Me: “Hi! Could I have a small [Specialty Beverage]?”
Salesperson: “I’ll have to get those cups out of the back; we don’t have any up here.”
(Time passes as nothing happens…)
Salesperson: “Do you still want a small [Specialty Beverage]?”
(I work in the dining room of an assisted living home as a waitress. My manager is a super great guy who trusts his employees and is usually laid back. This all changes whenever he has to work the line though, which is fortunately a rare occurrence. One night the head chef calls out sick, so the manager works the line. He comes by me, carrying a stack of 20 incredibly heavy plates.)
Me: “Whoa! Hey, those are really heavy. You should probably limit yourself to ten at a time, at most.”
Manager: “They are not that heavy, and I’m out of plates. I need as many as possible! This saves me time!”
Supervisor: “[My Name] is right; you—”
Manager: “Just because you two have trouble lifting things doesn’t mean the plates are heavy! Now grab your dishes and go!”
(My supervisor and I share a look, but we both silently decide to drop it. We grab our plates from the line and drop them off at the tables. As I’m walking back, I hear an enormous crash and I run back to see what happened. The entire kitchen floor is covered in shattered pieces of ceramic. My manager is standing in the middle of it, staring down at the broken ceramic, completely flabbergasted. My supervisor rushes in behind me.)
Supervisor: “What happened?”
Manager: *sheepishly* “The plates fell…”
Supervisor: “How many were you carrying?”
Manager: *looking like he wishes he could disappear* “Twenty…”
Supervisor: *sighs* “[Coworker], go grab the brush and dustpan, and clean this up. [My Name], go get [Manager] some plates from [Dishwasher]. [Manager], go back to the line and don’t leave until service is over.”
Manager: *muttering while sulking off* “But the plates aren’t that heavy…”
(He wasn’t allowed to carry plates after that.)
(Ever since I was little, I have always shopped at this dollar club with my mom, but because I have very bad social anxiety, with ADHD and autism, I need to have my service dog with me or I can’t go by myself. I walk into the store with my therapy dog and start looking around for some things. I have a handful of items, and an employee comes up to me and speaks to me.)
Employee: “You need to pick up your dog; he isn’t allowed on the floor.”
Me: “Um… that doesn’t make sense. He’s a service dog?”
Employee: “It doesn’t matter; he can’t be on the ground! You need to pick him up. There’s even a sign outside.”
(At this point I’m starting to panic, because I really can’t stand arguing with strangers. I will do it to defend my rights, but not if I’m going to have a panic attack. Now other customers are beginning to stare. I decide to grab my service dog and pick him up. My dog is a Chihuahua-Dachshund mix and is about the size of a fox, around 14 pounds. I feel embarrassed about picking him up, and I am carrying other things aside from him that are somewhat heavy, and some that I would prefer not to get dog hair on, so I have to set the dog down. Out of frustration, I end up setting all my stuff down and walking out to the front of the store. I get mad when I read that the sign indeed says no pets allowed, but that it also says service animals are welcome, and says nothing about needing to carry a service dog around while in the store. Now irritated, I decide to walk right back in, grab the stuff I had left in a basket and continue shopping. I am approached by the employee again, and immediately, defensively, I say that there is a sign in the front of the store, which she demands to see.)
Me: “See? It says, ‘No pets allowed; service animals are welcome.’”
Employee: “It doesn’t mean you can leave your dog on the ground. It could bite someone. The manager made the rule; why not just put your dog in a cart?”
Me: “He is a service dog. He can’t bite; he’s not supposed to. Do you need proof of that? Actually, let me speak to your manager, because dogs aren’t allowed in carts for allergy and hygiene reasons!”
Employee: “Ugh, what a stubborn child; do what you want. The manager isn’t in right now.”
(I was extremely distressed at this point, about to cry, and I couldn’t help but think how un-freaking-believable this lady was being with me. I could hear some people who were staring, talking about how I was being a spoiled brat about my dog not being allowed inside the store, or how I was self-entitled. I was emotionally exhausted, I felt embarrassed, I wanted to cry, and I wanted to go home. I bought my stuff and walked out. On my way home, though, I called the store and spoke to the manager about what happened. He offered his apologies, but that still doesn’t make up for all the embarrassment I suffered at that store.)
Related:
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 2
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals
This story is part of our Service Animals roundup!
Read the next Service Animals Roundup story!
Read the Service Animals Roundup!
(It’s a busy day in the store, and I’m called up to the front, since the lines have gotten long. I get up there to find that a customer has her cart-full of items laid out on the counter of my register. I stand there for a second, unsure of what to do, until another customer asks me to open.)
Me: “Um, excuse me.”
Customer: “Oh, do you need this register? I’m just counting my things.”
Me: “Yes, sorry. They assign me to a register, and I can only use this one.”
Customer: *annoyed, she starts slowly putting the items back into the cart* “Is there somewhere else I can do this?”
Me: “Unfortunately, no.”
(I sign in, but can’t call anyone over because she is still blocking my register. The customer gets about half of her items into the cart, when she pauses and says:)
Customer: “You know what? I might as well check out. Can you just ring me up?”
Me: *making eye contact with all the people who’ve been waiting* “Well, you could ask the people in line if they’d mind if I took you before them.”
Customer: *somewhat testily* “I’m not going to ask them.” *finally clears enough room for me to call the next in line*
Me: *while finishing a customer’s order* “And would you like a lid on your ice cream?”
Customer: “Sure. Wait… what does a lid do?”
Me: *speechless*
Customer: “It just keeps the ice cream in while you’re driving, right? I’m okay, then.”
