¡Yo No Trabajo Aquí!

, , | Right | September 18, 2017

(I’m standing in line at a popular fast-food joint, in no way looking like a worker. I’m wearing capris, a t-shirt, and sneakers. I’m also fifteen, though I look like I’m twelve. Needless to say, I’m also standing on the side of the counter where the food is ordered, not where the workers are. A customer approaches me and begins to rattle off a long, complex order.)

Customer: “Did you get all that?”

Me: *doesn’t realize she was speaking to me* “Uh… no?”

Customer: “DIDN’T YOU PAY ATTENTION?! I’M TALKING TO YOUR MANAGER FOR TERRIBLE CUSTOMER SERVICE!”

Me: “I don’t work here.”

Customer: *pause* “…get me your supervisor.”

Me: “I don’t think you understand; I’m a customer, not a worker.”

Customer: “I need to talk to your manager. If they hire Mexican children, they should at least speak English!”

Me: “I don’t think you understand English. I. Don’t. Work. Here.” *at this point, I’ve given up being polite*

Customer: “Oh… I’m sorry.”

Me: “It’s cool.”

Customer: “So… can I get a burger?”

You’ll Pay (Twice) For That!

, , , , | Right | September 15, 2017

(It’s a busy lunch and I am the only manager in the store. A customer comes in from the drive-thru with a messed-up order. One of my crew members steps over to help him. She re-rings in the missing food so the grill team knows to make it, and hands the customer his receipt with a zero balance and his order number on it.)

Crew #1: “Your order number is 260. I’ll have it up for you in just a minute.” *she gets the food and hands it to him, telling him to have a nice day*

Customer: *to another crew person who just came up front* “Why are you charging me?”

Crew #2: *thinking he is joking, because we have several regulars who play around like this frequently* “We can’t just give out food for free.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous. Why are you charging me? I want to speak to the manager.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. What is the problem?”

Customer: “I came through the drive through and you forgot half my order. Now you’re charging me. This is going to cost me more in credit card fees than the food is worth. I shouldn’t have to pay twice.”

Me: “You didn’t pay twice. Your food is right here. I’m sorry for the mix up.”

Customer: “I weigh 240 pounds! One sandwich isn’t going to last me all day. You can’t charge me twice! I don’t mean to be rude, but this is ridiculous.”

Me: “Sir, I’m not really sure what the problem is. I’m sorry we missed some of your order, but it’s right here now. No one is charging you again.”

Customer: “I shouldn’t have to pay again; this is insane.”

Me: “I’m sorry. I don’t understand the problem.”

Customer: “That girl told me I owed her $2.60.”

Me: “No. She told you your customer order was 260. It’s how we make sure each customer gets the right order.”

Customer: “Then why did she give me a receipt?”

Me: “So you would know your order number?”

Customer: “Oh. Sorry.”

Labelled As Dysfunctional

, , , , , , | Working | September 15, 2017

(The company I currently work for does this thing where employees can transfer to neighboring restaurants of the same company to work for a couple of days, even weeks. My general manager decides to transfer me to the one downtown. That restaurant is rumored to be the most dysfunctional yet, and I don’t want to take it straight from the horse’s mouth until I’ve actually experienced it. That day, I am completely clueless, because I’ve never worked the breakfast shift. Most people there are understanding; however, this cook from a different county isn’t taking any bulls*** from me.)

Cook: *throws sandwich on heat chute* “Here you go.”

Me: *looks at unmarked sandwich* “What’s this?”

Cook: *condescendingly* “Aren’t you supposed to know what it is, since you rang it up?”

Me: *speechless, packs food instead*

(This pattern continues well into the beginning of lunch. The cook makes a particular, well-known sandwich, with some adjustments, and just tosses it on the heat chute. And, not to my surprise, it isn’t labeled.)

Me: *waves sandwich at the cook* “What’s this?”

Cook: *sarcastically* “A dead cow between two burger buns, that we call a burger. But in [Restaurant] we call it [Burger].”

Me: *losing patience* “I know that, but we have at least 12 of these [Burgers] spoken for in the last 20 minutes, and I need to know which is which.”

Cook: *irate* “B****, CAN’T YOU READ?!”

Me: *finally fed up* “B****, CAN’T YOU LABEL S***?!”

(All is quiet, followed by a couple of “ohhs” from employees and customers nearby. I toss the burger back at the cook for her to see the unmarked wrapper.)

Cook: “I… um…”

Me: “Is this for drive-thru, front counter, or what? Because we are not f****** mind-readers.”

Cook: *huffs and walks away*

(I didn’t hear another word from her after the confrontation, but at least I found out why everything there was dysfunctional. This restaurant kept bringing in crazy people from other stores to work for them. Needless to say, when the manager asked me to come in the next day, I had no trouble telling them to f*** off.)

Liquid Karma

, , , , , | Right | September 15, 2017

(We are allowed to say something to a guest if they litter in our drive through, especially if it’s at the window.)

Customer: *dumps can of drink out at my window*

Me: *hands him his change, and some coins fall on the ground*  “Sorry about that, some of them will be wet because people rudely pour their drinks out in my drive through.”

Customer: “Uh, oh, sorry about that.”

Fast Food To Swear By

, , , , | Working | September 14, 2017

(I stop into a large-chain barbecue chicken place one night to get a lazy dinner. It isn’t long before closing, and the staff are obviously loosening up, anticipating the end of the shift, and the chatter from the kitchen staff is a little more… “colourful” than I would have expected.)

Server: “Here’s your food. Have a great night.”

Me: “Thanks.” *I turn to go, pause, then turn back.* “Just for future reference, you might want to mention to your coworkers that they probably shouldn’t use the phrase ‘f****** c***’ loudly enough for customers to hear.”

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