Owner Getting Owned By A Four-Year-Old

, , , , , , , | Working | November 21, 2017

In the 1970s, a local store owner really disliked kids being in her store. She would watch pre-teens and teens who went in very closely. Some of us just stopped going to her store; others watched for the owner to be inattentive so they could pocket things, just to spite her.

One day, I stopped in with some friends to check out a stuffed animal. The owner, as usual, was following us around and watching us closely, much too closely for our comfort. As we were getting ready to leave, an older woman came in with her small granddaughter. The grandmother set a grocery bag on the floor against the counter and engaged the store-owner in conversation.

We watched in amazement as the maybe four-year-old granddaughter immediately began stuffing candy bars in their grocery bag. She then wandered around the shop, picking up items, and carrying them to the counter to put in their bag. In view of the owner!

We continued watching until the grandmother picked up the bag and left — without buying anything.

I looked at the owner, pointing at the grandmother, about to point out what happened.

I stopped talking at a very nasty look from the owner.

One of my friends grabbed my arm and said it wouldn’t do any good, so we just left.

Grabbing The Situation By The A**

, , , , , , , , | Working | November 20, 2017

(I work at an upscale bar where waitresses wear tight black dresses. The boss is a bit old-school and will only employ pretty college girls. I think he knows our student loans and the average $200 a night in tips are the only things that keep us there. Most customers are nice, classy people, but once in a while we get what we call “frat boy bankers” who drunkenly grope us. We just hired a gorgeous new girl who the frat boys spot and demand come serve them.)

Customer: “Hello, sugar.”

New Girl: “What can I get you?”

Customer: “A piece of this!” *grabs her butt*

New Girl: *uses some sort of cool move to grab his wrist and bend it back painfully* “Get out.”

Customer: “What the h***?! Get me your manager!”

New Girl: *walks to the boss* “I need you to kick out some gropers.”

Boss: “Those guys spend a grand a night.”

New Girl: “They grabbed my a**.”

Boss: “In this job, you just have to deal with things like that. They usually tip a few hundred.”

New Girl: “It is illegal for them to touch me without my consent. Kick them out.”

Boss: “If you want this job, you will march right back over—”

New Girl: “—and even more illegal for you to try and force me into prostitution.”

Boss: “This isn’t prostitution. No cop would arrest—”

New Girl: “You don’t look like I do without getting harassed pretty much every day. I know sexual harassment laws very well. Either kick them out, or I call the cops.”

Boss: *snorts derisively* “This is the real world—”

New Girl: *holds up phone* “And I have our conversation on tape. Now, get them out.”

(A week later we had a new manager, and she kicks out anyone who so much as makes lewd comments.)

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This Customer Isn’t Even Remotely Right

, , , , , | Right | November 17, 2017

(I’m checking a couple into their room when the woman informs me they’re here on a trip with their church and are “top people” in their church. She comes down from her room 30 minutes later.)

Me: “How may I help you, ma’am?”

Guest:Remote! This isn’t working.”

Me: “Okay, let me get you fresh batteries.”

(I get her the batteries, but she comes back down ten minutes later. By now, it’s 5:00 pm and I have three guests in line I’m checking in.)

Me: “Okay, sir, you’re in room—”

Guest: *storms up to the desk, cutting in front of the line* “THIS REMOTE IS STILL NOT WORKING!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. If you can wait until I check this man in, I’ll get you a new remote. Or I can bring it to your room when I’m finished here.”

Guest: *doesn’t move from the desk, and is pacing back and forth and almost breathing down my neck* “This is ridiculous! I can’t believe the idiots they hire; I should be helped immediately!”

(She begins muttering profanities under her breath.)


Me: “Ma’am, I’m the only staff member on site for this shift, and we are at full capacity. I promise I’ll help you as soon as I can.”


(She then throws her remote control at me as hard as possible. It hits my shoulder.)

Me: “I suggest you apologize, pack your things, and leave, or I’ll call the cops. You just assaulted me. I’m allowed to refuse you service now, and I think that’d be the best decision.”

(The guest laughed and walked up to her room. She was escorted out by police an hour later. Moral of the story: your employer may use the “customer is always right” motto, but if a customer insults, harasses, or attacks you, you DO have the right to refuse service. It is illegal to be forced to serve someone berating you. If employees around the world allow customers to verbally or physically attack them, then customers will always think it’s okay to do so.)

