On Reflection, Best Not To Ask…, Part 2

, , , , , , | Right | October 9, 2020

I am the manager of a women’s clothing store. We have large mirrors throughout the store and in each dressing room.

A woman and her six-year-old son come into the store. While mom shops, the little boy gets bored, wanders a little, though not far from mom, and discovers the triple mirrors. He then proceeds to play with the mirrors and gets his handprints on them.

I’m not concerned because the mirrors have to be cleaned top to bottom every night.

Me: *Jokingly* “If you keep doing that, I’m going to give you the glass cleaner and make you clean those.”

His face just lights up.

Boy: “Really? Can I?”

Mother: “He loves cleaning. You should let him clean them.”

He looks so excited, I ask the mother if she is serious.

Mother: “Absolutely!”

I give the boy the paper towels and the glass cleaner, and he just goes to town. He not only cleans the mirror he’s touched, but he starts on all the other mirrors in the store, too. His mother and I are watching him while she continues to shop. I turn away to find something for her when she starts laughing. I look over, and he is climbing under the dressing room doors — they are kept locked — so he can clean those mirrors, too. He is having so much fun that his mother and I can’t help but laugh and enjoy his excitement.

A few weeks later, the boy and his mother return with his younger brother. The older boy comes right up to the counter with a hopeful expression on his face.

Boy: “Can I clean the mirrors again? My brother wants to help.”

I looked at their mother, who nodded, so I gave them the cleaner and the paper towels and off they went. The older boy was telling his younger brother how to clean the mirrors “just right.” Yes, they went under the dressing room doors, too, because that was more fun than having me unlock the doors for them.

I left that job soon after, so I don’t know if they ever came back in, but that young boy is one of my best memories from that job and still brings a smile to my face when I think about him and his mother who was smart enough to indulge his joy of cleaning.

Related:
On Reflection, Best Not To Ask…

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Dairy, Dairy, Quite Contrary, Part 2

, , , , , , , | Right | October 5, 2020

I drive a truck and deliver feed to dairies and feedlots. One night, I am pulling into a dairy that I have delivered to dozens of times, usually in the middle of the night, and where I rarely ever see anyone.

As I am pulling in, I see an old truck parked in front of the bin for the feed I have on. I line up and back to about twenty feet from the truck and get out. As I walk up to the very old pickup, someone gets out. It is an ancient woman that is weather-beaten and hard-crusted with a voice that would scare the devil.

She tells me that there was a mixup and I am supposed to deliver to a dairy about a mile down the road. I check my dispatch papers and there is nothing about this. I explain that without an order from my dispatch I can do no such thing. I politely ask her to move her truck so I can finish this job and go to sleep. She refuses.

I call my dispatcher. They sometimes answer late, but they don’t this time. Then, I call the dairy even though I know they won’t answer.

After arguing with her for almost an hour, I tell her goodnight and go to my truck and start to go to bed. She starts banging on the truck and obviously isn’t going to let me sleep.

After ignoring her for a while, I call her over and discuss the situation. I let her talk me into delivering to this other place but tell her I have never been here before and I am afraid to drive around looking for it. She assures me she will show me and that I can follow, and I agree. She gets in her truck and pulls over by the exit, and I put my truck in reverse and back into the bin, get out, and start unloading. 

She drives up so fast I think she might run me over, then jumps out and starts screaming and hollering. Then, she starts hitting me. I grab her arms and tell her to stop or I am going to call the sheriff.

That seems to take the wind out of her sails and she leaves.

After I call in the next day, we find out she was trying to get me to deliver her neighbors feed to her small dairy down the road and had actually gotten away with it in the past.

Related:
Dairy, Dairy, Quite Contrary

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Diners Of The Corn, Part 2

, , , , , , | Right | October 5, 2020

Our restaurant has recently started a “semi-prepared” service. Customers pick up a meal that’s 90% done and complete it at home. This means we can serve dishes that aren’t easy to transport, but it requires that the customers do some work themselves, so we have a “home chef helpline” in case they have questions.

