It’s my last day in fast food before leaving for college, so I have run out of f***s to give.

Customer: “Your prices are too high!”

Me: “Well, it’s a good thing you’re talking to me, as I personally set the prices for the entire company nationwide.”

Customer: “Wait, really?”

Me: “No, sir. I’m seventeen and on minimum wage.”

Customer: “No need to be smart.”

Me: “One of us has to be.” 

Related:
Behold The Field In Which I Grow My F***s. Lay Thine Eyes Upon It And Thou Shalt See That It Is Barren

Our fast food place does kids’ meals that come with a toy. A father is getting a meal for himself and his son.

Customer: “And a kids’ meal for my son. Make sure the toy is for boys.”

Me: “Actually, the toys aren’t grouped like that. They’re all for all children.”

Customer: “So, like gender-neutral? Is this that woke s***?”

Me: “Uh… no, sir. It’s just toys.”

Customer: “Toys come for boys or for girls! If you’re selling that any-boy-can-be-a-girl s***, then we’re gonna have a problem!”

Me: “If you think Pokémon trading cards need to be assigned a gender identity, then I think you’re the one with a problem, sir.”

The customer’s kid finally looks up from playing his Nintendo; coincidentally, the game he’s playing is Pokémon.

Customer’s Son: “Dad, the Pikachu isn’t going to make me want to wear a dress. You have a hard enough time getting me to put on pants.”

The father grumbled but got his son his gender-neutral Pokémon children’s meal.

Part 1: The Broken Oven (Day Shift)

I worked at a pretzel shop, and our oven used gas to fuel the flames. The motor that powered the fans was shoddy (the entire oven had been bought used when the store was opened), and one day, it shut down on us, allowing gas to fill the store. Our manager called “Corporate” and let them know what was going on, but they wouldn’t let us close the store (we just opened the doors to “air the place out”), even though our cashiers (two girls, one of whom was pregnant) were on the verge of fainting for the entire day. Obviously, I was upset; they could use the cameras to spy on us remotely and get pissed when we had a few sodas, but they didn’t care when our employees were about to pass out.

Part 2: WTF, Man?! (Night Shift)

For some reason, our manager was so incredibly whipped that he agreed to make 1,000 pretzels for some guy after the store closed. Guess who got to do the baking all by himself when the only people walking the streets were drugged-up lunatics? If you guessed anyone other than me, you should probably seek professional help. Anyway, I knew the fans were broken, but there was no way I was leaving the door open; I’d have had to argue with all sorts of dangerous people who would have had no problem literally killing me just to take a few pretzels.

So, I baked for perhaps thirty or forty-five minutes. My eyes were burning, but I didn’t know why. I just kept baking. I’d gotten about 600 pretzels finished when there was this loud banging on the door. I was annoyed and thought it was just some idiots looking for free pretzels; if I ignored them they’d go away eventually. Then, I noticed the flashing lights.

I opened the door, and there was this firefighter yelling in my face like, “ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?!”

I was like, “Yeah?” I was just absolutely confused about the situation.

Apparently, the gas was leaking into the stores next to ours (it was a strip), and people were complaining of feeling light-headed.

They measured the atmosphere of the store and found that where I was standing, the atmosphere was 45% gas, and in the back of the store it was 65%. Yet my own blood was only 4%, which was below safe levels. (One of the firefighters threw up because of all the gas.) It took some doing, but I convinced them that I was of sound mind and did not need to be hospitalized.

I called my manager and told him what happened, and he called Corporate and told them what happened.

The next day, we had people fixing the oven.

I am doing my end-of-year review with my manager.

Manager: “Thanks for the good work this year! Your score will be a nine.”

Me: “A nine? But you just said I did everything that was asked of me, and then some!”

Manager: “Yes, and a nine is a very good score! You should be proud!”

Me: “What should I have done to get a ten, then?”

Manager: “Well, a ten is reserved for those who really go above and beyond!”

Me: “So, all those extra shifts I worked when you called me in, desperate for cover, aren’t ‘going above and beyond’?”

Manager: “You were paid for those shifts! You should appreciate the extra money!”

Me: “So, going above and beyond means I should be willing to work for free? So… slave labor?”

Manager: “That’s not what I said!”

Me: “You just implied that getting a ten means I should be happy to work the extra shifts you throw my way for free.”

Manager: “You’re twisting my words.”

Me: “I can’t wait to tell the regional manager about this new ‘slaving for a score of ten’ program you’ve got going!”

He gave me a ten. I still got paid.

I start hearing some talking on the drive-thru speaker. It’s faint at first, so I can’t hear what they are saying. I peek outside to see if there’s a car at the order box. Nope. I check all the headsets to see if one is on and “open”. Another nope. It’s quiet again, so I think nothing of it and go on about my work.

About ten minutes later, a male voice comes booming through the speaker, using very coarse language and making sexual comments. He’s loud enough to be heard in the dining room, where our Sunday after-church crowd is lunching.

Me: *To the now-silent dining room* “I apologize for the language! I’m going to take care of this as quickly as possible!”

Me: *Into the headset* “Sir! Please stop cursing; this is a family-friendly establishment! Now is there something I can help you with?”

This is met with laughter and more profanity. Looking out the window, I see them, parked in a pickup truck, CB radio in hand. They’ve somehow used it to get into our drive-thru intercom!

Me: “Sir, please leave or the police will be called.”

More laughter, more obscenities. I called the police.

A patrol car arrived and parked directly next to their truck. (I’d given the police a description and plate number in case they left before the police arrived.) The men handed over their IDs, and the officer got back in his car and moved it in front of their truck to block them in while he ran the IDs. He got out, and the driver got out. The officer patted him down and has him empty his pockets.

Another cruiser arrived as the first officer handcuffed the driver and put him in his car! The second officer approached the passenger and did the same! While [Officer #2] stayed outside with the cars, [Officer #1] came inside to inform me that both men were being arrested on unrelated warrants and would also be facing charges of disturbing the peace!