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Taco No No

, , , , , , , | Right | November 16, 2017

(I work at a 24-hour taco place in a college town, and I usually do graveyard shifts. We get our fair share of drunk students and strange characters. One regular customer, a lanky, scruffy-looking guy with a backpack, who smells like marijuana, comes in three or four times a week between midnight and 6:00 am. He always gets two tacos and a cup of water, pays with cash that often includes larger bills, leaves a dollar plus his coin change in the tip jar, sits at the same table if it’s available, eats quickly, consolidates all his trash into one basket, washes his hands in the bathroom, and leaves. He gives polite smiles, says all his pleases and thank you’s, and never has any complaints, but he does not make small talk and responds with one- or two-word answers when chatted with. That said, I much prefer a quiet, polite customer to a loud, rude one. The thought that he might be a drug dealer has occurred to me, but he’s a good customer and I have no interest in causing him any trouble if my unfounded theory happens to be true. One night at about 4:00 am, he comes in, does his normal routine, and is sitting at his usual table eating when another customer, obviously drunk, comes in and approaches the register.)

Drunk Customer:Hey! You’ve got to give me a bunch of free tacos. Your manager said so.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Drunk Customer: “Are you f****** deaf? Free tacos. Uh, like, twenty of them.”

Me: “Sir, we don’t usually give tacos away for free, and my manager hasn’t told me anything about this. Can I ask why he said you should get free tacos?”

Drunk Customer: *he huffs and rolls his eyes like I’m a complete idiot* “B****, it’s not your business. Give me tacos! Tell the [Mexican slur]s back there to get ’em started, now, b****!”

(The regular jumps out of his seat and walks quietly up behind the drunk customer.)

Drunk Customer: “If you don’t give me twenty free tacos right now, I’m going to beat your f****** a**!”

Regular: “[Drunk Customer].”

Drunk Customer: “Who the f***—”

(He whirls around to see the regular standing behind him, shaking his head slowly. The drunk customer freezes like a deer in the headlights.)

Drunk Customer: “Uh, hey, [Regular].”

Regular: “No.”

Drunk Customer: “Hey, man, I was just—”

Regular: “No. Leave.”

(The drunk customer practically bolts out the door. The regular looks up at me and smiles politely.)

Regular: “Have you called the cops?”

Me: *still a little shaken and confused* “What? The cops? N-no?”

Regular: “Okay. Are you going to?”

Me: “I don’t— Should I?”

Regular: “No, thank you.”

(He then sat back down as if nothing happened, finished his tacos and water, consolidated his trash into one basket, washed his hands in the bathroom, and left. I gave him his tacos for free the next couple times I saw him, but his routine still hasn’t changed.)

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Recipe’s Frozen In Place

, , , , , , , | Working | November 14, 2017

(I work with my sister at a vegan bakery. It’s her first job. It is January, so typically cold. I show up the first day before sunrise and it is freezing inside — literally. The building is separate from the main restaurant.)

Me: “Why is it so cold?”

Sister: “Oh, the owner doesn’t have heat installed in here. Don’t worry; it kind of warms up after a few hours when we turn the oven on.”

(Later, I start to mix a recipe with a spoon.)

Sister: “Oh, no, if the owner comes back here and sees that, we get in trouble. We have to use our bare hands.”

Me: “Seriously? Bare hands? And it’s all freezing?”

Sister: “Yeah, otherwise we get yelled at and she starts coming back here a lot more to check.”

(Another day the owner came back and hurriedly LOCKED US IN. There were bars on the window; we literally couldn’t get out if there was a fire. She did this for several days because, as we found out later, the health inspector was around and she didn’t want him to know that building was in use. It’s really hard to find a baking job, so my little sister begged me not to say anything. I got my revenge quite unintentionally. On one of my last few days, it was so cold I wore my longest coat. I got so many glares from the owner and the staff in the actual kitchen, all family members, and I couldn’t figure out why. Then I realized: they are all Hindu. My coat? A calf-length white LEATHER trench coat. Oops. Shortly after I moved on, my sister gave up as well. She made new recipes for things like their tea cookies, following all vegan guidelines, but they were rejected because, “They didn’t taste vegan,” “They weren’t hard enough,” and, “No one would believe they were vegan.” After she left, someone sued because the cookies were so hard they broke a tooth.)

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