Manager: “So, you click “New” to make a new inventory sheet?”
Me: “Yes, right over there.”
Manager: “Now what do I do… type it in?”
Me: “Yes, in the text box.”
(My manager types as slowly as humanly possible.)
Manager: “So, where’s that space key again?”
(My crew and I are installing glued-down carpet tiles in an office space. The glue must be exposed until it has set up completely. We’re a couple of hours into the process, having just cleaned the bare floor of debris, and have started to spread glue. The job site supervisor walks in the room with a crew who is supposed to be installing ceiling tiles.)
Supervisor: “These guys are going to be putting in the ceiling tiles here, okay?”
Me: “No. I just prepped everything, and I’m glueing the floor now. No one can work in here until the carpet is done.”
Supervisor: “Well, I scheduled for you both to be here today. They should be fine. They’re working on the ceiling, and you’re working on the floor, so you won’t be in each other’s way.”
(The ceiling guys realize right away what is going on, and out of professional courtesy start packing up their tools to leave.)
Me: “I’ll say okay if you can answer this one question.”
Supervisor: “Yes?”
Me: “Where are they going to stand while working on the ceiling while I’m working on the floor?”
Supervisor: *speechless*
(Two of my managers are showing a new employee around the restaurant.)
New Employee: “So, what’s that brush for?”
Manager #1: “It’s used to clean toilet bowls in the lobby.”
Manager #2: “Actually, it’s for scrubbing deep fryers.”
Manager #1: “Well, I’ve been cleaning toilets with it.”
Manager #2: “Er… I’m putting in for a new brush. Let’s keep quiet about this!”
(I’m working New Years Eve on the tills when three rather older women come into the store. After I serve them, the door alarm goes off right after they leave. My manager goes to investigate.)
Manager: “I’m sorry, ladies, but I’m going to need to check your bags and receipts in case you took something.”
Woman #1: “No, we didn’t take anything. We swear!”
Manager: “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to come back into the store and your bags be searched.”
Woman #1: “No, we haven’t stolen! Look!”
(Suddenly, the women—all in their fifties at least—begin to lift up their long skirts and tops and pull down their bras a bit. Not finding anything, my manager lets them go and comes back into the store.)
Manager: “Thank God I get to go home and get drunk soon. I need a stiff whiskey to get those images out of my head!”
Employee: “What drink would you like?”
Me: “I’d like a lemonade, please.”
Employee: “Okay, I’ll go get it for you.”
Me: “Okay.”
(The employee disappears around the corner to get my drink. Meanwhile, a slightly overweight man with a tag reading “Manager” comes along.)
Manager: “Hi, how can I help you today?”
Me: “I’m being served already. You don’t need to serve me.”
Manager: “No.”
Me: “Sorry? No? Oh, well… um… I guess you can watch?”
(At this point, an employee comes back with a can of soda.)
Me: “Oh, no, sorry. I said lemonade.”
Employee: “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you said [Soda]! I’ll go and get you another drink.”
(The employee disappears around the corner again. Meanwhile, she has left the soda on the counter.)
Manager: “This is why I’m fat!” *grabs the soda and drinks it in one big gulp* “So, what drink would you like?”
Me: “Um, I’m already being served.”
Manager: “What drink would you like?”
Me: “I’m already being served.”
Manager: “I said, what drink would you like?!”
Me: “I said, I’m already being served!”
Manager: *angrily* “WHAT DRINK WOULD YOU LIKE?!”
Me: “I am being served.”
Manager: “OH! YOU’RE BEING SERVED!”
(When the employee came back with my lemonade, the cup was disturbingly warm to the touch. Giving up, I left the restaurant, only to open up the cup later and find out it wasn’t even lemonade—it was some sort of slimy gunk.)
