He Needs A Separate Bag For His Ego

, , , , , | Right | October 13, 2018

(I work at a store specializing in magazines and newspapers. We’re located near the business center of the city, so we get a lot of business people who tend to be haughty or dismissive. One such customer is a regular who usually comes early in the morning.)

Me: “Would you like a bag, sir?”

(The customer has earphones in, and neither looks at me nor answers. I speak a little louder, moving to catch his attention.)

Me: “Sir?”

(The customer takes his purchases and leaves without a word. A few days later, I see him again. My assistant manager is stocking gum packets near the register.)

Me: *suspecting it’ll be a repeat from the other day* “Would you like a bag, sir?”

(The customer still has earphones still in, and never looks at me or answers. My assistant manager notices there was no answer.)

Assistant Manager: “Sir, would you like a bag?”

Me: “Don’t bother, [Assistant Manager]. He never answers.”

(The customer leaves with his purchases, again never saying a word. Later that day, he returns, and flags a coworker, asking to see the manager.)

Customer: “Your clerk was very rude to me!”

Manager: “What happened?”

(The assistant manager spots the customer and comes over, giving her version of the event, as well.)

Manager: “The clerk did exactly what she had to do. You can’t come in here and act like you’re above everyone, ignore them, and then come back to complain when they don’t expect it. If you don’t show respect to my employees, you can buy your newspapers elsewhere.”

(The customer didn’t cause a scene — possibly because the manager was a tall, large man — but his attitude improved radically from then on. It was met with the courtesy and professionalism that had otherwise always been offered to him.)

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One Burger With a Side Of Therapy, Please

, , , , | Right | October 9, 2018

(It’s my cousin’s birthday and to celebrate, I take her and a few of my siblings out to a local fast food place. They’re really young. The drive-thru is slammed, and the kids say they want to eat inside. We go in and get in line. In front of me is a man taking up the manager’s and cashier’s attention, by yelling and cursing at them for making his food wrong.)

Manager: “Sir, we’ve remade your food three times now.”

Customer: “Then you’d better make it right this time!”

Manager: “No, I’ve already wasted enough time on you!”

Customer: “I’m not leaving until I get my d*** order!”

(The manager takes his receipt and tells the kitchen precisely what is on the receipt, even jumping into the kitchen to help out. The customer turns to me and says:)

Customer: “Can you believe these people? Demanding fifteen dollars an hour to f*** up our orders three times?”

(I can’t help but say:)

Me: “Well, they’ll need it in order to afford the therapy for putting up with people like you.”

(The other customers and some of the employees laugh, and my siblings and cousin all yell “burn!” The guy grabs his wrong order off the counter and storms out of the restaurant, but not before calling me a few degrading names.)

Cashier: “I am so sorry about that, miss.”

Me: *shrugging* “It’s not your fault.”

(The manager came forward — still laughing — and apologized to the entire restaurant for having to deal with the customer. I was offered free desserts for my comeback, which was a nice gesture.)

The Bicycle Wheels Of Karmic Justice

, , , , | Legal | October 4, 2018

(I am working in a store popular with teenagers. It’s a busy weekday, and I’m in the back room eating my dinner. Just as I’m finishing up, there’s a knock at the door.)

Boss: “[My Name], are you almost done?”

Me: “Sure thing, [Boss], what do you need?”

Boss: “[Coworker] and I need to sit these two shoplifters in here while we wait for the police. Can you watch the front?”

Me: “Will do!”

(The boss and my coworker take two teenagers into the break room. I head out to the front, run the shop, show the police through on their arrival, etc. Our till is by the window, and there are two expensive-looking bikes parked outside. After a while, two other teenagers come along and ride the bikes away. A little while later, the police escort two handcuffed teenagers from the back room. As they leave…)

Shoplifter: “Where the f*** are our bikes?!”

Literally Hit A Bump In The Road

, , , , , | Friendly | October 3, 2018

I’m driving through a parking lot with speed bumps when some woman in a shiny, new car comes up behind me and starts riding my bumper. I’m getting frustrated because I’ve been hit in this parking lot before and I don’t want to get hit again, and this woman is so close and accelerating so fast that I’m sure she’s going to hit my car going over one of the speed bumps.

When I get a moment, I swing my car off the road into the lots and turn my car around. Just as I’m getting to face the roadway again, I get the glorious image and sound of her hitting the next speed bump so hard, she scrapes the bottom of her car. She clearly does not learn her lesson because she continues to speed through the parking lot. But I hope she takes her car to the shop for repairs eventually and they get to laugh at her for damaging her car. A bit mean-spirited of me, but I’m glad that when she did hit the speed bump too fast, it was just her car that got damaged and not mine.

Wish He Could Just Sell Him On eBay

, , , , , , , | Related | October 1, 2018

(I’m twelve-ish. A fast food company is doing a special event for collectable items — gold plated cards in decorative cases themed for a cartoon and card game. I want them, and my mother thinks they look nice for decor for my room, so we make sure to get all six variants. They get placed in a trunk in my room while I reorganize the space. It takes a few days, but I go to get them out of the trunk to find they’re gone. I am very upset about this. I pass by the family computer to see my step-dad has left the web browser on his eBay sales page, where he has just sold a set of the six collectables. Knowing we only had the one set, which was mine, I print a copy of the page to confront him when he gets home from work.)

Me: *upset and yelling* “What made you think this was okay? You stole from me! What is wrong with you?!”

Step-Dad: *lying* “I don’t know why you’re talking about. Leave me alone.”

Me: *shows him the printed page, without letting him touch it* “You need to call the post office and request the shipment to be returned to sender, and you need to refund the buyer. Now! I know how it works. You do it now!

Step-Dad: *laughs mockingly* “No, you don’t order me around.”

Me: “Fine. Then I’ll just tell Mom you’re a dirty thief who steals from children. Have you been gambling again? Are you covering up the missing money by stealing from me?”

Step-Dad: *stops laughing and looks serious* “If you f****** dare bring her into this, I’ll–”

Me: *speaking over him, totally unconvinced because he’s a coward in all respects* “Oh, so you want to go to prison for threatening a child, now? After stealing from said child? Please. Do it.” *opens arms* “Hit me, dirtbag! I don’t even care if it hurts. I want you to get out of my life; if I can do it by sending you to prison for child abuse that’s fine by me!”

(He storms off to his and my mother’s bedroom. I call her emergency work number.)

Mom: *angry* “What is it? This had better be an emergency; you know better than to call me at work!”

Me: “It is. Your husband threatened my safety when I confronted him for stealing from me. I have proof of the theft. If you don’t come and handle it, he will go to jail tonight.”

Mom: *deflates, softly* “Uh… Okay. I’ll be home in thirty minutes. Take the dog and lock yourself in your room.”

(I did so, and she came home. I showed her the printed page, and she forced him to let her onto his eBay account so she could confirm it. They had a huge fight but tragically didn’t divorce. He didn’t get my collectables back. It’s been about 15 years since then, and I live far enough away that my mother only speaks to me on my terms now. I said that on top of whatever my mother wanted to send me for my upcoming birthday, that my step-dad needs to send me a birthday gift for the first time in my entire life… I think you can guess what I asked for, but now they’re 10 to 20 times the price he received for them, and much rarer! Time will tell if he’s still a dirty thief or if my mother is finally ready to make him do the right thing for once.)

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