Kicking Yourself For Saying It

, , , , , | Related | April 17, 2018

(We are in the middle of moving house. My mother and I — both quite small women — have been tasked with moving a heavy ottoman upstairs. We get stuck halfway up, out of strength and breath.)

Mum: “Holy s***, this is heavy.”

Me: *struggling to breathe, bearing all the weight* “I think we need help. Can we get [Brother] to help?”

(My brother is 16 years old, 6’1″, and built like a gorilla, but he’s severely autistic and epileptic. He’s recently had a seizure, and is sitting quietly in his room, unaware of what’s going on outside his little bubble. We don’t want to disturb him, but I am at serious risk of being crushed to death.)

Mum: *finally giving in* “[Brother]!”

(Obediently, my brother appears at the top of the stairs. We instruct him in what we need him to do. He grabs the other end of the ottoman and helps pull it the rest of the way, but he gets stuck at the top of the stairs. There’s a pile of my books right in front of my room, meaning he can’t go back any further without moving them.)

Brother: *looks at me expectantly*

Me: “It’s okay, [Brother]. Just kick them out the way or something.”

(Bearing in mind that I haven’t heard a word out of him all day, none of us could have predicted what happens next.)

Brother: “HIIIIIIIIIIIYYYYAAAAAAAAAAA!”

(And I kid you not, he spins around and BOOTS my books, all his weight behind the kick, sending them scattering. One book even flies into the opposite wall.)

Me & Mum: *staring*

(Then, my brother turns quietly back towards us, gives a little shrug as if nothing happened, and picks up the entire ottoman by himself as if it weighs nothing, and carries it into his room.)

Me: *still staring, in shock*

(A few seconds pass in silence.)

Mum: *quietly, to me* “Well, you did say he could kick it.”

They’re Not Appy

, , , , | Right | April 17, 2018

(I am a manager in a busy call centre. We only take inbound calls, where the customer calls us to either purchase or cancel their subscription for a popular newspaper. There are physical copies and digital copies of the paper. I have just been asked to take a call from one of my staff, as the customer is refusing to talk to him anymore. The customer has been on the phone with my colleague for around 40 minutes already.)

Me: “Hi, this is [My Name]. I’m one of the managers here. My colleague has told me that you wanted to speak to me. What seems to be the problem?”

Customer: “I purchased your papers app for my iPad, and quite frankly, it was utter rubbish!”

Me: “Sorry to hear that, sir. What was the problem? Anything our tech guys can sort?”

Customer: “No, it just didn’t perform as well as I expected, so I called within the seven-day cancellation period and had my twelve-month subscription cancelled.”

Me: “So, how can I help you today?”

Customer: “Well, I went to iTunes and purchased it from there, and it’s still just as bad! I want my money back!”

Me: “Okay, sir, just let me get this straight. You bought the app, and you didn’t like it. You then bought the same app and are still not happy with it?”

Customer: “Yes. I want my money back!”

Me: “Well, as you cancelled your account with us, we don’t have your money; iTunes does.”

Customer: “What the hell do you mean? It’s your app! Give me my money!

(This goes on for a few minutes; the customer just doesn’t get that a separate company has sold our product, and that getting his financial details from them would be fraudulent. I’m getting quite frustrated, and our offices are closing down soon, so I’ve begun to not care about blatant sarcasm.)

Me: “Look, sir: if you go into [Popular Music and DVD Store], buy a bands CD, you take it home, and discover that the CD is snapped in half, what do you do? Take it back to where you actually purchased it, or complain to the band?”

Customer: “Umm…”

Me: “Because right now, you are complaining to the band, and the band just don’t care to deal with your stupidity.”

Customer: “I WANT TO COMPLAIN TO YOUR MANAGER!”

Me: “I am the manager. Also, you don’t have an account with us, so…”

Customer: “I’M GOING TO WRITE TO FACEBOOK!”

Me: *laughing* “Okay, sir, you do that!”

Customers Are A Pain(giver)

, , , , , , | Right | April 16, 2018

(After being in the office all morning, sorting out a problem with the tills, I finally make my way onto the shop floor. This is my first customer of the day.)

