Unfiltered Story #103652

, | Unfiltered | January 14, 2018

(We’re experiencing heavy rain for the first time in over a decade. The hospital I’m working at is understaffed for the flood of patients, and I’m pulling a graveyard ER shift even though I’m a radiologist. A presumably homeless, middle-aged man comes bursting through the ambulance-bay doors; he is drenched from head-to-toe and what I assume to be mud is dripping from his hands.)
Man (shouting loud enough for the whole floor to hear him): The Lord has told me of the endtimes and told me to bury His seed so His world can grow anew! He said I must find Saviors for His new world!
(He approaches me)
Man: You, child, have the Glow of a Savior. Join me in His mighty world!
(Again, I usually don’t deal with crazies; I’m just here to help with the X-rays, MRIs, and CTs)
Me: Uh, sure?
(He grins, displaying rotting teeth and draws a cross on my forehead. A nurse manages to get a syringe to pierce through his coat and administers a sedative)
Man (fading into unconsciousness): Bless you, child.
(The nurses load him onto a gurney and take him to a bed. They check him over and find that he’s fine. Once he’s conscious again, he’s released.)

Unfiltered Story #103648

, , | Unfiltered | January 14, 2018

A little bit of background: I work at a coffee shop where the customer receipts and the food order ticket both print out right next to the register. The cashier is then supposed to take the order ticket and give it to the worker at the food station. Without this ticket, we don’t know what food to make.

One morning we are SLAMMED! I clock in and am immediately put on register. My store manager is working on food right behind me. She hands me two croissants to hand out.

Me: “Two croissants to go!”
(Customer approaches and I go to hand them over)
Customer: “I’d like those in a bag with the rest of my order.”
Me: “Ok, not a problem. What else did you order?”
(Customer mumbles something about a bagel and walks away. For the next 15 minutes my manager and I are trying to figure out what else he ordered. This is hard to do since I don’t have enough time between ringing out customers to look at the previous sales on the register. Finally the customer and his wife come back up.)
Customer: “Where’s my food?! We’ve been waiting a long time!”
Me: “Yes, sorry about that. We’re just having some trouble figuring out what else you ordered. What did you get?”
Customer: *mumbling while looking at his wife* “We got two bagels.”
Customer’s Wife: *also mumbling* “And an avocado toast.”
(At this point both my manager and I are exchanging looks as we don’t have any orders matching that description. Finally I decide to just ask for the name.)
Me: “What was the name?”
Customer: “It’s [customer’s name]!”
(He proceeds to pull the order ticket OUT OF HIS POCKET to show me. I’m dumbfounded at the point trying to figure out how best to explain the situation without letting the customer know that he was a complete idiot for taking that in the first place.)
Me: “Sir where did you get that?”
Customer: “From there!” *points at the printer next to the register, meaning our cashier did not mistakenly hand it to him. He had reached past our cashier while she was distracted and taken it.*
Me: “Well, the reason we haven’t made your food yet is because you’ve taken the order ticket. Without that we don’t know what to make.”
(Customer proceeds to stare at me as if he doesn’t quite understand. I try to explain it again before he cuts me off.)
Customer: “Ugh, alright! Here!
(I give the order ticket to my manager, who then makes it as quickly as she can before throwing everything in a bag and handing it off. Once they leave we just shake our heads in disbelief. This guy was a regular so there was no excuse for him not knowing how our system works! Needless to say we spent the rest of the day telling our coworkers and laughing at him.)

Have You (Bapho)Met?

, , , , , , | Right | January 13, 2018

(I wear a pentacle necklace with Baphomet, the “Satan” goat, every day. Today I’m in a craft store looking at nursery fabrics. I visit this store a lot and I know the basic layout. Two middle-aged women wearing crosses approach me.)

Customer #1: “Excuse me, where are your Velcro strips?”

(I don’t work there. I’m wearing jeans, a Slipknot t-shirt, and arm warmers with belts on them. It couldn’t be farther from the store’s uniform.)

Me: “Oh, do you see the big racks with the big rolls of foam on them? The Velcro should be on a shelf right across from them.”

Customer #1: “Oh, thank you, sweethea—” *notices my necklace, crosses herself and the forehead of her companion, and shuffles away*

(I ignore them and continue looking at the fabric. The manager is manning the cutting counter a few feet away and I overhear them talking to him.)

Customer #1: “Excuse me, ma’am, but I want to file a formal complaint about your employee over there.” *points to me*

Manager: “Uh… Which one, ma’am?”

Customer #2: “That one, right there! The fat one!”

Customer #1: “She’s wearing the ugliest, most sinful necklace. She’s obviously a heathen that’s going to burn in the deepest depths of Hell, and I refuse to shop here while a servant of the Devil is here.”

(The manager stands there, confused and disturbed.)

Customer #2: “Are you just going to stand there staring at her or are you going to tell her to leave?”

Manager: “Well, ma’am, she… Uh…” *pause* “Well, if you continue with your shopping, we’ll handle the situation.”

