Quit By Friday

, , , , , | Working | November 2, 2017

(I’m a junior in college. I’ve been working at this store since high school. My boss, while not a nice person, has always been great about working with my class schedule.)

Me: “Hey, [Boss], here’s my class schedule for this coming semester. Due to my new schedule, I can’t work Mondays or Wednesdays anymore, but I can do Tuesdays and Thursdays, instead.”

Boss: “Thanks for telling me! This won’t be an issue.”

(When I get the next week’s schedule, I notice I’m not scheduled. I shrug it off, until I’m not scheduled the week after that, either! I track down my boss.)

Me: “Hey! What’s up with the schedule? I haven’t been on there for two weeks.”

Boss: “Oh, I don’t have a need for you on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Me: “Not even between four and eight? We’re always busy then.”

Boss: “What I need you to do is work Mondays and Wednesdays.”

Me: “I can’t. I have class from 9:00 to 5:30. Then I have project groups that meet after class. You said the schedule change was fine!”

Boss: “Figure it out, [My Name]. You’re not getting any hours until you put your schedule back to Mondays and Wednesdays. That’s when I want you to work.”

(I fume about it, until I find out the on-campus bookstore is hiring. I apply and am hired on the spot. They even ask me for my class list, so that they can schedule around it. I return to the grocery store a couple days later, resignation in hand.)

Boss: *smugly* “So, have you come back to change your schedule?”

Me: “I sure have.” *hands her my resignation letter* “I quit.”

If You Cut The Line We Cut The Cheese

, , , , , , | Right | November 1, 2017

(The store has multiple cash registers, but only one line. It is very busy, and I am in line, when a woman pushes her way past everyone else waiting and starts unloading her basket at a register that still has another customer trying to finish their purchase.)

Cashier: “Miss, you need to go back and wait in line, please.”

Customer: “No! I’m in a hurry, and I don’t have time for that!”

(The argument started. While the cashier was trying as best she could to get the woman to act like a reasonable adult, the guy in front of me wandered over next to the rude woman, circled back, and in a quiet voice muttered, “That’ll teach her!” and walked back towards the sales floor. No one else in line had any idea what he had done until the woman started yelling and gagging from the horrible “crop dusting.”)

A Lawless Rabble

, , , , , | Right | October 31, 2017

(I’m the last in line and there’s only one cashier — perhaps the only employee in the whole store. She finishes ringing out the first customer, then puts a closed sign on her register.)

Cashier: “I’m so sorry, but I’m required to take a break right now.”

(She quickly leaves before the grumbling starts. The other three customers in line are furious.)

Customer #1: “I can’t believe this! What a lazy b****!”

Customer #2: “You’d think the store would care that there. Are. Customers. In. LINE.”

Customer #3: “I’m calling her manager. I’ll have her fired!”

Me: *finally deciding enough is enough* “Denver requires companies to give breaks, even if you’re the only one working.”

(They round on me, then stop. I’m a tiny woman in a wheelchair, and that seems to give them pause.)

Customer #2: *red-faced* “Well… Well, I guess if it’s the law.”

(They turned back around and patiently waited. The cashier was back within five minutes, but they didn’t say a word.)

They Come In All Kinds

, , , , , , | Working | October 30, 2017

I’m the bad worker in this story. I was taking orders at the front counter when my current customer started arguing with me. We went back and forth for a while until he finally said, “What kind of idiot do you take me for?”

Even though I knew I was supposed to make nice, I answered with something my husband says a lot: “I don’t know; how many kinds of idiots are there?”

He never said another word; he just paid and moved out of the way to wait for his food.

When I checked the kitchen to see why it was taking so long, the cook was on the floor laughing his a** off.

Their Hearts Were No Longer In It

, , , , , , | Right | October 30, 2017

(I work in a very busy restaurant in the “function room.” This room holds ten tables of ten seats each. I always work alone in this section. I find many large tables so much easier to manage and serve than lots of smaller, two-seat tables. A table is celebrating a birthday. All guests at the table range from ages 18 to 25, and they have been “playing up” pretty much all night, making stupid requests, like asking for another serviette because the one they had wasn’t folded the same as another or sending a meal back to the kitchen because they decided they wanted what the person next to them was having. You know, those type of guests!)

Birthday Boy: *handing me a pen, which you have to click at the top to use* “May I please have your autograph? I get everyone I meet at my birthday dinner to sign a serviette.”

Me: *feeling a little chuffed to be asked* “Sure, I’d love to.”

(The customer hands me the pen, and I go to “click” the pen to make it work, and in fact it isn’t a pen but a small shock-emitting device. Once it shocks me — which isn’t a small shock, mind you! — everyone at the table starts to laugh, finding it so funny to shock a complete stranger.)

Me: “Ouch! That wasn’t a very nice thing to do!”

Birthday Boy: “Oh, it’s funny. See? Everyone is laughing!”

Me: *wanting to get my own back at him for shocking me, and for being so rude all night* “No. It’s not a nice thing to do! Let me tell you why. Three years ago I was diagnosed with a heart defect, and I now wear a pacemaker. The shock you just gave me could have put me into cardiac arrest! I don’t know what ‘manners’ your parents taught you, but young man, don’t ever do that to another person again. You don’t know their medical history; you don’t know anything about them.”

Birthday Boy: *looking like he has just seen a ghost* “Oh, I am so, so, so, so sorry. I didn’t know! Oh, geez, I feel so terrible now.”

(The whole entire table is now as quiet as a mouse, looking down and feeling terrible.)

Me: “Good. Now you know not to do that stuff again!”

(I walk out of the function room and into the kitchen and tell the restaurant owner what has just happened. He is ready to go and kick them all out when I stop him.)

Me: “Nope. Just leave it. I have a feeling my words did enough damage.”

(For the rest of the night, the table was the most perfectly-mannered table I had ever served. When it came time for them to leave — after they helped me clear off their table! — they called me over. They had already paid their bill, and they asked me to please close my eyes. Not trusting them, I told them I’d rather not, but [Birthday Boy] insisted, promising me nothing bad would happen. So, I played along, and someone took my hand and put it upright. Knowing what the feel of money is, I knew they were putting notes into my hand. Each and every single person at that table gave me a tip, and at the same time they all said “sorry.” My little “white lie” about having a pace-maker earned me $265 in tips! Ka-ching!)

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