Please Sub This Employee For Someone Competent

, , , , , | Working | June 29, 2020

I am third in line at a popular US sandwich shop. A man, [Customer #1], and a lady, [Customer #2], are in front of me. This particular place — not the chain, just this location — isn’t known for its speediness so I am very glad there isn’t a long line.

[Customer #1] orders a BMT. A new girl, [Employee #1], has to ask her manager what meats those are, but she eventually gets it.

Another employee, [Employee #2], a male in his twenties, skips [Customer #2] and asks what I want. I point to [Customer #2] and tell him to help her first. She orders two sandwiches; he gets the meat wrong on one of them and fixes it, all the time trying to get my attention and ask where I work, etc. He puts one of her sandwiches in the toaster and he starts working on mine.

[Customer #1] needs another sandwich, just a simple meatball and cheese, so the girl starts working on that. Finally, after it gets toasted, it gets moved up to in front of the veggies, but for some reason it’s not packed up and the customer just stands there waiting to pay. 

Meanwhile, [Customer #2]’s sandwich has been in the toaster way too long and is burned. She requests a replacement sandwich after the flirty guy just scrapes the charred blackness onto the sandwich. He keeps the meat and places fresh bread under the meat and tries to toast it. [Customer #2] again tells him no, that won’t work; she needs a completely new sandwich. He remakes it, messing up again on her meat order, finally gets it right, and puts hers and mine on the toaster tray.

I tell him to take mine off and he does, and then puts it back on. I tell him, “No, take mine off, and please finish both of their sandwiches before continuing to make mine.”

All this time, [Customer # 1]’s toasted meatball sandwich is still not wrapped up and is sitting — now cold — on the counter. [Customer #1] is finally able to pay and leave after new girl almost gives him one of [Customer #2]’s sandwiches.

I start thinking we’re finally getting somewhere. They start working on the veggies on mine, and [Employee #2] starts talking with the supervisor on duty who has stepped behind the till just to help the line move real quick — she was on her lunch — and he starts arguing with her on the best way to ring up [Customer #2].

That finally gets resolved while the rest of us customers stand around awkwardly and the supervisor leaves because she’s just fed up with how he was telling her off in front of everyone. When he gets to the last ingredient on my sandwich, oregano, and I’m excited to just get out of this place. The top of the container falls off and the entire contents of the jar are emptied onto my sandwich.

[Employee #2] tries to laugh it off and say, “Wasn’t that funny? I thought that was funny; don’t you think so? That’s never happened before. Jeez, that was hilarious.”

By this time, everyone in the line is rolling our eyes at each other and thinking, “Oh, my God, can this get any worse? Can you believe this?”

I go back to the beginning of the line to have my sandwich remade and I watch him carefully as he’s made at least three significant mistakes already. He doubles two of the meats on my BMT –the Sub of the Day — and it is intentional; he has no idea how much meat is supposed to be on it. But there is no way I am going to tell him otherwise at this point.

He leaves my sandwich and [Employee #1] finishes it. She does an amazing job. [Employee #2] rings me up, all the time talking about how people were giving [Employee #1] a hard time — no one was — and how she just needed to do it at her pace and she’d get it done. I was more thinking that he needed the help, not her.

Then, I notice before I pay that he’s rung me up for the full price; as the Sub of the Day, my sandwich should be almost two dollars cheaper than that. I tell him that, and he’s like, “What’s the Sub of the Day?”

It’s 7:30 pm by this time; they close in less than two hours. You’d think he would know what it was by now. But, I finally get my extra-meat sandwich for the correct price and practically run out of the shop.

It took them thirty minutes for two people to make four sandwiches correctly, and the person on her first day completed more sandwiches and they were done correctly than the “experienced” guy who was supposed to train her.

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As If Pregnancy Wasn’t Stressful Enough!

, , , , , , , , | Friendly | May 20, 2020

After a job contract is up, we’re moving back home from Honolulu to Seattle. My husband is wrapping up the last bit of work in Hawaii while I fly home with our two-and-eight-ninths kids. That is, I’m a couple of days away from being thirty-six weeks pregnant, nearing the end of the time airlines and obstetricians like pregnant women flying. I’m very excited to get back home.

