Calling You A Liar

, , , , | Right | January 11, 2019

(I am the manager on duty on an unusually busy Saturday, and have been manning the register and answering calls non-stop. Between me and my associate, we have missed maybe three phone calls. The customer in this story comes in with his son at the tail end of my ten-hour shift.)

Customer: *skipping everyone in line* “What the h*** is wrong with you people?”

Me: *literally turning away from my last customer to face him* “Excuse me?”

Customer: “I’ve been calling all day, and you ain’t once answered your phone!”

Me: “Sir, I’ve answered every phone call I could physically get my hands on. Either you called a different store, or you’re exaggerating how much effort you put into calling.”

Customer: “I always call this store! You’d better not be calling me a liar, you—“

(The phone rings. With quite a bit vindicated satisfaction, I hold up my index finger to silence the man and pick up the phone.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. This is [My Name] speaking. How can I help you?”

Customer’s Son: “Hey, that’s the lady I talked to, Daddy!”

(I turned around so the customer couldn’t see me trying not to laugh at the expression on his face, and my coworker sent him to the back of the even longer line.)

“Can” You Be Any More Obnoxious?

, , , , , , , | Learning | January 11, 2019

(I am a girl in seventh-grade shop class. My teacher is quite rude and we butt heads frequently. He’s especially rude about girls going to the bathroom and about our general competency around the class. I raise my hand.)

Teacher: “Yes?”

Me: “Can I go to the bathroom?”

Teacher: *smirking* “I don’t know. Can you?”

Me: “Actually, I was using the secondary definition of ‘can’: to request permission. I thought that since you’re soooo smart you would know that.”

(I got locked out of the classroom for ten minutes when I came back from the bathroom.)

Justice At 40 MPH

, , , , , , | Legal | January 10, 2019

I am with my mum and she is driving. In front of us is another car; it’s a red thing that that looks like it has power — I know my cars. We get to a junction and we can see a van coming down the road, but is well off so the car in front turns onto that road. Mum pulls up and realises the van has sped up by a lot — it’s a 40-mph road — so she decides to stay put until the van flashes past, and then she pulls out. We see the van speed past the car and pull in front before slowing down to normal speed. We tut. We catch up with the van and car; the van is actually doing 30 mph, so it’s going under the speed limit, but the roads are very bendy so overtaking isn’t safe. Clearly, this is some jerk who couldn’t handle someone being in front of them. So we tut. Again.

The van then suddenly slams on the brakes. The car in front emergency stops, as do we, thus there is no accident. The van starts again and makes to continue on its way whilst I get Mum’s inhaler, as the stop has triggered her lung condition. Then I start to call the police on my mobile and mumbling expletives under my breath. Mum has put the hazards on cause she can’t breathe properly.

The car in front turns on its lights and siren; it’s an unmarked police car.

The van stops. Mum wheezes in what I presume is a laugh. I hang up the phone, giving Mum her inhaler. Two officers exit the red car. They first check on us and note the respiratory distress this caused Mum. Once they’ve confirmed she’s not going to drop dead, one makes their way to the van whilst I give our details should they be needed and Mum recovers her breath.

Once done, we continue on our way home, past the van driver and another officer. The driver’s expression is something I will think about whenever I’m down.

How To Appeal To A Man: Become One

, , , | Right | January 8, 2019

I have been an IT tech for fifteen years. I absolutely love it when people ask for a man.

I have an older man calling from the Bronx — I am Canadian. He is being a total a**, calling me “little lady” and such. He asks if he can speak to a man, and I tell him none are available. I then ask him if he wants me to lower my voice and strap one on to help him. He laughs for about ten minutes and is happy to let me help him after that.

Leaning On Management To Improve

, , , , , , | Working | January 7, 2019

My former manager was absolutely obsessed with that loathed phrase, “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean!”

Stop to take a drink of water? The phrase would be bellowed across the store.

Pause to retie that shoelace you keep tripping over? He’d storm over to you to snarl it in your ear as you struggled to balance on one foot.

Stumble over the edge of a display and have to grab a shelf to avoid falling? Crank it up to Volume 11!

Keep in mind, our place can only be kept so clean during business hours. So, short of randomly tugging a Clorox wipe out giving the front counter a cursory wipe, or someone grabbing a few go-backs as they go by, the line was completely worthless. Don’t get me wrong; we all pitched in and kept our store as straightened as we could while stocking products and assisting customers, but his obsession with the line was out of control.

But my manager wouldn’t hear a word against it. I finally got fed up and grabbed a disposable camera… or five… and was soon stalking my manager like a paparazzi after a supermodel. For five days that week, I filled my camera with instances of him “leaning” against random things. I learned that he was a, “Do as I say, not as I do,” kind of guy; I caught him spending ten to twenty minutes sometimes chatting with friends of his who wanted to catch up with him on the clock. It filled me with vindictive pleasure to get shots of him leaning but not cleaning.

The following week, I slipped into the breakroom and tacked Every. Single. Picture. to the Announcements pegboard. I wallpapered that cork board and the wall around it with pictures of my manager “leaning.” I hung a custom-made banner with my manager’s favorite line above them all.

Then I left it alone.

The manager came in at noon.

My photos and banner disappeared without fanfare.

The entire day was spent blissfully unbothered by my manager’s usual bellowing of the phrase. The day stretched to a week. Then a month. Six months later, I got a job somewhere else. I never again heard that phrase so much as whispered in that store.

I forget what it cost to get all that stuff made, but the final verdict was: “Worth it.”

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