Right Working Romantic Related Learning Friendly Healthy Legal Inspirational Unfiltered

The Caramel Isn’t The Only Thing That’s Salty

, , , , | Right | February 17, 2021

I take a customer’s order, she pays, and as I go to hand her the change, she walks away. My coworker makes her drink and sets it down on the pickup counter.

Coworker: “Salted caramel hot chocolate!”

Customer: “Um, excuse me. What are you doing?”

Coworker: “I… I just called out your drink, ma’am.”

Customer: “Oh, so first, your b**** of a coworker doesn’t give me my change and also doesn’t tell me to have a good day, and now, you won’t personally hand me my drink or call out my name? What is wrong with you people? It’s no wonder no colleges will take you.”

My coworker, who is very new to the job, starts tearing up and I’m biting my tongue. Luckily, my manager hears the commotion and comes out from the back.

Manager: “What seems to be the issue, miss?”

The customer repeats the story to the manager with quite a few more expletives.

Manager: “First of all, all of my employees are the most respectful I have ever met. Second, this ain’t [Major Coffee Chain] and we do not take the customer’s name, and third, you absolutely will not speak to me or my employees with that filthy mouth.”

He proceeds to take her drink from her.

Manager: “Now get out of my store.”

She stormed out. Unfortunately, my manager left a few weeks later, but I was so grateful that he stood up for us.

You Mean You Don’t Have A Clone?

, , , , , | Working | February 12, 2021

My very first job is as a temporary office assistant in the admin area of a non-profit that offers therapeutic services to disadvantaged kids. My job is sort of tacked on to the existing business structure, so while I work primarily with the office staff, technically, I report directly to the chief financial officer. In retrospect, I’m pretty sure this is partially nepotism at work — my mom is also at a high level in the company, though I do not work for her directly — but in this case, it works out for the company as a whole.

I have worked at this job for a couple of summers with no complaints; it is all pretty standard data entry and filing duties. But then, one summer, I am told that they have a new office manager. My mom mentions that they have had some complaints from the other staff about her, but it has been brushed off thus far because they feel that the old manager was too lax with the workers and they were simply upset that they didn’t get to slack off as much anymore.

This office is actually a converted residential home, so one of the oddities of it is that the “archive” — files pertaining to patients who no longer come to the practice but have to be retained for a number of years for legal reasons — is actually out in a converted garage. I am working on purging the archive of aged-out files, which means I am out in the garage for a lot of my shift most of the time.

On my first day with the new manager, I come in, do the daily filing of documents that have been dropped off by therapists throughout yesterday, and then go out to the garage to work on my project. About fifteen minutes in, the inter-office phone rings and I answer.

Office Manager: “[My Name], you’re supposed to finish the current filing before you work on the archives.”

Me: *Confused* “I’m sorry, I thought I’d finished all of it.”

Office Manager: “Well, I’m looking at the inbox and it has paperwork in it still. Get it done.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll be right back in.”

I go back inside and find about three sheets of paper in the inbox. I think that when I picked up the stack I simply missed a few pages at the bottom, so I file them without thinking much of it and go back out to the garage. Another fifteen minutes pass, and I get another call.

Office Manager: “This is unacceptable, [My Name]! When I tell you to do something, I expect it to be done!”

I’m now thoroughly confused and a bit worried, as I’ve never been yelled at at this job before. 

Me: “What do you mean? I came in and filed what was left in the inbox! I’m sure of it!”

Office Manager: “Then why are there still papers in it?! Get back in here and do your job right now!

I’m terrified of getting fired, so I bustle back inside and, sure enough, there are papers in the inbox. But this time, I look at the dates on them. All of them are dated today, which means the therapists dropped them off while I was outside, which is normal operating procedure. Normally, I would not be filing these papers until tomorrow. I point this out to the office manager.

Office Manager: “I don’t care how you used to do things. I’m in charge now, and you will keep this inbox empty or there will be consequences!”

