Keeping Pace With The Comments

, , , | Working | June 12, 2017

(I work in a store that has a tech counter. One day, while I’m working the register, I slip into the office to change my walkie-talkie, as mine has died. I overhear this gem between one of my managers and a tech while in there.)

Manager: *checking old records in the computer* “We can’t do anything for him. He hasn’t made a purchase here since 2013. That’s why he doesn’t have any coupons.”

Tech: “Well, can we give him a manager coupon? The guy’s about to blow his pacemaker.”

(The manager laughs so hard she almost chokes on the soda she’s sipping.)

Tech: “Seriously. I don’t want to stand too close to him; I think his blood pressure’s getting so high the mic in the walkie might just be enough to set it off.”

(I had to get back on register. I have no idea if the tech convinced her to swing a coupon.)

Replacing A Labor Coach With A Labor Couch

, , , , , , , | Working | June 10, 2017

(My husband and I are expecting our first baby. My husband’s supervisor wants to send him out of state for a week of training right after the baby is due. His supervisor calls me.)

Supervisor: “Well, I know that you’re due to have your baby soon, but I really want [Husband] to go to this week-long training session.”

Me: “Hey, you know that white couch your wife has in the living room?”

Supervisor: “Yes.”

Me: “If you send [Husband] out for that training session, when I go into labor I’m coming over to your house and having this baby on that couch.”

(My husband’s supervisor decided that he could put off the training for a while.)

Not Climbing The Stairs Of Your Career

, , , , , | Working | June 9, 2017

(We have lots of restrooms in the building; however, we only have one that you don’t have to take a short flight of stairs to get to. We usually keep it locked when there isn’t a performance to keep it clean and keep the supplies from being used up. I’m on crutches, so I ask for the key.)

Me: “Hey, boss, is it okay if I use the accessible bathroom?”

Boss: “Yeah, sure, here’s the key. Just give it back at the end of the day so you don’t have to keep asking for it. I’m not here tomorrow but [Manager who also has a key] will be and she’ll get it for you until we get you a copy made.”

Me: “Cool, thanks. I’ll get a doctor’s note with an estimate of when I’ll be off the crutches, but they’re saying about three weeks.”

Coworker: “Wait, what? Why does she get a key? I hate going up those stairs. I’m older than her and I’ve been here longer. I should be allowed to get a key, too!”

Boss: “She’s on crutches. You don’t have a physical reason, and after her ankle is better she’ll be using the upstairs bathroom like the rest of us — after her doctor okays it.”

(I leave and come back. My coworker is standing in front of the office door, fiddling with something and obviously waiting on me.)

Coworker: “Oh, hey! I’ll give the key back to [Boss]. Go on in. I’ll be there in a sec.”

Me: “Um, actually I’m keeping the key all day so I don’t have to keep asking for it.”

Coworker: “Then I’ll hold onto it for you and you can just tell me when you need it.”

Me: “That’s… not going to happen.”

Coworker: “Look, you’re young. I’m getting on up there and I don’t want to climb those stairs. Just give me the key.”

Me: “Tell you what. You tear several ligaments and tendons in your ankle and come to work anyway and then I’ll hand it over. Until then, you use the stairs like [Boss] said.”

(My coworker tried to get me written up for “insubordination” despite him being the same level of employee as me, but our boss gave him a stern talking to instead. He got fired when we caught him going through my desk, looking for my copy of the bathroom key. Of all the things to be fired over!)

Telling Them Off Is A Breath Of Fresh Air

, , , , , | Friendly | June 8, 2017

(I am shopping at our local dollar store when I come across an old lady in the cleaning aisle, spraying air freshener into the air. And it isn’t little sprays — it is massive “oh, my gosh, who was just in the bathroom!” sprays.)

Me: “Ma’am? You really shouldn’t do that.”

Old Woman: “Why? You’re not my boss!”

Me: “I know, but I’m sure there are others in this store like me who are allergic to the chemicals in those bottles.”

Old Woman: “What the h*** does that have to do with it?”

Me: “Well, let me put it this way: when I have an asthma attack and have to go to the hospital because I can’t breath, are you going to pay for my ambulance ride?”

(The old lady’s face pales. She drops the air fresheners on the ground and scampers away to the other side of the store. I go on with my shopping, holding my breath as I walk through the cloud, and grab the one thing I need from that aisle. A clerk stops me as I leave the aisle. I thought for sure the old lady reported me for something but am surprised when she smiles at me.)

Clerk: “Thank you. We’ve been trying to get her to stop for the last ten minutes but she just kept telling us to f*** off.”

You Say Tomato, I Say Death

, , , , , , | Working | June 8, 2017

(I’m in London for the weekend with a friend and we’re visiting a restaurant I always go to when I travel there. They usually have great food and good service, and are strict about allergies if you explain them when you order. I’m deathly allergic to tomatoes and go into anaphylactic shock if I eat any.)

Server: *after taking my friend’s order* “And you, miss?”

Me: “I’d like the English Breakfast platter, but can you make sure there aren’t any tomatoes or any ketchup in it? I’m extremely allergic.”

Server: *surprised* “Seriously? But ketchup is awesome!”

Me: “Sadly, yes. Could you also ask that if anything on the platter is prepared or cooked with tomatoes the chef skips that in my order? I’m fine with losing out on some stuff.”

Server: *sighs* “Fine. But we don’t comp prices if you remove things from the standard order.”

(I’m surprised by this, since they’ve done just that several times for me in the past, but I still go ahead and order and wait for the food to come.)

Server: *with food* “Enjoy your breakfasts.”

(After thanking him, we dig in. Call it paranoia and bad customer behaviour, but I always poke around in my food with a fork before eating out of fear of a tomato slipping in unnoticed.)

Me: “What the h***?!”

Friend: *alarmed* “What?”

Me: *shocked and angry* “There’s ketchup smeared on the underside of practically everything on this plate!”

(My friend, a tiny 5’ 4” woman, storms off to look for a manager while I quietly panic. One couple next to us has taken notice and asks me what’s going on. My friend comes back with a manager and the server soon after.)

Manager: *to me* “I’m very sorry for the mix up in your order, miss. We take allergies very seriously and—” *looks at my plate* “What the bloody h***, [Server]! None of our dishes looks like that, and the lady’s friend has told me she explained her allergy!” *to me* “Do I need to call for an ambulance, miss?”

Me: “No, thankfully I didn’t have any. But this is so not okay. If I’d eaten this I could have died.”

Server: *angry* “No one is allergic to ketchup! Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean you’re allergic!”

Manager: “Go to my office. Now.”

(Our food got comped and the chef came out to apologise. The server had written that I wanted ketchup on the underside of everything except the eggs, and being as accommodating as they are, complied with the request.)

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