Should Have Shown The Table People The Door

, , , , | Working | February 17, 2020

(For a couple of years, my boyfriend and I lived in a teeny-tiny one-bedroom apartment with probably the smallest kitchen table there is to buy. Therefore, we are thrilled when we finally get our new apartment since it allows us to buy a new table that can fit all of our friends and family. The table is 2.5m long or approximately 8.2 feet. When ordering it, I pay extra for delivery up to the fifth floor. The elevator is big but not so big that it can hold a 2.5m-long table plus wrapping. Therefore, the instructions are that, on delivery day, there will be two persons from the delivery firm, carrying the table up the stairs. Seems simple, eh? The day of delivery:)

Delivery Guy: “I’m here to deliver a package for [My Name].”

Me: “That’s me, but you were supposed to be two persons.”

Delivery Guy: “Ah, don’t worry about it. I’ll fix this.”

(The delivery guy proceeds to take the table out of the truck, gets the table inside the apartment building — only because I hold the door open for him — and then lowers the table onto the floor in a brusque way. When the elevator arrives, he tries to shove the table inside the elevator car but since the table is longer than the car, when the doors closes, the table is sticking out quite a bit. He then tries to lean the table so that one side of it hits the roof and the other side hits the tile-clad floor. This continues for several minutes, while sweat is starting to break out on my skin. Bear in mind that this is a rather expensive table, at least for a twenty-something couple that has just bought an apartment.)

Me: “Are you sure about this? I did pay for two people to deliver this via the stairs.”

Delivery Guy: “Oh, no problem. It’s just a really small elevator.”

Me: *under my breath* “Well, it really isn’t.”

(New accessibility rules state that the elevators in new houses must have certain measurements; it’s a really big elevator. The delivery guy tries to take out the table from the car, shoving it into the glass doors in the hallway, then on the floor, then into the ceiling, making a large dent in it. By now I’m really sweaty because I know there is going to be at least one dent in the table.)

Delivery Guy: “I’m gonna try and take this via the stairs but the table is really heavy. How many stairs is it?”

Me: “It’s on the fifth floor.”

Delivery Guy: *lets out a heavy sigh and tries the stairs only to realize that the table is too heavy* “I’m gonna call a colleague and get some help.”

(In the end, the two delivery people got the table up the stairs and into the apartments. The whole thing took approximately an hour and a half. Nearly all corners were dented and I had to lodge a claim with the store. The new table arrived a couple of days later, via a different delivery firm, was brought up the stairs by two delivery people instantly, and had no dents when they were done.)

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No Voice To Help With The Invoice

, , , , | Working | February 17, 2020

(I have some blood work done by being a walk-in at the lab. I pay, leave, and await results. What I get is a large invoice a month later. If I get blood work through my doctor, I prepay for that. I call the number to find out exactly what this was for. My doctor’s name is not listed in the spot for the physician. Something is fishy. I am omitting the twenty-five minutes spent on hold and five minutes re-explaining the above.)

CSR #1: “Let me look into that.”

(There is silence for several minutes until I realize I’ve been disconnected. I try again.)

CSR #2: “Your doctor would have ordered the tests.”

Me: “But there is nothing on the invoice but codes. What are they?”

CSR #2: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Are they listed online somewhere?”

CSR #2: “Huh? Oh, yes. Try that.”

(I try that and Google confirms my suspicions: they are not tests ordered by my doctor, but the ones I requested personally. I call again to confront.)

CSR #3: “We don’t have any record of you paying. We’re not the lab. We only handle billing. We’re located in Pennsylvania. You need to contact them directly.”

(I contact the lab directly.)

Lab Operator: “Well, sir, you’ll need to talk to our billing department about that. I can transfer you.”

Me: “If you’re going to transfer me back to the people who told me to call you, this won’t be helpful.”

Lab Operator: “Oh, but there’s nobody else I can transfer you to.”

(I’m transferred and I can tell from the recordings that I’m back at square one.)

Me: “I think we may have to escalate this.”

(I re-explain all.)

CSR #4: “Yes, I can see all the tests here and that you already paid. I’m not sure why you were sent that invoice. Disregard it. I’ll take care of this.”

Me: “Why did the others tell me to contact my doctor and the lab?”

CSR #4: “I have no idea. They should be able to see what I’m looking at.”

(Well, at least one of the four knew what he was doing.)

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A One-Person Announcement System

, , , | Working | February 15, 2020

(My family and I are enjoying a weekend away at a vacation park. On Friday evening, we decide to go to the main area to have a bite to eat in one of the restaurants present in the park.)

Hostess: “Hello, welcome. How can I help you?”

Me: “We would like a table for six for dinner tonight.”

Hostess: “Ooh, I am afraid I can’t help you with that at the moment; management made a slight error in the scheduling today, and they forgot to schedule anyone besides me to work in the restaurant.”

Me: “O…kay, we’ll just find something else to eat, then.”

Hostess: “That might be best, yes; our other restaurants are open.”

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Aye Aioli!

, , , , , | Working | February 14, 2020

(My mom is a vegetarian and hates the taste of anything resembling mayonnaise. She goes to a vegan restaurant for lunch and orders a BBQ “beef” sandwich. When the waitress brings her order, in addition to the BBQ sauce the bun is covered in this light orange goo.)

Mom: “Thank you, and I’m sorry, but I actually ordered this without the chipotle aioli.”

Waitress: “It’s not aioli; it’s chipotle mayo.”

Mom: *trying not to say that’s what aioli is* “Oh, my mistake. The menu said aioli, so that’s what I asked to be left off; I don’t like mayo or mayo-like products.”

Waitress: “Yeah, it says no aioli on the ticket but that’s mayo. It’s okay. We’re a vegan restaurant; you can eat it.”

Mom: “Yes, I know it’s vegan. I just don’t like it. A lot. I’m sorry.”

Waitress: *sighing* “Fine, I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t some stupid egg thing.”

(The waitress walks to the kitchen, which is open and about twelve feet from us.)

Waitress: “Can you remake this without mayo?”

Cook: “It’s not mayo; it’s aioli.”

Waitress: “But she doesn’t want it.”

Cook: “It’s okay; we’re vegan.”

(My mom is sitting at the table literally wanting to pound her head against it.)

Mom: “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt. Can I get it with nothing but the BBQ sauce, please? It’s okay that it’s vegan; I just don’t eat it.”

Cook: “Oh, okay. We can do that ‘cause, you know, the ticket did say, ‘no aioli’ originally.”

(It’s almost as if food should be made the way it’s requested.)

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Don’t Sit At That (Vege)Table

, , , , , | Working | February 14, 2020

(My university dining hall posts allergen information for the most common allergens. Unfortunately, some of us have less common allergies and the listed allergens aren’t enough, so I’ve learned to ask about ingredients.)

Me: “Hi. Could you tell me what vegetables are in the vegetable pot pie?”

Employee: “What does the sign say?”

Me: “It says, ‘Vegetable pot pie,’ so it doesn’t say what vegetables are in it.”

Employee: “I would assume it’s just vegetables.”

Me: “That doesn’t answer my question. There are many different vegetables. Some of them I can eat; others I can’t.”

Employee: *shrug*

(I ended up not risking it. But, seriously? This is not a weird question.)

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