Wishing You Could Flip Them The Bird, Part 2

, , , , , | Right | April 19, 2021

My store sells ducklings and chicks during March and April and will promote them for Easter sales. It is the day before Easter when this happens.

I get to work for the closing shift and am called to the bird pen as soon as I clock in. During my time in there, I sell about a dozen chicks and the last two ducklings we have to a nice family with two small children.

Not ten minutes later, an angry-looking woman and her husband come up to the service desk and tell me someone put ducks back for them. Confused, I go to the back room to check if someone put them in the “sick chick” box to hold them. Nothing’s back there.

I head back to the customer and tell her that there are no more ducks in the store and that I am sorry for the inconvenience.

She looks at me and calls me “a f****** liar” and says, “You all promised me birds.” I simply tell her that birds are sold on a first-come, first-served basis, and again, that I’m sorry for the circumstances.

She leaves in an angry huff, exclaiming that she’ll never come back to our “h***-hole” store. 

I walk away glad that the birds are gone. Who knows what would have happened if she had gotten them?

Related:
Wishing You Could Flip Them The Bird

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I’m Punching Out Or Punching You: Pick One

, , , , , , | Right | April 4, 2021

I am a cashier at a supermarket. It’s the Saturday before Easter and we are extremely mobbed because we are going to be closed on Sunday. I have shut off the register light and pulled out my “lane closed” sign, which actually sticks out from the end of the register into the aisle, so it’s impossible not to notice it. I am scheduled to leave at five, and I am trying to get out before 5:07 because the time clock will not allow you to punch out after seven minutes past your shift end. After that, you have to find a manager to authorize your punch with a card.

This yuppie jerk comes to my register, goes around the “closed” sign, and plops his two items on the conveyor.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, I’m closed.”

Customer: *Snarky* “You can’t just take two items?

Well, I could, but I’m not about to now, with that attitude.

Me: “No, I have to punch out now.”

Customer: “Well, what do you propose that I do?”

He asks this with that same arrogant, b****y tone.

Me: “May I suggest you take your items to the customer service counter? They take small orders when it’s busy.”

He left in a huff. I punched out with not a minute to spare, and when I left, I saw him standing angrily in a long line at customer service and laughed all the way home. I won’t deny it; it felt great. 

All I could think was, “Dude, if you had just been nice instead of acting like a jerk, I would have taken your items and you’d be out of here.”

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“April Fools!” Is Rarely Music To Anyone’s Ears

, , , , , | Learning | April 1, 2021

I am eight years old. Our music teacher seems like a nice woman until, in one class, she tells us we are to memorise the lyrics for six songs by next week, word for word. As we’re eight, our class is afraid to protest. During the week, we are all terrified, and my parents agree that the teacher is requiring too much. However, it being a different time and place, merely a few years after my country has become independent from the Soviet Union, people simply are not used to challenging authority.

The dreaded day comes. The teacher hands out empty papers and assigns us to write the exact lyrics to one of the songs. We are all quietly panicking, but we start writing down the lyrics as well as we can. She tells us to hand the papers over and that she’ll return them after lunch. It is a long and scary lunch break, but finally, it ends. She enters the classroom with our tests.

During that horrible week, no one has paid attention to the date. The first of April. She has not corrected or graded anything, only written, “April Fools!” on every test.

Painfully, I see later that I actually managed to write down the exact lyrics, word for word. The fact that she did not even bother to give us all As for effort really bothers me.

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That’s The Wrong Aunts-er

, , , , | Right | April 1, 2021

I am a supervisor in a store; on this particular day, I am acting as manager. I am serving a customer and have a couple of others in my queue when a woman bypasses the queue, standing directly in front of my register. Customers often do this if they have a question that can be easily answered.

Me: *To the woman* “Are you waiting to ask a question?”

Customer: “I need you to show me where [item] is.”

Me: “I am sorry, but I am serving here. If you would like help, you can join the queue or find another team member on the shop floor.”

