Bagpipes Are A Scottish Instrument But Welcome To All

, , , , , , , | Friendly | December 5, 2017

(I am out and about in town when I hear someone talking loudly. I turn down the high street and there is a man stood on the steps of a monument, addressing the people. I stop to listen and slowly realise the man is making racist remarks about Muslims, saying that they should leave and other rubbish. I am dumbfounded, and can see from looking around that others are either pointedly ignoring him or throwing him nasty looks. I opt to just ignore him and move on. That’s when I hear a familiar but faintly annoying noise. I stop to look and sure enough, a young lad, probably around 15, comes into view playing the bagpipes. Other people stop and stare as this teenager walks down the street towards that man. The boy gets up next to him and continues, completely drowning out the man. The man gets annoyed and moves. The lad follows, playing away.)

Man: *yelling* “It’s my right to speak my mind!”

Boy: *stops playing and retorts* “And it’s my right to play the bagpipes in a public space!”

Showing Them Their Bad Form

, , , , , | Right | December 5, 2017

(I work in a chemical factory. I am talking over the phone finalizing shipment details with a client, who plans to ship produce to the United States.)

Me: “You also need to fill out [Form A]. If it isn’t present, your shipment will be stopped by customs and not allowed into the country.”

Customer: “Yeah, okay.”

Me: “Sir, [Form A] is important. Do not forget it.”

Customer: “Yeah, yeah. [Form A]. Got it.”

(Fast forward two weeks: the customer is on the phone and livid.)

Customer: “MY THINGS ARE STUCK AT CUSTOMS AND IT’S YOUR FAULT. I DIDN’T KNOW THEY NEEDED [FORM A]!”

Manager: “Sir, I’m certain that my agent told you about it.”

Customer: “NO, HE DID NOT! I WOULD REMEMBER! I WAS NOT TOLD!”

Manager: “Sir, yes, you were. Our calls are all recorded. Would you like to listen to yours?”

Customer: “YES, I F****** WOULD! YOU DIDN’T TELL ME!”

Manager: “Please wait a second.”

([Manager] patches a recording into the phone call and customer is listening. [Form A] comes up and after two seconds the customer simply hangs up. [Manager] then calls the customer back.)

Manager: *in a sweet and polite voice* “I’m so sorry, but the line died unexpectedly. Would you like to listen to it again?”

Customer: *click*

Returner Burner Until Burning Point

, , , , , | Right | November 29, 2017

(I take my father to lunch. He likes to complain about every little thing in the hopes that he can get a new meal along with the “defective” meal. He has sent back his perfectly fine, well-prepared meal, twice.)

Server: “Let me just get these out of the way, and we will have your correct order up in a few minutes.”

Dad: “Leave them. I can feed them to the dog.”

Server: “F*** you.”

Dad: “What did you just say?!”

Server: “I said, ‘F*** you!’ You try to pull this s*** every time you are in here!”

Dad: “I want to speak to a manager—”

Server: *cutting him off* “I AM THE F****** MANAGER, AND TODAY IS MY LAST DAY! All bets are off. So, as acting manager, for the rest of my two hours left working for this company, I am hereby barring you permanently from this establishment. Now f*** off!”

(Applause erupts from the kitchen as Dad makes a run for the door. The server stops me as I slink away, and then hands me Dad’s food along with mine.)

Server: “You take this. On the house. And you are welcome back here any time, as long as you promise not to share any with him.”

(I never saw that server again, but Dad never tried to weasel his way into a free meal after that. The last day on the job is obviously the best day.)

 

Related:

Returner Burner, Part 7

Returner Burner, Part 6

Returner Burner, Part 5

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Thank You For Your Pretty Good Service

, , , , , , | Friendly | November 27, 2017

(I am at the grocery store, talking to a nice older lady cashier, with a young man of about 20 behind me. I am eighteen at the time and I’m in the Navy. I’m in civvies and wearing makeup. We are right next to the naval base and you can hear jets flying overhead.)

Cashier: “Hear that? That’s the sound of freedom!”

Me: *laughing* Well, there are plenty of flights scheduled today, so you’ll be hearing plenty of freedom.”

Cashier: “Oh! You’re in the Navy? I’m so proud of you, dear.”

(The cashier starts talking about her son in the Navy. Then, the man behind me speaks up.)

Man: “You can’t be in the Navy! You’re too pretty.”

Me: *weak laugh* “Well, I am.”

Man: “No, seriously, they don’t let pretty girls in the military because they won’t get married. Especially young ones like you. Such a waste in that ugly uniform.”

(I’m starting to get pretty mad, when the cashier starts laying into him for several minutes about his blatant sexism and lack of respect. He looks beyond embarrassed.)

Cashier: *as I’m leaving* “Remember, young lady: bravery doesn’t have a face.”

(It made my day to hear this, because I’m quite proud of my uniform, and it really irritated me that this man thought my career worth was based on my looks.)

Defeated By A Two-Year-Old

, , , , , | Working | November 23, 2017

(My home has been plagued with the same telemarketer over and over the past few weeks. They tend to call around the time my two-year-old daughter is napping, waking her up every time. Despite trying everything to get them to stop, and being on the do-not-call list, they keep going. They’ve just done it again, and I have had it. I am enjoying a cup of coffee when the phone rings.)

Me: “Oh, son of a b****.”

Daughter: *wakes up screaming and crying*

Me: “Hello.”

Telemarketer: “Hello! I’m calling about a survey. Is this a good time?”

Me: “I don’t know; you tell me.”

(I take the phone over to my daughter’s crib and place it in there. I can hear the telemarketer swearing when they hear my daughter crying. I pick the phone back up.)

Me: “You call every single day at this time. I have told you repeatedly that you are waking up my child, that we want to be removed from your list, and that we are actually on the do-not-call list. From now on, if you call at this time, or ever, you will hear my daughter either babbling away or crying. It’s your choice.”

Telemarketer: “We’re so sorry. You have been removed.”

Me: “Thank you.”

(We’ll see if we really were removed.)

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