They Slipped On The Gauges

, , , , | Working | November 1, 2017

(I work in quality control. Part of my role is to manage the calibrated equipment we need to measure the parts we make. Some of it can be shockingly expensive due to how accurate it is; add to this the cost of having it calibrated every year by a laboratory and the cost can really stack up. When someone from maintenance maintenance needs to borrow a set of slip gauges, small metal blocks, I am reluctant, but my boss overrides me and makes me give them to him. I am still worried, so I chase him up at the end of the day.)

Me: “Hey, have you finished with those slip gauges?”

Maintenance: “What? No, we’re still using them.”

Me: “Well, when will you finish with them? I need to make sure they get returned.”

Maintenance: “I don’t know, a week or two.”

Me: “What? We need them in inspection. Why do you need them for so long?”

Maintenance: “They’re keeping the machine level!”

(I made him show me; he had wedged several of the slips under a tonne of machinery. These little blocks cost between £30 and £120 each and are only ever supposed to be handled with gloves. He and my boss both got reprimanded, and the site had to buy them all again, and then pay again for calibration.)

Always Looking For That Perfect Date

, , , , | Right | November 1, 2017

(Due to a shortage of staff, someone from another department is helping out with produce. I only started a few months ago. My coworker’s refilling shelves while I mark down products. It’s about 10:00 am.)

Coworker: “So, do you like working here?”

Me: “It’s okay. Some customers standards are too high, though.”

Coworker: “What do you mean?”

(With perfect timing, a customer approaches the shelf my coworker is refilling, looking at the dates.)

Customer: “Do you have any fresher? Better dates?”

(My coworker desperately looks to me. I look and see these are the trays we received this morning. The date is four days away.)

Me: “That’s the freshest we have, ma’am.”

Customer: “What about in the back?”

Me: “My colleague here is putting out the stock from the back. These came in this morning, at 8:00 am.”

Customer: “Well, when is your next delivery?”

Me: “I think around 4:00 pm? I’m not sure; I only work mornings. They’ll have the same date on them, though.”

(The customer leaves without taking any of the fruit, talking loudly about how she wanted to make fruit salad “for tonight.” My coworker looks at me, gob-smacked.)

Me: “That’s what I mean.”

Stripped Of The Relevant Training

, , , , , | Working | October 30, 2017

(I am 17. I have left home and am broke, so I lie about my age to get a job in a nightclub. I am a month away from being 18, so I don’t feel too bad. There are no checks and screenings by a lot of places at this point in time. However, I am THE most naive young woman. I know nothing about how the world works in reality, and I find myself working in a nightclub that has seven different rooms and bars, all with different themes. I’ve never even been to a pub or bar socially before this night. I am assigned to [Bar #1], which is pretty normal, and most of the customers seem to be okay. I mess up quite a few drinks, but it is laughed off when I tell the customers it’s my first night. I am doing okay, I think, and even manage to navigate my way around the multi- and split-level corridors to get to the bathrooms and back. The place is a total warren. And then:)

Supervisor: *shouts over the music* “[My Name]! Go to [Bar #7]! They need a barmaid!”

Me: *shouts over the music* “Where’s [Bar #7]?”

Supervisor: *shouts over the music* “Downstairs! Ask someone on the way!”

(So off I trot, trying to find my way to [Bar #7], asking various customers and staff along the way. Whenever I ask for directions, however, I get comments like, “You don’t want to be going there, love,” or, “Why the h*** are they putting YOU there?” or, “Who the bloody h*** told YOU to go to [Bar #7]?” and so on. But nobody will tell me why I shouldn’t go there, so I get stubborn and carry on. When I finally find [Bar #7], 20 minutes later, I drag the door open, only to be blasted with deafening music – much louder than upstairs. I walk to the bar, and look at the shocked face of the barman there.)

Me: *angry now* “What on earth is the matter with everyone? Why shouldn’t I be here?”

(My new colleague just spluttered and pointed at the stage, going beetroot red in the face. I turned around just as a woman on stage was removing her last piece of clothing with a “TA-DAAA!” gesture. She posed there, stark naked, to rapturous applause from the 200 men watching her. The lights went down, she dashed off the stage, and all 200 men turned to face naive little me at the bar, who was standing there with her bottom jaw resting on the top of her prim little lace-up shoes. I was the only female in the room after a full-on strip show. Gulp. It actually didn’t turn out too badly. I think most of them saw me as a substitute daughter, while the rest were so embarrassed to be caught watching a stripper by a very shocked young woman that they left [Bar #7] in quite a hurry and bought drinks elsewhere.)