Me: *moving to the side as we pass on the stairs* “Good morning.”

Customer: “No. It’s not a good morning. I’ve got a headache and it’s raining. Can I have some painkillers?”

Me: “I’m afraid we don’t have any, and we aren’t allowed to give medication to customers.”

Customer: “But I’m in pain. Why don’t you care? Today is my first time without taking drugs and you don’t even care. You’re a monster!

(The customer then ran up the stairs, and I went down to check on my colleagues. After I have been serving for a while, the customer comes downstairs with a large book in her hands and is served by one of the new girls who works weekends. The transaction goes smoothly, with the customer shooting me dirty looks the whole time.)

Customer: “I want a bag. The real ones, not the ones you give anyone. I have money, you know.”

Colleague: “They are real bags; we don’t have any others to give you, I’m afraid.”

Customer: “Why are you afraid? You should be afraid of being young and a girl.”

Colleague: *staying very professional* “Is there anything else for you today?”

Customer: “You’re trying to cheat me! I want to see your manager. Right now!”

(I take over the transaction, much to her disgust.)

Me: “Is there a problem?”

Customer: “I want a real bag, not those plastic ones.”

Me: “As my colleague told you, these are the only ones we provide. I can double them up for you, though, if you’re worried about them breaking.”

Customer: “You know, you’re horrible. My grandfather was the most wonderful, kind, loving person in the world, and he was tortured and murdered in Germany. You are a monster, and you deserve to be tortured in Nazi Germany, you b****.”

(She storms out of the store without the book.)

Me: “I’m going back into the office for a bit.”

Don’t Get The Grilled Cheese

, , , , , , , | Working | April 16, 2018

(I work for a fast food corporation as an assistant store manager. Our store is going to have its 18-month inspection conducted by senior company management. In addition, the owner and senior management of our own franchise group will be present. Consequences for failing the inspection range from the store being put on probation to outright dismissal of any member of staff deemed to be directly responsible for the failure in severe cases. As a result of this, our store schedules for a considerably beefed-up evening shift that works until midnight to complete major cleaning tasks, and then a three-strong overnighter team to focus on specific areas and generally raise the standards as high as they can go. The opening staff also arrive at six rather than seven to allow for any last minute do-overs of anything deemed to still not be up to standards. The opening shift is lead by our most senior shift manager, and I arrive at seven, mainly to ensure all the needed paperwork is ready for the senior management when they arrive at eight. I arrive to find the opening staff in a frenzy, and my normally very relaxed shift manager red in the face with fury.)

Me: “What the hell’s going on? Almost all of what you’re doing should have been done by the overnighters.”

Shift Manager: “Yeah, I know. [Overnight Manager] basically had them do nothing all night, so far as I can tell; even drink cups and lids haven’t been stocked. And then he, [Female Crew Member #1], and [Female Crew Member #2] just walked right out as soon as we clocked in.”

Me: “Terrific. They’ll have to be dealt with later. Keep at it; I’ll ring everyone who’s due in at eight to see if they can get in earlier, and then I’ll come help. The paperwork can wait.”

(I ring all staff and get three of them to come in ASAP, and then help the shift manager get everything as sorted as we can in the 50 minutes we have left. At 7:30, the business manager arrives and also questions why it’s still such a mess, but also thankfully informs us that all parties of senior management are stuck in traffic and will be at least 45 to 60 minutes late. We eventually get everything just about ready at 8:15, just after we open to customers, and I retreat to the office to sort the paperwork. The business manager comes with me, leaving the floor to the shift manager.)

Business Manager: “So, any idea what went wrong this morning?”

Me: “[Shift Manager] said he arrived this morning and it looked like the overnight shift did pretty much nothing and walked out as soon as he started. I really don’t get it; he’s normally a solid worker, and it’s not like we gave him a pair of idiots to work with.”

Business Manager: “Yeah, [Female Crew Member #1] and [Female Crew Member #2] are both in line for crew trainer promotions; I really don’t get it. I’m going to check the store cameras and see if I can figure out what happened.”

