The Order Doesn’t Have A Sheen To It

, , , , , | Working | April 13, 2018

(I’ve ordered a hamburger and onion rings in a cafeteria inside a supermarket. I pay for it, the cashier writes my name on the order, and I go find a table. For the purpose of this story, let’s say my name is Sheena. After a few minutes, I see a cafeteria worker walking around the tables with a hamburger and onion rings looking for a “Shane.” No one is answering. When she reaches my area:)

Me: “Could that possibly be for Sheena?”

Worker: “No, it says, ‘Shane.’”

(She heads back to the kitchen. The guy at the next table has been watching all this, so I comment:)

Me: “I bet you that was my order.”

(Over the next ten minutes or so, I hear the workers in the kitchen occasionally saying something about “Shane,” and then an announcement over the intercom saying that if there’s a Shane in the store, could he please come to the cafeteria. A few minutes later, the cashier who originally took my order marches into the seating area, comes over to me, and asks:)

Cashier: “Are you Sheena?”

Me: “Yes.”

(She rolls her eyes, hands me my order, and stalks off back to the kitchen.)

Me: *to the guy at the next table* “Told you that was my order.”

When The F-Bomb Is Also A Stink Bomb

, , , , , , | Related | April 12, 2018

(My parents always made a big deal about swearing when I was little. I was also a stickler for the rules, and hated breaking them, even by accident. I am about four when this happens:)

Me: “Mom, I know what the F-word is!”

Mom: “We do not say that word in this house! That is a very rude word, and I don’t ever want to hear you say it.”

(Later that night, as Mom is tucking me into bed:)

Me: “I am sorry, Mom; I didn’t know ‘fart’ was a swear word.”

Mom: *after a moment’s pause* “Yes. Yes it is. Good night, dear.”

What’s Another Word For Dictionary?

, , , | Right | April 12, 2018

(I work in a bookstore. School is about to start, so we’ve had a lot of people coming in looking for dictionaries for their children. Usually this is not a complicated request, until this lady comes in.)

Lady: “Hi, I’m looking for a dictionary?”

Me: “Of course. They’re just over here.” *starts walking toward dictionaries*

Lady: “So, um… Is a dictionary the same as a thesis?”

Me: “You mean a thesaurus?”

Lady: “Yeah, that.”

Me: *shocked that she has no idea what a thesaurus is, or even what it’s called* “Um, no. Not at all. A dictionary tells you what a word means, and a thesaurus gives you other words that mean the same thing as that word.”

Lady: *still seems really confused* “Oh… Okay… So… Do I need both, then?”

Me: “I… couldn’t say. That’s really up to you.”

Lady: “Well, they only told me to get a dictionary. I thought they were the same thing.”

Me: “We do have packs that come with both, but if they only said to get a dictionary, then that’s probably all you need.”

Lady: “So, I don’t need to get both? But what if she needs it?”

Me: *deciding enough’s enough* “No, you won’t need a thesaurus. Just get the dictionary and you’ll be fine.”

Lady: “Oh, okay. Thank you for your help!”

(I’ve never had so much trouble with what should have been a very quick and simple request! Who on earth doesn’t know the difference between a dictionary and a thesaurus, or what either of them are for? And why did anyone send her to pick them up if she had no idea what she was looking for?)

The Machines Are Among Us

, , , , | Working | April 11, 2018

(I work for my parents in a family-run restaurant. Our debit machine is printing out faded receipts. My dad likes for me to call the bank who services the machine, because he doesn’t speak English too well, and I can translate for him after. We usually have small problems with this machine, so I’m used to the voice of the recorded messages and the choices that come from calling the bank. I am currently waiting for the next representative to help me.)

Phone Representative: “Hello, this is [Bank]’s Merchant Support Services and Supplies. How may I help you?”

(I’m thinking this is the same recorded message and that I should wait until the actual representative picks up to respond.)

Phone Representative: “Hmm, seems to be another pocket dial.”

Me: “Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry; I thought you were a robot!” *facepalm*

Phone Representative: *starts laughing* “No, no, you’re talking to a real person. I’ve been around longer than all those robots. How can I help you?”

(He helped me with my problem smoothly, but during the call I felt so embarrassed. In my defence, he sounded just like the recording! He probably is the one who recorded the company’s phone greeting.)

Helping Is In Their Blood

, , , , , , | Healthy | April 11, 2018

(I donate blood regularly. One time, when they insert the needle, I immediately feel lightheaded for a second or two. Since I have not yet lost more than a few drops of blood, definitely not enough to cause a significant loss of blood pressure, I assume it was just a psychosomatic reaction to having such a large needle inserted, shrug it off, and decide to continue with the draw. A few minutes later, it comes back again, and with a vengeance.)

Me: *raising hand shakily* “Um… Excuse me?”

(I immediately have three technicians surrounding me.)

Technician: “Are you okay?”

Me: “I’m feeling a bit lightheaded.”

(They spring into action, immediately removing the needle. One of them reclines my seat so my feet are elevated above my head, one goes to grab damp cloths, which they drape over every inch of exposed skin I have, and one goes to grab me a juice box to increase my blood sugar. After a while, the seat is returned to its regular position, and they continue feeding me juice. I am eventually allowed to go to the recovery area, with two people escorting in case I pass out on the way. Once I sit down, I call my friend who I was supposed to meet to tell her I’ll be delayed. Partway through the conversation, I hear running steps behind me, then feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up to see a woman with a very concerned expression, who looks at me for a moment and then laughs.)

Volunteer: “Oh, you’re on your cell phone! I thought you were talking to yourself!”

Me: “Oh, no. I’m just letting my friend know I’m going to be late.”

Volunteer: “Oh, good.”

Friend: “What was that?”

Me: “Oh, the volunteer thought I was talking to myself. Can you imagine that? ‘Oh, great! First he nearly passes out, and now he’s hallucinating!'”

(They eventually let me go, and I was only 30 minutes late to meet my friend. Fortunately, while everything was going on, one of the techs mentioned I had filled most of a bag, and when I asked if it could still be used, he assured me it could.)

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