We Only Want A Pizza Pasta

, , , , | Working | May 7, 2018

(One evening, I’m craving some carbonara, so I call my local Italian restaurant intending to go and pick some up.)

Worker: “Hi, thank you for calling [Restaurant]. How can I help you?”

Me: “Hi, I would like one large carbonara for pickup, thanks.”

Worker: “I’m sorry, but we are only doing pizza for pickup and delivery.”

Me: “But you have carbonara on your menu. I will pick it up; I’m not asking for delivery.”

Worker: “Sorry, ma’am, we only take out-of-house orders for pizzas, not pasta. Today we have a special: one large pizza for $15.99 pickup. Normally it’s $18.”

Me: *thinking, “What is wrong with these people?”* “No, I’m not interested in pizza; I want carbonara. Are you out?”

Worker: “No, ma’am. We can serve you pasta if you dine-in, but we can’t take out-of house orders for anything except pizza, as pizzas that aren’t picked up can be sold by the slice, but pasta has to be thrown out.”

Me: “But I’ll come and pick it up. I’m only five minutes away. I’m not asking for it to be delivered to my door. It’s on your menu, so I want you to have it ready for me to pick up. I don’t see why you can’t do this. Could I maybe talk to your manager?”

Worker: “Sure, ma’am, but he’ll tell you the same thing.” *transfers me*

Manager: “Hello, ma’am, I’m sorry to hear you’re disappointed. My colleague has already explained everything to me. Unfortunately, I must reiterate that our policy for out-of-house is pizza only. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Me:” No, I don’t get why you won’t just make something already on your menu that I can pick up very quickly. If it’s on your menu, you should make it. You’ve just lost my business.” *click*

(I walked down, anyway, thinking I could ask again in person so they knew they weren’t being ripped off. The kicker? I saw someone walk out with a box of pasta in their hands. I have not been back since!)

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Rental Made You Mental

, , , , , | Working | May 7, 2018

My first job was at a movie rental store that just recently had the very last location close down in the US.

The way our account numbers worked was that there was a series of numbers to denote our location, and the last five digits were the customer. Our store was 291299, and my account was *****, so my entire number was 291299*****. But there were a few combinations that would never get used, so some employees at some point made fake accounts with joke info.

11111 was Homer Simpson with his address in Springfield.

66666 was Lucifer in Hell, and the phone number was, of course, all sixes.

22222 was Bruce Wayne in Gotham, and he had Dick Grayson marked as able to rent on his account.

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Racism Versus Geography

, , , , | Working | May 7, 2018

(I am visiting a friend in Scotland. We have been shopping for food for my visit. I stop by the kiosk on our way out. I am black.)

Me: “Can I get [Cigarette Brand], please?”

Cashier: “Pardon?”

Me: “[Cigarette Brand]?”

Cashier: “Sorry, I can’t understand your accent. What country are you from?”

Me: “Manchester, England.”

Cashier: “Oh.”

(She had zero issue understanding me after that. I told my friend once meeting him outside.)

Friend: “She’s a bit like that with everyone she doesn’t know who isn’t white. Once she knows you, though, she’s fine. We’ve all complained about her, but she’s the manager’s mum or something.”

Me: “Why do you shop there if you know they employ racists?”

Friend: “Because the nearest [Supermarket #1] to this one is 20 minutes away. I’m not going to [Supermarket #2]; they’re too expensive.”

(I couldn’t argue with that, given he was a university student on a budget. Still, it was a bit shocking.)

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It’s Not The Epileptic Having The Fit

, , , , , | Working | May 6, 2018

(I go with a friend of mine into a tech store. The friend is there to pick up some hardware that has been repaired, and is looking to buy around £50,000 worth of hardware for their office. I have both epilepsy and Asperger’s. I get very dizzy all of a sudden and fall against a wall near some display models. I don’t touch them, but the staff member dealing with my friend gets irate about this for no reason.)

Employee: “Watch it, stupid!”

Friend: “He’s epileptic; he just lost his balance, and he didn’t damage anything.”

Employee: “People like that should be with a carer, then, and not damaging our goods because they’re too stupid to know better.”

(At this point, I start to cry because of the anger that’s been direct to towards me, as sometimes happens because of my Asperger’s.)

Employee: “What is he, f****** r*****ed or something?”

Friend: “He’s actually a college graduate and business owner, as am I; he’s probably a lot smarter than you. Sure as heck, he’s got better manners than you.”

Employee: *calling his boss over* “This customer is verbally abusing me because his spastic friend was damaging our equipment and I kindly asked them to stop.”

Manager: “I want both of you out of here now; if your friend is disabled, you shouldn’t bring him into places like this.”

Friend: “Okay, then. Cancel my order I placed when I booked my repairs in.”

