Dollars To Donuts

, , , , | Working | June 30, 2017

(I have gone to the pharmacy to refill a prescription. The transaction goes completely normal until the very end after I’ve checked out.)

Worker: “Can I interest you in a free doughnut?”

(I look at her in confusion. I wasn’t expecting being offered a doughnut at 12:30 pm from my pharmacy tech, so my brain takes a bit to process that I did hear those words. After a moment, I shake my head.)

Me: “No, thank you!”

Worker: “…that was rather silly to offer someone picking up diabetes medication, huh?”

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Had A Hand In Your Pain

, , , , | Working | June 30, 2017

This happened when I was 13. I was a country girl, to explain the next part. I am at a friend’s place for the day and she is going out in the tractor. I went along, and somehow manage to crush my hand quite badly between mechanical parts. Things get a bit fuzzy at that point, so I only remember that it hurt like hell and her mum drove me home asap. My dad takes one look at me, curses her out for not taking me to the ER, and drives me there himself. When we get there we we’re told to sit and wait.

We wait for several hours. I pass out a few times and have worked myself into hysteria. Dad is trying to get the staff to get me in quicker, at least so I can get some painkillers. A sweet guy in the waiting room with a sprained foot is called before us, and insists that the little girl (aka me) get treatment first.

I am admitted and a doctor comes by to check out my swollen and discoloured hand. What happened next still gives me nightmares.

He prods at it, and cheerfully tells me and my dad that they’ll probably have to amputate it.

Now, I was already hysterical. Being told that I am going to lose my hand did NOT help things. Things get fuzzy here, but dad later told me I had a panic attack and that a nurse had to administer a mild sedative, and that they finally gave me some heavy duty painkillers.

I remember being very impressed with the shiny elevator on the way up to x-ray and much less impressed with the technician when they had to straighten out my fingers for the x-rays.

And guess what the x-rays showed? No breaks. A slight hairline fracture to one finger, but nothing that needed a cast. Definitely not amputation material. Some nerve damage, but all in all it wasn’t that bad. Dad cried, and I cried. The nurses were shocked when they heard why and what the doctor had told a terrified teenager in pain. A supervisor was called, and the doctor came slinking back to apologize for his mistake, and to this day I’m sort of shocked my dad refrained from hitting him.

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Fast(Food) Becoming A Problem

, , , , , , | Working | June 28, 2017

(I very rarely hit up fast food restaurants as I don’t care for their food. I had to rush out the door this morning, though, and decide to grab some breakfast as I have a long day ahead of me.)

Me: “Hello! Can I get a number 10, the two-sausage breakfast burritos, please?”

Worker: “A number 2? Okay.”

Me: “No, sorry, a number 10.”

Worker: “Oh. Okay. We have ranch, bbq, and honey mustard. What kind of sauce would you like?”

Me: “For the burritos? Hot sauce, if you have any.”

Worker: “Hot or mild?”

Me: “Hot, please.”

Worker: “Mild?”

Me: *just wanting to get out of here at this point* “Mild is fine.”

Worker: “What to drink?”

Me: “An iced coffee with sugar free vanilla, please.”

Worker: “A caramel coffee. Anything else?”

Me: “No, sorry, an iced coffee with sugar free vanilla… That’s everything.”

Worker: “Okay, your total is [amount much higher than the menu price].”

Me: *hits head on steering wheel*

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Welcome To The Hotel Exaggeration

, , , , , | Working | June 27, 2017

(I used to work at a very prestigious five-star hotel in Central London. Naturally with the territory comes some guests who, in my experience, were impossible. This is however not that kind of story. I am currently an hour into the morning shift when my service phone rings. The call registers from the front desk.)

Me: “In-Room Dining. [My Name] speaking.”

Front Desk: “Hi, [My Name]. Can you go to [Guest Room] and help [Affluent Guest] out, please?”

(Note: Affluent Guest, as I would soon find out, was a regular at this hotel. She also established a reputation with most if not all the hotel staff as being incredibly demanding and impossible to please. This is the first time I am dealing with her.)

Me: “Sure. What is the problem, may I ask?”

Front Desk: “You know? I actually haven’t got a clue, mate. Is this your first time dealing with her?”