Even at sixteen, I know this is an absurd expectation. I’d never make any headway on the archiving project if I had to drop it every five minutes to run in and check the inbox, and even if I did do that, then I might still miss a page or two just due to timing. Never having had a problem like this, I go back to the archive and call the CFO in tears. I have NEVER called my direct boss before this, but I don’t know what to do to appease this woman, and I was told that if I ever had any problems I should call her.

I explain my dilemma and tell her I’m sorry but I don’t see how I’m supposed to purge the archive and know what’s going on in another building entirely at the same time. She calms me down, tells me she’ll call the office manager to get this straightened out, and instructs me to just work on the archives. I don’t know what is said, but the office manager leaves me alone about the inbox from then on.

This isn’t the last issue I have with this woman. She often makes ludicrous requests, including expecting me, a small sixteen-year-old girl, to move a couch that was placed on a stack of boxes that reaches taller than I do, in order to rifle through said boxes for a file I already know isn’t there. I solve that one by simply hiding in the archive for fifteen minutes and then telling the office manager the file isn’t in the boxes. She never questions why the couch is still on top of them.

Every incident is reported either directly to the CFO or to my mom, who I’m sure relays it to her in turn. When I come back to the office the next summer, the office manager is gone. I’m pretty sure that they started taking the complaints of the staff more seriously after I started joining in — nepotism used for good, for once, I suppose!

What A DDDouche

, , , , , | Right | January 31, 2021

I work at a well-known lingerie store in a mall. I am currently on the register answering the phone.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Lingerie Store]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Yeah, I was wondering if you had bras for bigger women. Because my girlfriend has D cups and we can never find anything for her.”

Me: “Our sizes go all the way up to thirty-eight DDD.”

Caller: “Okay, cool. Hey, what’s your bra size?”

I am so shocked that I’m not thinking clearly.

Me: “I’m a thirty-six DDD.”

Caller: “Wow! Those are too big. Like, you should see a doctor and get them fixed. You got problems.”

Me: *Now quite indignant* “Well, my husband likes them just fine, so no, I don’t.”

At that point, I hang up. It’s not okay to do that when you’re talking to a potential customer but I explain it to my boss, in case the person calls back, and she laughs.

Boss: “That’s fine. I doubt they’ll call to complain.”

They never did.

That’s Not How Retail Works, That’s Not How Any Of It Works, Part 2

, , , | Right | January 25, 2021

I work at a store where when something is sold, a piece of paper that says, “SOLD” in big, bold letters gets put onto the item. Today, someone rips off said paper and proceeds to shove it into my face.

Customer: “How much is this?!”

Me: “Well, sir, as the paper clearly says, the item is sold.”

Customer: “So, I can’t buy it?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Why?”

Me: “Because somebody already bought it.”

Customer: “Oh.”

That’s Not How Retail Works, That’s Not How Any Of It Works

The Saturday Blues

, , , , | Right | January 25, 2021

I work four part-time jobs, usually about sixty to eighty hours a week, 5:00 am to 5:00 pm Monday through Friday, 5:00 am to 1:00 pm on Sundays, and 8:00 am to 12:00 pm on Saturdays.

My car needs service, but as I work during the hours of operation for most businesses and can’t leave my car overnight, my options are limited. Finally, I find a dealership near me with extended Saturday hours. I make an appointment and bring my car in.

Technician: “Hello, how can I help you?”

Me: “Hi, my name is [My Name], and I have an appointment for 1:30.”

Technician: “Okay, I found you here. Let’s get you checked in. What seems to be the problem?”

I explain the issue.

Me: “I probably should have come sooner, but I work a lot, and this was the only time I wasn’t working and you were open. I work Saturdays, too, so this was the earliest I could come in.”

Technician: “Yeah… I work Saturdays, too…”

I felt so stupid and ignorant, complaining about working on Saturdays to someone who was working on a Saturday. It’s like the people who go shopping on holidays and complain to the workers that they shouldn’t be working, but they can’t be closed if you’re going to shop there.

The rest of the transaction went fine, though, with no resentment — I hope!