(As my friend helps me up off the floor and calms me down, the manager pulls up the order and sees it to be in the excess of £50,000.)

Manager: “I’m afraid you’ll have to pay for this order because it’s already placed.”

Friend: “No, I won’t; in fact, I’ll be informing my bank of this transaction in case you try anything.”

Manager: “No, because your stupid friend will probably damage it, and you’ll try to return it like they did with your other laptop.”

(Mall security turns up and the manager talks to them and makes up a ton of lies about what’s happened.)

Security #1: “Sir, we’d like to get your side of things, too, and we would like to call your friend some medical attention as they’re obviously distressed by something, but can we do so outside of the store?”

(We leave and security escorts us to a small side office where one radios in mall medical staff and the other talks to us both, getting our side of the story.)

Security #1: “We’re inclined to believe you, having looked at the security footage. I’m also aware of one of the staff members calling a person who was a veteran in a wheelchair a cabbage. We even filed a complaint with their head office, but they seemed to back up the actions of the staff members and justified how they act. It seems even their executives support disability discrimination.”

Security #2: “It’s probably best that you don’t go back to the store, but I’ve called our medical staff and they’re waiting outside. And someone in the pizzeria who they’re friends with has some drinks and a pizza for you both to help you calm down.”

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There Is No Band-Aid For Lies

, , , , , | Working | May 4, 2018

(In this story, I am only thirteen years old. I have just fallen and scraped my arm a few minutes ago, and I am still bleeding quite a bit. After making an emergency bandage out of a napkin and a few rubber bands to catch the blood, my family and I go to a restaurant. It is worth noting that earlier that day, I got hit in the eye with a beach ball, dropped my tray at lunch, and had a panic attack in the middle of class. In other words, so far my day has sucked, and I’ve about reached my limit. I hate unsweetened tea with a passion, but love sweet tea, and I have a killer death glare, even without meaning it.)

Me: “I would like an iced tea, please!”

Waiter: “Okay!”

(The waiter brings out a tea, and I start to drink it, only for my face to crumple in disgust. I was unaware that they did not have sweet tea. I’m not usually one to tear up over a mistake in my order, but this is my last straw. I start crying. My mom immediately notices what’s wrong. As she fixes the mistake and gets me a diet soda, instead, I accidentally glare at the waiter. He is obviously quite scared by this point. We get our food, and I find mine disgusting.)

Me: “Uh, sir, my food doesn’t taste quite right. Is there lettuce or tomato on this?”

Waiter: “I-I think so, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

(He tries to resolve it, but it’s no use. After taking in all that’s happened that day, I start crying again and accidentally give the waiter one of my famously intimidating death glares. After resolving the issue as quickly as he can, he runs off to get his manager. I think nothing of it, until…)

Manager: “One of you apparently threatened to kill my employee over a mistaken order. Which one of you did it?”

Waiter: “It was the little one in the corner, one her phone! She threatened to kill me!”

(My family is extremely confused, because none of us are that kind of person, especially not me. I figure out what he is referring to after a few minutes.)

Me: “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, sir, but your employee must be mistaken. I did accidentally glare at him after my order was messed up a few times, but I never once threatened to kill or otherwise harm him. I’ve had a rough day, and my arm is still bleeding from an earlier incident. When I cry, which I did, I do tend to glare by total accident. Again, I am sorry for the misunderstanding. If you wish to file this under anything, my name is [My Name].”

Manager: “Ah, I see. No verbal threats, [Waiter]?”

(The waiter shakes his head, but then bursts out once more.)

Waiter: “She obviously wanted to kill me, [Manager]! Isn’t that the same as a death threat? Plus, she’s probably just exaggerating for attention.”

(Furious, I hold up my elbow with its makeshift bandage in its full glory, blood and all. It is almost soaked by now, but the bleeding has stopped.)

Me: “Pal, I don’t think that I was exaggerating. This is just a little of what I’ve gone through today. I’m sorry for scaring you, but there is no need to overreact. Personally, I think that even when scared, your service was quite good, and I was planning on asking for the manager to compliment your wonderful service in the face of a girl who was crying her eyes out over a simple mistake. I’m sorry for the trouble, [Manager], was it?”

Manager: “It’s fine. This is the third time this week that he’s done this. Thank you for remaining calm. Also, would you like a real bandage?”

(After I confirmed that it was probably a good idea, he went to get one, telling the waiter to meet him in his office. It turns out that the manager’s daughter went to my school, and was one of my good friends. His daughter had told him about what had all happened that day, and he was extremely sympathetic towards me for it. His daughter and I are still good friends to this day, and he and I joke about this incident quite a lot now. He also asked me how I remained so calm, to which I replied, “I’d already dealt with enough crap that day, and that was nothing to me.”)

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