Customer: *Sighs dramatically.* “I am [Other Supervisor]’s Aunt.” 

Me: “Sorry, but she’s not in today.”

She responds with more emphasis, glaring at the customer I am serving.

Customer: “I need you to get me [item]. I am [Other Supervisor]’s aunt.” 

Me: “Yes, so you said. Now, please, get on the end of the queue.”

Just then, an associate comes into view.

Me: “Better still, just go and see that lady there.”

She finally walks off, and my customer gives me a look of pity. I finish serving her and start on the next customer, and then the phone rings. It’s my manager, sounding furious. I get another associate to take over my sales so I can find out what is wrong.

Manager: “What the h*** is going on there? I just got a call from [Other Supervisor] telling me that her mother just called her to say that the doors are locked and she’s standing outside trying to get in.”

Me: “What? The doors are wide open. I am looking at them right now and am trying to serve a line of customers.”

This manager always takes her word over mine.

Manager: “That’s not what [Other Supervisor] said, her mother is locked out.”

Me: “It’s the truth, [Other Supervisor]’s aunt is in the store right now; she’s been trying to make me be her personal shopper because she’s her aunt.”

Manager: “Well, I am going to call [Other Supervisor] back to find out what is going on, and if I have to come in to find out you are lying to me, there will be h*** to pay.”

Me: *Absolutely fuming* “I am not lying; the door has not been closed at all today.”

This can be proven by all the security cameras. A few minutes later, the manager rings back.

Manager: “Uh, I spoke to [Other Supervisor]. Apparently, it was an April Fool’s joke.”

Me: “Really?!”

Manager: “Are you okay?”

Me: “No, I’m f****** fuming! I’ve got customers to serve. I’m hanging up now.”

The next day, the other supervisor is laughing about how funny it was that her aunt was in the store when she pulled her April Fool’s joke.

Me: “Well, thanks, but I didn’t find it funny, especially when [Manager] was abusing me and accusing me of lying!”

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A Different Kind Of Curse Of The Irish

, , , , , | Right | March 17, 2021

It is Saint Patrick’s Day, which falls on a Sunday this year. I just throw on my uniform and run to work as a cashier, not really remembering about the holiday. We wear khaki pants and a navy blue polo shirt with the company logo on it, so no green. No one really says anything except a couple of customers who make jokes about it, until this one lady comes through my line; she is totally normal until the end of the transaction.

Me: “Your total is [amount]; cash or card?”

She turns to the bagger, who is a minor, so his badge is a different color than mine, which happens to be green.

Customer: *Very intensely* “Are you wearing green?!”

The bagger points to his badge and smiles.

Bagger: “Yes, ma’am.”

The customer turns to me.

Customer: “What about you?!”

I laugh politely.

Me: “No, ma’am, I forgot about it this morning.”

Customer: “Well, then, you need to be pinched.”

She reaches across the register making a pinching motion. It takes a moment for the fact that she isn’t joking to register. By this time, we have completed the transaction and I have her receipt in my hand to give to her.

Me: “Haha…”

I realize that she is dead serious and it doesn’t seem like she wants to play; from her motions, she wants to take a piece out of my arm.

Customer: “You have to be pinched!”

I back away, wondering what I have gotten into.

Customer: *To her husband* “Pinch her! She isn’t wearing green!”

He is a little closer to me, getting their groceries. He sighs like this isn’t the first time and just tells her to let it go.

Me: *More serious now* “Ma’am, I will give you your receipt but do not pinch me.”

I hand it to her by the edge, keeping as much distance as possible between us. She leaves, yelling about the fact that I need to be pinched. I half expect her to run back in and tackle me. The poor sixteen-year-old bagger has been standing there with a WTF face the entire time, holding his badge in front of himself like a shield.

Me: *Heavy sigh* “Welcome to retail, where customers forget we are people, too, and might not want to be pinched by a stranger.”

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