Customers Bring Spill-Tidings

, , , , | | Right | May 29, 2018

(The store that I work in sells giant fountain drinks. I’m walking down a narrow aisle, putting things away, when I come across a big puddle of soda. I stand right in front of the puddle to guard it and call someone to bring paper towel, as I’m required to. As I do so, someone tries to shove their cart by me. I turn around to see a man scowling at me.)

Man: “Excuse me!”

Me: *caught off-guard by his rudeness* “Uh… I can’t move from here.”

(The man gives me an incredulous look.)

Me: “I’m guarding this spill.”

(The spill behind me is an entire large drink, and is very obvious.)

Man: “Well, I guess I’ll just go around you.”

(He then shoved his cart forward, effectively pushing me to the side and driving his cart right through the spill, with his family behind him, creating a trail of soda down the aisle and around the way, all instead of just going a few steps back the other direction. His little kid at least had the decency to look embarrassed.)

Rat Chance At Redemption

, , , , , , , | Working | May 16, 2018

(I work in a big-box pet store in the pet care department, meaning I do customer service for people interested in buying the fish, reptiles, birds, and small mammals we sell, and I also take care of those animals. I love all animals, and it’s well-known among my coworkers and managers. I particularly enjoy taking care of the rats. Unfortunately, our suppliers keep and ship them in dreadful conditions, and some animals don’t do too well, obviously. Even more unfortunately, one of our new managers has taken it upon herself to micromanage the animal care, but has no experience in this area. She therefore makes mistakes like not turning away shipments of animals that have skin conditions or other serious health issues. Then, she has the nerve to blame employees for not curing them. She particularly hates me for some reason, even though we both adore rats. One new shipment has a rat that is particularly aggressive. Even after acclimating it, it snarls and tries to bite any human who approaches it. I try to steer clear of it because [Manager] insists that it’s just temperamental and won’t send it back or isolate it. One morning, I open the cage to give the rats food, and the evil rat RUSHES at the door, LEAPS out, and bites my finger hard. I wince as I scoop the rat back up with my non-bleeding hand and put it back in the cage, then go to get cleaned up. My finger is completely sliced open. Of course, the first aid kit is in the manager’s office.)

Manager: *immediately chewing me out* “What were you doing to the rat that it did that to you?”

Me: “I just opened the cage, and it rushed toward me before I could react.”

Manager: “Nonsense. Rats are sweet creatures. You did something wrong. That’s it. I don’t want you near the rats anymore. You’re forbidden from interacting with them.”

(I’m offended, and still bleeding, but gently remind her that I am the only person working in the department that morning and still need to give the rats fresh water and potentially show one to a customer.)

Manager: “They’ll be fine without fresh water until [Coworker] comes in. If a customer wants to buy a rat, come get me.”

(Sighing, I went back to work while nursing my finger. An hour or so later, a family came in, and guess what they wanted to buy? I alerted the manager and accompanied them to the rat cages. [Manager] was going on and on about how gentle and sweet rats are and what great pets they are for children. She opened the cage to retrieve an adorable gray one for the customer to pet; of course, it was the evil rat, who did not take kindly to the family’s cooing and promptly chomped down on [Manager]’s finger. She gasped, turned to look at me, and turned red with fury. The family decided a rat was not a good pet for them. [Manager] was eventually transferred to another store, although she never bothered me again for the remainder of her time at our store.)

Being Hell-pful

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 29, 2018

(I bike around my city, which is fairly bike-friendly, and thankfully, a mixed-use trail and bike lanes connect my workplace, home, and dance studio. I’m leaving the dance studio one evening when I realize I’ve got a flat. I’ve just pumped the tires so I realize there must be a puncture, and resign myself to walking the bike home on the mixed-use trail. I decide to take the opportunity to call my mom. About halfway home, a middle-aged man and a young teenage boy ride past me. Suddenly, the man stops and bikes back to me.)

Middle-Aged Man: “Do you need help?”

Me: “No, thanks.” *returns to my conversation*

Middle-Aged Man: *interrupting me* “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes, thanks.”

(He rides off and returns to the boy, who abruptly starts pedaling back to me and bellows:)

Boy: “HEY! He was just trying to be nice!”

(I ignore them but start to feel nervous. They begin idling about the trail, staring at me; I can’t get home without passing them. I whisper into the phone what’s happening and ask that my mom stay on the phone with me. Another cyclist passes me and stops at the crosswalk ahead, so I feel better about continuing onward. As soon as I approach them, the man asks me AGAIN if I need help. I shake my head and continue talking to my mom.)

Middle-Aged Man: “Okay, I’m just trying to help,”

(He says this loudly enough that I can’t hear my mom, and starts following me. I’m not sure how else to hint, so I say:)

Me: “Please leave me be.”

(They continue to follow me down the trail to the crosswalk, and I hear the kid whisper:)

Boy: “She’s got a flat.”

(I wonder to myself why they offered help if they have just now noticed this; walking a bike while you’re on the phone isn’t unusual.)

Middle-Aged Man: “Sure you don’t need help?”

Me: “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

(I say this pointedly, making eye contact with the other cyclist, who doesn’t seem to catch my silent plea for help. The light turns, and she carries on as I sadly watch her leave me alone with them. The man and boy initially take off, and I pull my pocket knife from my bag and rest it on the handlebars. But, sure enough, they pedal back to me a few minutes later and start CIRCLING me like sharks.)

Middle-Aged Man: *with somewhat of a salivating grin* “I’ve got a pump in my bag you can use.”

(I’m feeling totally creeped out, and I am realizing that they are just going to keep bothering me. I’m still on the phone, but I interrupt my mom to tell them:)

Me: “I told you I don’t need help. The police station is right up the street. I will call them right now if you don’t leave me alone.”

Boy: “God, we were just trying to help!

(They pedalled away, finally for good, apparently realizing the proximity of the police station. Five minutes later, I was very, very relieved to get home, and found it ironic that I did start feeling like I needed help, because I was being harassed by people who would not accept that I didn’t need their help.)

Got Their Insults All Lined Up

, , , , | Right | March 13, 2018

(I am working at the service desk, which is not within sight of the registers, when an older man stomps up to me.)

Customer: *loudly* “Excuse me. Can you count past two?”

Me: *caught off guard* “Wha—”

Customer: “You must not be able to, or maybe you didn’t notice that there’s only two registers open!”

Me: “Sir, there’s no reason to insult my intelligence. I haven’t been on the front; I have nothing to do with there only being two registers open—”

Customer: *cutting me off* “You’re insulting my intelligence, making me stand in line!” *stomps off*

They Need A Diet Coke Break, Break

, , , , , | Right | January 24, 2018

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Restaurant]. What can I get you to drink?”

Customer: “Can I get a diet Coke with extra caffeine?”

Me: “You want me to put extra caffeine in your diet Coke?”

(The customer looks at me as if I’m an idiot.)

Customer: “Yes! Just put the extra caffeine in my drink!”

(I ended up just giving her a regular diet coke.)

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