Customer #1: “Good! I would expect that from a God-fearing Christian.”

(The women moved on happily and I never heard a word from the manager, even after having him cut some fabric for me. The cashier even complimented my necklace!)

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My Bark Is Worse Than My Gigabyte

, , , , , , , | Right | January 13, 2018

(I work in cell phone sales at a major department store. Although I work for a different company than the department store, we don’t have our own section; we’re stuck back in electronics. We are expected to help with electronics sales, despite not having keys for any of the locked cases. By the time this customer rolls around, my coworker is on hour two of his “fifteen minute break,” I’ve had two elderly ladies who believed in the “if I scream, I get discounts” policy, another guy who took it personally when he forgot his receipt, and almost no questions for cell phones. Finally, this customer comes up with a question I can answer.)

Customer: “Hi. I have 32 GB of space on my phone and it’s getting full. Do you know if my phone can take a memory card?”

Me: *genuinely upbeat at the polite tone he puts on* “Well, let’s take a look. May I see your phone?”

(He hands me his phone. I take off the case and start looking it over to see if the memory slot would be behind the back case or the slot where the SIM card goes, and he suddenly gets angry.)

Customer: “The slot is right here.” *points at the SIM card holder, almost knocking the phone out of my hand*

Me: “All right, one moment.”

(I go to pop out the little drawer and slide it out, seeing that there is indeed a space for a memory card. As I’m doing this, he tries to yank the phone out of my hands, screaming:)

Customer: “NO, IT’S HERE!” *he causes the tiny SIM card to go flying to the floor*

Me: “I’m so sorry! Let me get that…”

(As I’m rooting around for the card, I check a paper folder near where it fell and see it’s not there. The entire time I’m looking on the carpet he keeps screaming:)

Customer: “IT’S IN HERE! IT’S IN HERE!”

(He picks up the folder and tries to shove it in my face. I try explaining I looked there, then look again to appease him, but he is still screaming. Finally, I find it across the floor from where the folder was, nowhere near it.)

Me: “There we are. So, it does look like you have a slot for additional memory. Now, your phone only allows an extra [GB amount] of space, so—”

Customer: “I already knew there was a slot for it! I asked you how much space I could add!”

Me: “Well, you can go up to [GB amount] on this phone—”

Customer: “I knew that! I’m asking if I can transfer photos on there!”

Me: *at this point, I am no longer smiling, but my voice is still in customer service mode* “Why, yes, you can, and in fact, we can set it up so music and other media can be backed up on there as well—”

Customer: *now talking down to me like I’m the biggest idiot on the planet* “Just. Answer. My. Question. How much will this cost?”

Me: “Well, we can walk over to the storage devices and I can show you our selection—”

Customer: “That would be great. Where are they?”

Me: “Right this way.”

(I turn to walk two aisles down to the storage devices, make it all the way there, and realize he isn’t behind me. I wait a moment in case he went around the other way, then step back out of the aisle in case he didn’t see which one I went into, then I finally wander back in case he just left. Instead, he’s standing by the TVs, watching a kid’s toy promo. At this point, I’ve had it. I march right back up to him, and he turns to see me.)

Me: “You know, if you want to look at the storage devices, you have to actually walk the f*** over there yourself, right? This is a TV, not a memory card. So, are you going to f****** follow me, or can I get back to my job?”

(As soon as I said it, all my anger washed away and I was left in horror, but apparently it worked. He stood staring at me, completely silent, and then followed me over to the memory section. I showed him which ones he could use for his phone, he asked me about the prices, then declined getting one that day and left peacefully. He didn’t report me, I never got in trouble, and I felt much better after that.)

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Unfiltered Story #103642

, | Unfiltered | January 13, 2018

Years ago I had a cocker spaniel with a lot of allergies and a skin condition that made her very itchy. Her regular vet prescribed allergy shots for her. A few times we didn’t get to see him but a newly graduated vet who was working there temporarily. All she did the every appointment was try to refer us to specialists. So much so that we were starting to think she was getting kickbacks from them. One time we got her when we were there for my dog’s allergy shot.

Vet: “She’s just itchy because she has fleas.”

Mom & Me: “No she doesn’t.”

Me: “I just checked her this morning. No fleas. And she’s had a bath.”

Vet: *rolling her eyes* “It’s just fleas. She doesn’t need an allergy shot.”

Mom: “Dr. (Regular Vet) prescribed them. We want her allergy shot.”

At that point we watched as a flea crawling on the vet herself jumped from her to my dog. The vet only sees the flea now.

Vet: “I told you she had fleas!”

Mom: “We saw that flea crawling on you! Now we want her allergy shot.”

The vet continued to argue and tried once again to send us to a specialist, but we finally got the shot – only after a lot of huffing. Mom complained to the regular vet as soon as he was free and told him how this one was always trying to send us to specialists. He seemed rather angry with her when he heard this. We never saw her there again.

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