Caller: “Hi. So sorry if this is a silly question, but I’m looking at your menu and I want to make sure I do all the steps I need to at home.”

Employee: “Almost everything on our menu only needs basic kitchen equipment, so I’m sure we can resolve that! Was there a specific item or technique you’re looking at?”

Caller: “I’m looking at [family-sized dish], and I saw on your website that we could substitute in corn on the cob but I didn’t see any instructions on what we need for the corn on the cob.”

Employee: “Good news: the corn on the cob is ready to go. There’s nothing you need to do at home except butter it.”

Caller: “Oh, good! I was worried you were just going to give me corn and I was going to have cob it myself.”

Employee: “You mean… cook… it yourself?”

Caller: “No, no, like… I’ve only ever had just regular corn, you know? So I don’t know how to get it onto the cob.”

Employee: “It’s already… corn is… you don’t… Our corn on the cob is already cooked and you don’t need to worry about that.”

Related:
Diners Of The Corn

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Divorced From Reality, Part 6

, , , , | Right | October 2, 2020

Our company sublets apartments. By law, if you are married, you both need to sign, giving both equal rights and equal responsibilities. If only one person signs, it’s not a legal contract and you can’t rent the apartment. I am sitting in the room next to where this conversation takes place between a client and a consultant.

Client: “I want to rent this apartment.”

He hands in the documents.

Consultant: “Thank you. Let me take a look at this.” *Silence* “This document here says you are married.”

Client: “Yes, but my wife and I will be getting a divorce.”

Consultant: “I’m sorry to hear that. But since you are still married, we need both your signatures on the contract.”

Client: “But I don’t want her on the contract.”

Consultant: “I’m sorry, but that is the law. But maybe we can work something out; maybe I can hold the apartment for a few days. When will you file for divorce at the court?”

Client: “I don’t know.”

Consultant: “Oh, is the separation not amicable?”

Client: “No, she doesn’t know yet.”

He did not get the apartment.

Related:
Divorced From Reality, Part 5
Divorced From Reality, Part 4
Divorced From Reality, Part 3
Divorced From Reality, Part 2
Divorced From Reality

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Cuddles Have Been Booked

, , , , , , | Right | September 30, 2020

There is this book and comic store I love to go to. They are pretty relaxed and have a good choice of fantasy books.

Once, I enter the store and I see a customer has brought a very big dog which looks like a husky-shepherd mix. It is a beautiful dog with the colors of a husky but the markings of a German shepherd.

I’m a bit wary of big dogs, but this one sits perfectly docile at the heel of its owner and doesn’t even look at anybody else, so I soon forget about the dog and go on browsing the books to find something new to read.

Soon, I find something that sounds interesting and start reading the first few pages. The book is extremely good, and soon, I’m completely absorbed in it when something gently touches my elbow.

Out of reflex — I’m a cat owner and my cat pushes me for attention whenever I read — I drop my hand from the book. I feel fur under my fingertips and start petting without stopping my lecture.

It takes me at least six pages to remember that I’m not home sitting on my bed reading and petting my cat, and that there is, in fact, no way I’m petting anything small right now, since I’m still standing, my arm is not stretched in any form, and my lower arm is resting on more fur.

It’s the dog. It has sneaked away from its owner, stretched its head forward, and is now enjoying the scratch from my nicely manicured nails with drooping ears and half-closed eyes. And now that it stands right next to me, I see that it’s huge! Its head easily reaches my elbow although it sits!

I twitch a little and lift my hand, since I’m absolutely not used to dogs, and I earn a chuckle from the employees who have watched the whole scene evolve. 

Their laughter activates the owner of the dog, who was just as immersed in his book as I was in mine. He calls his dog to heel, and with one more sad look, it leaves. The owner then apologises to me, which I accept.

Later, I chat with the employees. They tell me the dog and its owner are regulars. The dog is perfectly trained, but whenever its owner is distracted, it does everything it can to sneak itself some cuddles with unsuspecting customers too immersed in books and has become quite good at finding the most susceptible targets!

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