But it seems like everything is working against it. Part of the highway is closed to film an episode of Hawaii 5-0. The line to check in is way longer than anticipated. And there’s a line to check that we’re not exporting exotic flora. And there’s a huge line for security. At the end of this line, I accidentally leave a carry-on bag, not realizing until I’m halfway to the gate, so I have to go back. And of course, my husband was unable to get a gate escort pass, so he can’t help.

I end up running as fast as an eight-month-pregnant woman can, pushing my two-year-old in a stroller laden with carry-on bags, dragging my four-year-old, both kids crying, my glasses slipping down my nose from sweat; it’s hot in Hawaii, and our trek includes an outdoor walkway. 

Fortunately, the plane crew knows we’ve checked in and a flight attendant is holding the door for us; they close it as soon as we’re through.

Out of breath and flushed, we make it to our seats, where the flight attendant and the passenger in the last of the four-seat middle row kindly help us stow our carry-ons and fold up the stroller. I notice the passenger’s eyes get big as he sees my obvious pregnancy bump.

“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “I still have a month to go, and my older two weren’t early. I have no labor symptoms, even after running through the airport, and I really, really want to get back to the mainland. If I start labor, I’m crossing my legs until it’s too late to turn back.” His relief is palpable!

We make it back with no new passengers arriving, and a flight attendant even helps me from our arrival gate to baggage claim where my parents meet us. I get her name and let her supervisor know.

My youngest is born three weeks later, well after my husband has rejoined us.

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Unfiltered Story #192212

, , | Unfiltered | April 17, 2020

(My mom and I are sitting down in an Indian restaurant we both enjoy. The service is good and the food is delicious. We order out food and the waiter, who is a little softspoken and Indian, makes some small talk.)

Waiter: (something I can’t hear, but my mom hears)
Mom: Oh, no. We’re not sisters. She’s my daughter.
Waiter: *looking between the both of us, completely in shock* She’s your daughter?
Mom: *giggling* Yes.
Waiter: (after a little hesitation) What is age difference?
Mom: *still giggling* 30 years. I’m 46; she’s 16.
Waiter: *still in shock* Wow. Not sisters!

(The waiter walks off, smiling yet still in disbelief. My mom and I giggle about it the rest of our meal, and the waiter still seems a little skeptical when he comes back to check on us.)

Unfiltered Story #192199

, , | Unfiltered | April 16, 2020

(It’s Black Friday, and I’m working in the women’s clothing section of a well-known department store. A woman comes to the register with a $149 coat, which is ringing up at $89.99.)

Customer: “That’s the wrong price! It’s supposed to be a Doorbuster for $28.99.”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, ma’am, this coat IS on sale, but it isn’t a Doorbuster. It’s possible it got misplaced by another customer, since it’s such a busy sale day.”

Customer: “There was a sign! It’s $28.99.”

(I offer to go check for my coworker, knowing there’s no way that coat was discounted that heavily. Sure enough, I find the $28.99 sign over a rack of sweaters, with the words ‘[Brand] Sweaters’ written in very big letters below the price. Another customer has indeed hung two random coats off the end of the rack. I remove the coats, politely point out the price and the item listed to the customer, and thank her for letting us know that something was misplaced. She marches back to the register with a sour face, and I get a manager to be safe. As we approach the register, the customer is demanding that she should still get an exception, before she sees my manager and quickly scuttles away.)

Manager: *nodding after her* “A few years ago, she used to shoplift from us. I guess she finally got a job.”

Unfiltered Story #190889

, , | Unfiltered | March 27, 2020

(We are at the States Tennis Tournament for high school sports. We are watching a boys doubles match, and the opponents, who are supposed to be brothers, don’t exactly look it. A Guy Friend decides to bring it up, and is talking quite loudly.)
Guy Friend: “They don’t look like brothers.”
Other Friend: “They’re supposed to be.”
Guy Friend: “Coach said they have different mothers and same father.”
Other Friend: “Really?”
(After a few minutes of talking, a parent we don’t know, who has been standing behind us the whole time, speaks up.)
Parent: “No, they have the same mother.”
Guy Friend: “Then same mother, different fathers?”
Parent, giggling to herself: “No, same mother, same father.”
(Everyone bursts out laughing, except my Guy Friend, who proceeds to throw our coach under the bus)