lot, dear reader. A lot could go wrong.
Two days later, we’re talking to Mandy again, but this time it’s not a social call.
Mandy: “The dog! The dog is dead!”
Me: “What happened?!”
Mandy: “I don’t know! I did everything I was supposed to, and when I woke up this morning, the dog was just dead!”
Me: “How old was the dog?”
Mandy: “Fifteen.”
Me: “That’s a pretty good age for a dog; it was probably his time.”
Mandy: “Yeah, he was on a lot of medications. What do I do?!”
Me: “Well, you have to call the family.”
Mandy: “But… what do I tell them?!”
Me: “You tell them that, unfortunately, it was the dog’s time. He lived a long good life and he went peacefully in his sleep.”
She is scared and understandably distressed, but she agrees this is the right thing to do and we end the call. She calls back a few hours later.
Mandy: “So, I called them.”
Me: “And?”
Mandy: “Well, they were pretty angry, but they understood it wasn’t my fault. They don’t want to come back from their vacation, so they’ve asked me to take the dog to a pet crematorium.”
Me: “Okay, glad you got it sorted.”
At the end of the shift, she calls back yet again.
Mandy: “The dog is gone!”
Me: “Well, yes, you told us that he passed already—”
Mandy: “No, as in actually gone!”
Me: “Mandy… what happened?”
Mandy: “Well, the pet crematorium was on the other side of town, so I took the subway—”
Me: “Wait, stop. You took a dead dog on the subway?“
Mandy: “Well, yeah it was a long way.”
Me: “You couldn’t spring for a [Rideshare]?”
Mandy: “I’m not putting a dead dog in a [Rideshare]!”
Me: *Pinching my nose* “So, how did you carry this poor dog, Mandy?”
Mandy: “In a luggage suitcase. I got to the station, and I was carrying it up the stairs, but this dog was a heavy Rottweiler and I was struggling a bit. This handsome guy came up to me and offered to help me carry it to the street, so I said thanks! He carried it to the top, and he said, ‘It’s really heavy. What’s in here?’”
Me: “What did you say?”
Mandy: “I didn’t want to tell him there was a dead dog in there! So I just lied and said I was a DJ, and I was playing in a club tonight, and this was all my equipment. And then he ran off with it.”
Me: “He what?!“
Mandy: “He ran off with the luggage.”
Me: “The luggage containing the dead Rottweiler?”
Mandy: “Yes! What do I do?”
Me: “Where are you?”
Mandy: “I’m still here at the exit. I’m across the street from the crematorium place.”
Me: “Well, the crematorium is right there, and they’re still expecting you. Go in and explain what happened.”
Mandy: “Will they help?”
Me: “Mandy, I honestly cannot say at this point, but the very least you can do is explain why they’re expecting to cremate a dog and now there is no dog.”
Again, she reluctantly agrees, and I go home with a story to tell the family.
The next morning, we get a call. Yep, it’s Mandy.
Mandy: “I explained it to the crematorium. They were shocked, but they’re also like, hey, it’s New York; stranger things have happened.”
Me: “So, what happened?”
Mandy: “Well, they had just finished with a Saint Bernard, so they gave me some of the leftover ashes and I’ve taken them back to the house.”
Me: “Wait… They faked the Rottweiler’s ashes?”
Mandy: “Yeah, they’re washing their hands of it. They said I can tell the neighbors what I want to.”
Me: “And…?”
Mandy: “What would you do?”
Most of the team advised her to be honest but, in the end, agreed it was her decision. However, all of the team wondered what the thief’s face looked like when he opened that luggage expecting some sweet DJ equipment… and found a dead dog.
Mandy came back to work last week. She still hasn’t told us what she decided to tell her neighbors.
I get a job as a grocery store cashier when I am in my late teens. I do my best to perform my job to the best of my ability, but I’m not jumping to do more than I’m paid for. One day, my manager sends me on break without a replacement, so I sign out of my register, turn off my light, and put a chain across the lane. Simple. That’s what every cashier is supposed to do when closing down a lane.
Before I can leave the closed lane, however, I’m stopped by a man at least ten years my senior with a mustache and a baseball cap. There’s no way around it: he looks like a stereotypical kidnapper from a school safety video.
Man: “You’re a cashier, right?”
Me: *Baffled* “Yes, sir, but I’m on my break right now.”
Man: “I can see! Thank you for closing down your lane properly! So many people don’t do that!”
He continues talking about how rare it is to find a cashier who correctly closes down their lane until I make an excuse and scurry away because I don’t want to waste my fifteen-minute break.
When I come back, the man is talking with one of my managers. Then, he spots me and points.
Man: “Right there, that’s her! She turned off her light and put the chain across the lane! She did everything right! It’s so rare to see that!”
Seeing my deer-in-the-headlights look, my manager just nods and lets me get back to my register.
I see the man a third time several hours later when I am grabbing something after my shift. By now, I am starting to get suspicious of having an oddly complimentary stalker. After telling a few family members about the situation, they advise me to give my managers a heads-up if I see him again or if his behavior becomes inappropriate.
Sure enough, he is back the next day, in the same shirt no less, so I bring it up quietly with my manager when she has a spare moment, mentioning that I saw him three times yesterday over the span of my eight-hour shift.
Manager: “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s with corporate, so he tends to spend a while here.”
Me: “Oh, thank goodness. I thought he was some kind of stalker.”
I even saw him in the break room a couple of times. I still feel a little bad for thinking he was stalking me, but when you’re a small woman working with the public, you tend to be on your guard!