(A few minutes pass whilst the business manager logs into the CCTV system and starts fast-forwarding the recording. He gets to midnight, when the evening shift leaves without anything unusual happening, and at this point all three people from the overnight shift are visibly working. However, barely five minutes after the evening shift leaves…)

Business Manager: “I think I’ve found the source of the problem.”

(I turn to look at the screen to see the overnight manager go into the crew room to return with two six-packs of beer and a large bottle of vodka. He immediately cracks open a can and passes the vodka to the girls. The next hour of footage is the overnight manager going through seven of the cans whilst the girls go through roughly half the vodka, using the drinks machine for mixers. After around 90 minutes of them drinking, things are clearly starting to get a little ropy. The cameras don’t record audio, so we have no idea what’s being said, but one of the girls proceeds to peel off her work top, pants, and bra and does several laps of the kitchen in nothing but her shoes and panties, using a burger box to cover her chest. We already have more than enough evidence to sack all three of them, but we are worried as to how much further things went, since obviously we’re working with food and contamination is a serious danger. At this point, we have one of the women still only dressed in her panties, and the manager and other girl looking on; however, from here on, it only gets worse. The already mostly undressed girl encourages the other two to undress, and shortly after, both girls and the manager are stood all dressed only in their underwear. The business manager and I exchange very worried glances, because we know where this is going. We are simply dumbstruck at what we’re watching, but after a minute we get it together, and I march out to the shift manager on the floor and pull him aside.)

Me: “Okay, we found out what happened. I’ll need you for a statement later. Right now, I need you to fully clean grill two, and I mean a really good clean. I’m going to clean down [kitchen counter area] with disinfectant, and a lot of it.”

Shift Manager: “Sure. Do I even want to know why we’re doing this?”

Me: *after looking around to be sure none of the crew will hear me, whispering* “[Overnight Manager] banged [Female Crew Member #2] whilst she was bent over the grill.”

Shift Manager: *with a very shocked expression* “Sure. I’ll get right on it.”

(We decontaminate the affected areas, and after a discussion with the business manager, we opt to not turn the affected grill back on and just cite an electrical fault during the inspection. Then, we finally welcome the senior management when they arrive. The inspection goes just about all right, and we pass with a mark just slightly above the minimum requirement. The business manager at some point informs our group management that there was an “incident” with the overnight shift, but says it’s better discussed after the inspection. Once the corporate management leave, the business manager and I return to the office with our franchise group management to discuss the results. The owner is somewhat displeased with our results, given we got a significantly better passing mark for the previous one. In response, the business manager simply asks that they watch the CCTV footage for themselves. The senior management watch in disgust as we proceed through the drinking, to the stripping, and then on to the adult activities.)

Business Manager: “How should we proceed?”

Owner: “Obviously, fire all three of them right this instant. I cant believe anyone would be so depraved as to have sex on the grill; it’s utterly disgusting. I’ll reach out to my food safety contact and lawyer to see if, and how, we can press further punishment on them. Also, I’ll see if insurance will allow for a replacement grill; that one’s been soiled permanently, in my eyes. If we have to buy a new grill outright, then so be it.”

(Ultimately, all three members of staff were fired, and they then faced further legal action in the form of a lawsuit from the owner. It concluded in them having to pay between them for the cost of the new grill, which came to around £15,000. In addition, all three were blacklisted and have lifetime bans from working in the food industry in any capacity. None of them could ever provide a satisfactory explanation as to why they actually did what they did. The closest we ever got was that they planned to just have a couple of drinks to motivate them and it got out of hand. Given the amount of alcohol on hand, we obviously didn’t accept that claim.)

Caught You Short

, , , , | Right | April 14, 2018

(I am at a coffee shop. I have quite an unusual name, which is always spelt wrong by strangers. Because of this, I decide to shorten my name to what only members of my family call me, because I don’t want to waste time spelling it to the barista. However, the shortened version of my name is quite common.)

Barista: “What’s your name?”

Me: *gives shortened version of my name*

Barista: *writes the name on the cup for my drink*

(A short while later, after I’ve been waiting for the drink…)

Barista: “[Drink] for [Shortened version of My Name]!”

Me: *stands there for a couple of seconds, then looks around* “Oh, s***! That’s me!”

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