In Soviet Russia, Product Buys You!

, , , , | Right | July 3, 2020

I am an assistant manager at a large national drugstore chain. One afternoon, I’m called to the register to help a customer. The clerk flashes me one of those “kill me now” looks as I approach.

Me: “Hi! How can I help you today?”

Customer: “I’m looking for Wintergreen Altoids gum, but your clerk said you don’t have any. Can you order some for me?”

Me: “Hmm, let me take a look.”

I don’t recall ever seeing that flavor, but I go digging around in our inventory database anyway. Sure enough, there’s no record of it.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it doesn’t look like we carry that flavor.”

Customer: “I know I’ve bought it here before!”

Me: “Huh. It doesn’t look like something that’s been discontinued. I’m just not seeing it here at all.”

Customer: *Indignant* “Can’t you just call them and get some?”

Me: “Well, no, unfortunately. Since all of our purchasing goes through a central facility, we don’t deal with the manufacturers directly. If our distribution center doesn’t carry a product, I have no way to order it.”

Customer: “Well!” *Huffs* “I didn’t realize I was living in Soviet Russia!”

Without another word, the customer turned on her heel and stomped out the front door. My clerk and I were speechless.

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Forty-Three Reasons To Hate Your Boss

, , , , , | Working | June 27, 2020

I’m a waitress and we recently had a manager transferred to our restaurant. She’s nice but has a tendency to mess up orders in the kitchen, and the servers get wrong orders sent to wrong tables.

For the first couple of days, we’re a little understanding. But after a week, it keeps happening repeatedly, and we’re constantly double-checking tickets. It takes longer and customers get impatient with us, and it’s affecting our tips. 

One busy Friday night, after a few mess-ups, the manager gives us permission to double-check with her. But after two rounds of the servers asking, “Are you sure?” or, “Table number?” she gets frustrated and snaps at us.

My coworker finds a clever way to get around it by saying, “You just said table number forty-three, right?” and if it’s wrong, then she just plays it off, and if she’s right, then it makes everyone look good. So, the rest of us start following suit. 

However, even when I’m double-checking, I’m still getting wrong orders or missing something from the orders. Up until this point, I’ve been fortunate to have patient and understanding customers, but my last table yelled at me for taking too long and forgetting a few items. So, I go back to the kitchen to clarify.

Me: “Manager, table forty-three is missing some items from their order.” *Sets the receipt on the counter* “Could you please get that out to me really fast?”

Manager: “Fine, fine. In the meantime, will you take this to table twenty-one?”

Me: “I’m not opposed, but that’s not in my area and—”

Manager: “Take it to table twenty-one!”

I stand there a little shocked and start to take the plate when the waitress who has that section comes and gets it. I wait a moment longer and the manager slams down a platter of sides that I assume were for my original table, despite them not being the sides. 

Manager: “Table forty-three!”

Me: “Are you sure?”

There’s a moment of silence as the manager stares at me, appalled, and then glares, and I realize that I have let my frustration get to me. 

Manager: “You don’t need to take that attitude with me! I told you the table number!”

Me: “I’m sorry, I just wanted to be sure—”

Manager: “If you can’t tone down that attitude, you might as well go home. I have no use for sassy, disrespectful waitresses right now.”

My heart is pounding really hard and my cheeks are burning with embarrassment and anger. Half of the guests are looking at us, having heard the manager yell at me, and the other servers are staring at the two of us, waiting to see what will happen next. 

For some reason, however, I reach behind me, undo my apron, and toss it into the hamper behind the door.

Me: “Fine, then. See you tomorrow night.”


Now the entire restaurant is staring, and I find the courage to say:

Me: “You gave me the option, so… I’m going home.”

And, with that, I walked out the door, trying to hold my head high and not cry. 

If this doesn’t improve, I will probably put in my two weeks this next week.

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Unfiltered Story #198676

, , , | Unfiltered | June 25, 2020

(I am waiting to pick up a prescription at a pharmacy. As I’m waiting, I hear this very loud, very off key singing. From the sound of it, it’s some kind of country love song. Looking up, I see an overweight man with ear buds walking towards me.)

Man: *unintelligible, very loud, off key singing* . . .OH MANDY!

Me: *stares, thinking this kind of thing only happened in the stories I read on the internet, and trying very hard not to laugh*

Me: *sits down and continues singing, oblivious to the stares. He continued to sing for a couple minutes before he left.*

Was Not Their In-Ten-tion

, , , , | Right | June 16, 2020

I am a hostess at a breakfast restaurant and have no cash drawer; however, customers frequently ask me for change or help paying their bill. I’ve learned to not argue and just take their bill or cash to the nearest server for help when this happens.

Customer: *Handing me a twenty-dollar bill* “Can I get four fives for this?”

Me: “Sure! Just give me one moment—”

Customer: “No, wait. I need one ten and two fives and—” *hands me a ten* “—two fives for this.”

Me: “Of course!”

I take the ten and the twenty to the nearest server and hand him the twenty.

Me: “Can I get four fives from you?”

He trades me and I walk back to the woman, handing her the same ten and two of the fives.

Me: “Here’s the ten and two fives for the $20 and—” *handing her the other two fives* “—two fives for the ten. Have a nice day!”

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It’s A Bad Day When Pizza Is A Source Of Stress

, , , , , , | Right | June 11, 2020

I work at the front desk at a hotel on the night shift. We have a cupboard where guests can buy food. It has some frozen meals, but we don’t carry frozen pizza. A few guests ask once in a while, but, usually, guests will just order a pizza if they want one or go to the store that’s literally right next door and buy one.

One night, I come in, do my standard shift opening duties, and a guest comes down to the cupboard and asks if we have any frozen pizza. I tell him sorry, we do not, but [Pizza Chain] is up the street and if he doesn’t care for that, there are three other chains that can deliver to our hotel until 1:00 am. Or, the store next door is open twenty-four hours. He goes upstairs disappointed. 

About an hour later, when all is quiet, I take my dinner — leftover homemade pizza — to the break room, heat it up, and go back to the office where I can eat and also be available to jump onto the front desk if need be.

But, as I pass by the front desk to get to the office, I see the same guy standing at the counter and I put down my food and go see what he needs. It goes downhill from there.

Guest: “I thought you didn’t have pizza!” 

Me: “We don’t. That’s my personal pizza I brought from home. What can I do to help you?” 

He gets super upset and starts demanding that I either, a) give him my pizza, or b) pay for his pizza that he was going to order.

Me: “I can do neither of those things, but, if you have a problem, you can always contact my general manager or sales specialist and suggest we put frozen pizza in the pantry.”

Guest: “That’s a useless option, since I don’t stay here all the time, and I never will anymore because you don’t have freaking frozen pizza!”

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