No Rewards For Your Loyalty

, , , , , , | Working | October 30, 2017

(I’ve had the local cinema’s loyalty card for a few years and, having had some rough times and low funds of late, I decide to treat myself and use what points I have left to ‘purchase’ a ticket for a special anniversary showing of a trilogy of films that I’ve always loved. I book online and, because my points cover the cost of the ticket, I am not required to provide any further payment information. The email confirmation says I can use my loyalty card to collect my tickets at the till.)

Me: *holds out loyalty card* “Hey. I’m picking up a ticket for [Films].”

Worker: *looks at the card but makes no move to take it* “I can’t use that. I need the card you paid with.”

Me: “I didn’t use a card. I used my points, so you should be able to find it through my account.”

Worker: *still not moving* “You don’t get it; I can’t look it up with your account. I need the card you used to pay for your ticket.”

Me: “I didn’t pay anything.”

Worker: “Yeah, right. Tickets aren’t free, and I need the card you booked with or you’re not getting your ticket.”

Me: *starting to get frustrated*This is the card I booked with. Because I used my loyalty points!”

Worker: “Ma’am, at some point in the transaction, you had to put in your card details and—”

Me: “No, I didn’t! I didn’t have anything I needed to pay. I wasn’t asked to put in my card information, and the email said I could use my loyalty card to collect!”

Worker: “Look, I can’t do anything. I can maybe sell you a new ticket.”

Me: “Is there somebody else I can speak to?”

Worker: “There’s no point. Nobody here can do anything for you if you don’t have your card.”

Me: “Listen here. Either you are lying or misinformed and I can collect with my loyalty card, or the email telling me as such is wrong, and I wish to complain to someone who can do something about it. Either way, I need you to get someone here to talk with me about this right now, because I refuse to miss any of my film over this.”

(A supervisor comes over and apparently the employee has “warned her” about me.)

Supervisor: “Ma’am, I understand your frustration, but if you don’t have the card you paid on, we cannot print off your tickets. We can, however, sell you a new ticket and give you our company’s customer service number so you can get your original ticket refunded.”

Me: *glaring daggers at them both* “I am telling you, as I told him. I. Didn’t. Pay. By. Card. I used the points on my [Cinema] loyalty account, and the email told me I could use my loyalty card to collect my ticket. I wasn’t asked to give any card details.”

Supervisor: *looks at me briefly before turning to the worker* “If she paid with her points, the tickets will show up when you swipe the card.”

Worker: “But she doesn’t have her card!”

(The supervisor rolled her eyes, took the loyalty card I was still holding out, and printed off my ticket with an apology. She was still trying to explain it to him when I walked away.)

One More Round Of Rudeness

, , , , , | Right | October 28, 2017

(I am at my sister’s wedding and the venue has done a really good job. Everyone has had a great time and most of us are pretty drunk. There’s only a few still left at the end of the night, including my siblings, my dad, and me. The staff are just starting to tidy up, as the party has wound down and it’s late. My dad decides to try and get a last round of drinks in before we all go to bed. Unfortunately, he can be more than a little rude when he doesn’t get what he wants.)

Dad: “Hi, can I get three beers, three gin and tonics, and four whiskeys?”

Bar Staff: “I’m sorry, sir; we’ve closed out the register for the night. We can’t sell anymore.”

Dad: “Don’t give me that! We’ve all spent a huge amount of money at this wedding today, and all we’re asking for is one last round.”

Bar Staff: “I understand, but the register is now shut down for the night, the money has been taken out, and the credit card reader has been shut down for the day’s business.”

Me: “It’s okay, bud; we understand.”

Dad: “No! It’s not okay! I’m asking politely—” *he’s not* “—for another round, after we’ve spent all this money today, feeding their wages.”

Me: “Dad, they’ve closed the register for the day, which means they physically can’t sell anymore until they open it again tomorrow. It keeps the day’s takings straight and separates business days. See?”

Dad: “I don’t care about any of that. We’ve spent so much money!”

(This goes round and round a few times. The bar manager gets involved and the whole exchange repeats itself. Eventually my dad decides to stagger off to bed.)

Dad: “I’m going to see that you get a bad review on [Video Website]. Yeah, you’ll get a bad review on [Video Website].”

(I think he meant [Review Website].)

Me: “Sorry about that, guys. Don’t listen to him; he’s pretty drunk. Listen, you guys did a great job. Everybody had a great time and you didn’t miss a beat. So, thank you!”

Bar Manager: “Thanks for saying that. We’re not allowed to sell anymore, so how about a round on the house?”

(It pays to be nice!)

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