Me: “The guest? Yes. Yes, it’s the first time.”

Front Desk: “Okay, just to let you know she’s VERY impatient and extremely rude, so be careful, okay?”

Me: “Thanks for the heads up. I’m on my way to the room now.”

(I hang up and head up to the floor that Affluent Guest is on. On the way I cross paths with one of the housekeeping associates.)

Housekeeping Associate: “You going to [Affluent Guest]’s room?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Housekeeping Associate: *rolls eyes* “She’s craaaaazy. Don’t let her get her way!”

Me: “I won’t.”

(I’m a little bit concerned about how much of an issue this particular guest is perceived as, but for benefit of the doubt I just put it down to exaggerations on the hotel’s part. I find the room, knock, and then enter to see a frail, old Chinese lady sitting on the sofa.)

Me: “Good Morning, ma’am. My name is [My Name]; I understand you’re having some sort of issue with your room?”

Guest: “Hello, my dear. Yes, I cannot get the window to open, see? And it’s very hot in here!”

(From the moment I walked in I could feel the humidity. On this particular summer day in London, the heat was out in force.)

Me: “I see. Unfortunately, ma’am, because we are on the seventh floor, the windows are locked shut for your own safety. Have you tried your air conditioning?”

Guest: “I have, my dear. But I don’t know how to work it properly.”

Me: *starting to get a little bit concerned* “Okay… has anyone else came to the room to help you?”

Guest: “Yes, but they didn’t do as I asked. They thought I wanted to change rooms! All I want is to get the air conditioning working.”

Me: “Of course, I completely understand, ma’am. Let me see what I can do for you.”

Guest: “Thank you so much, young man.”

(I go over to the A/C unit and realise that not only is it not on, it’s also broken. In regards to the guest, the perception of her being anything but pleasant has completely faded away at this point, but I’m more so concerned that this elderly lady was allowed to sit in such heat for such a long time.)

Me: “Okay, ma’am. I realise what’s the problem. Your A/C unit here is not working for whatever reason. Did anyone else check the unit?”

Guest: “No, not at all!”

Me: *stunned at this* “Okay. Here’s what I’m going to do now for you. I will be calling the engineers to the room to see if they can fix the A/C. In the meantime, I would recommend you go down to the restaurant on the second floor. We have air conditioning down there so you can cool off and relax whilst the problem here is fixed. I’ll also ask the restaurant to have a cool drink waiting for you to make up for the issue. How does that sound, ma’am?”

Guest: “That sounds very nice! Thank you for your understanding. May I have your name?”

Me: “You certainly can. It’s [My Name].”

Guest: “Thank you, [My Name]. I will be leaving a message about your conduct tomorrow before I leave. Thank you so much for your time!”

Me: “It’s my pleasure, ma’am. Have a nice day!”

(I left, happy that I was able to resolve the guest’s problem AND shatter the pretensions of nearly everybody else about that guest, and all because I didn’t over exaggerate her issue, and instead treated her problem as something that was easy to fix in less than an hour. Never let other people’s perceptions cloud yours.)

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Would Jew Risk It?

, , , , , | Working | June 27, 2017

(My family and I are driving to Idlewild for a mini vacation, and stop at a local restaurant on our way to our cabin. We sit, are greeted pleasantly, and chat with the waitress. All perfectly pleasant, until we try to order. My mother wants to know if a particular soup has pork in it, as the meat is not specified on the menu.)

Mother: “Excuse me, could you tell me if there’s pork in this soup? Or pig of any kind?”

Waitress: “Oh, let me go check.”

(So far so good. She comes back out with the cook and the apparent owner.)

Cook: “We don’t cook this with pork in it. Can I ask why you can’t have pork? Is it an allergy?”

Mother: “No, it’s a religious thing. We’re Jewish.”

(The cook and the owner, as well as the waitress, all appear deeply confused and affronted. We try to explain the religious abstention from pork and other such forbidden foods, explaining it is our preference, not something we advised for everyone.)

Waitress: “Jewish? Well, that’s stupid. Why can’t you just eat the pork. It’s perfectly good food!”

(We were stunned, offended, and quickly left, paying for our food and throwing out the soup soon after, on the off chance they did actually put pork in it.)

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