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Nice Work Keeping Your Kid Safe!

, , , , , | Right | CREDIT: eapentz | May 21, 2022

My friend and I have a high-end wallpaper business. I quit my job as a speech therapist to start this crazy endeavor with her. We hang wallpaper in the craziest houses in my city — NFL, NBA legends, those types of places. They have all been so nice and respectful. I mean, they hired me to do what only I can do. It’s the everyday people with a ton of money that seem to be the most entitled.

I’m hanging Phillip Jeffries wallpaper in a 9,900-square-foot place. I’m up on scaffolding, hanging a ceiling, while the customer’s kid runs around like a maniac. This isn’t ideal for either myself or the kid; I have blades in my hand that sometimes drop, as well as other materials that could injure him or make him sick if consumed. I’ve consistently mentioned this to the customer, but it falls on deaf ears.

I call my friend, the hanger that recruited me in the first place. She shows up immediately because she especially has no tolerance for this nonsense, and she acts as though she came to assist me.

Twenty minutes in:

Friend: “[Customer], your kid can’t continue running around like this; it’s endangering everyone.”

The customer just brushes it off. My friend tries again, and the customer blows her off again.

So, my friend gets down and starts packing her tools.

Friend: “I won’t continue working and endangering us and your child.”

Customer: “But I have $40,000 worth of wallpaper here!”

Friend: “You’d better start hanging, then.”

We left.

Was it a good job? Yes, but we are booked months out, so it won’t hurt us. Self-respect is more important than money ever will be.

Mental Rental

, , , , , , | Right | May 19, 2022

I make the decision to move across the country temporarily to look after a very ill family member. It’s likely to be for at least six months, probably longer.

Rather than sell my flat, I put it up for rent and let an agency manage the day-to-day. Luckily, it gets let very quickly, the monthly rent is secure, and I don’t have to worry about it. The tenants are made aware that it’s a six-month deal with a slim chance of extension. They are given six months’ notice as they sign up.

It’s not long before I get requests from the tenants through the agency about the flat. Can they hang up pictures, can they paint this wall, can they put the tumble dryer somewhere else?

I flat-out say no. It’s a short-term let. I’m not having someone redecorate my flat.

Nearly six months pass. Things aren’t going well with the family member, yet I have to make the trip back to my home city for an inspection of the flat before signing the existing tenants for another six months.

When I get inside, it’s clear that they have ignored every declination. Everything I said no to has been done, and more: rooms are painted, appliances and furniture are missing, and there’s damage in the strangest places.

I’m horrified. I’ve been through a lot this year; I don’t need this, as well.

Me: “What the h*** happened here?”

Tenant: “What do you mean?”

Me: “My flat — why have you decorated it?!”

Tenant: “It’s only paint. I think it looks better.”

Me: “Where the h*** is my furniture? Where is the tumble dryer?”

Tenant: “Chill out, it’s safe. It’s in storage.”

Me: “What storage?!”

Tenant: “The basement storage.”

Me: “I don’t own any storage! It’s probably been thrown out by now.”

Tenant: “Just chill out. I’ll get another one.”

Me: “Yeah, you will, or I’m kicking you out.”

He goes on and on about his “rights”. It only takes a quick phone call to the agency for them to explain he is way out of order and detail just how many times and in how many ways they explicitly told him not to do this.

Tenant: “Well, what now, then?”

Me: “I don’t renew your term, I kick you out, and your deposit goes partway to fixing everything you ruined.”

Tenant: “What? But I don’t have anywhere to go!”

Me: “And?”

Tenant: “What if I fix it?”

Me: “Fix it? The whole flat. In two weeks? I don’t think so.”

Tenant: “Come on. My mate is a decorator. I’ll put it right.”

I should say no, but I am tired and emotional.

Me: “Just paint the walls magnolia. The damage gets repaired professionally by my guy. You replace my property.”

Tenant: “No worries. I’ll get it done.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I got a call from the tenant telling me he had decided not to seek an extra six months at the flat. When I got back the keys, I found that he had made a half-a**ed attempt at painting the walls and repairing some of the damage.

He left a broken tumble dryer and didn’t replace the furniture. He had the cheek to try to get back his deposit, which was unsuccessful.

The flat sat empty for another five months as I still couldn’t afford to get it back to a good standard.

Never again.

He Sucks At Math But At Least He Doesn’t Have A Screw Loose

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: elder65 | May 8, 2022

I work part-time in tools and hardware at a big box hardware/home DIY store.

Guy: “I need five-sixteenth-inch screws.”

Me: “Screws, lag screws, or bolts?”

Guy: “Screws. I’m putting new hinges on a door and a quarter-inch is too big, so I need five-sixteenth-inch.”

Me: “Uh, five-sixteenths is larger than a quarter by a sixteenth of an inch. A quarter-inch is four-sixteenths.”

Guy: “No, it’s not. I need screws to fit these hinges.”

He takes a hinge out of his pocket and shows it to me.

Me: “Yeah, you need a #14 flathead screw for that. Come with me.”

I take him to the screws aisle and get a #14 screw and drop it in the hole in the hinge. It’s a perfect fit.

Guy: “Yeah, that’s it. Are these five-sixteenth screws?”

Me: “They’re #14 screws; let’s leave it at that. Now, how many do you need?”

Have You Tried, Uh… Not Doing That?

, , | Right | April 30, 2022

I recently heard this on the job:

Employee: “I don’t understand. I’ve cut this plywood twice and it’s still too short!”

Not Getting Sucked Into That Game

, , , , , | Right | CREDIT: Billiam201 | March 28, 2022

I work for a major railroad in the northeastern US, and we’ve had some storms lately.

We need some thirty-amp sockets that we have run out of (because we don’t usually keep hurricane-level amounts of parts on hand), so I go to my local big box hardware stores, buying as many of these as we can get our hands on.

Unfortunately, many people are cleaning up after these storms and need these parts, too, so I am having a devil of a time finding them.

Because I work for a railroad, I have to be qualified to go near railroad tracks, and I have a badge that shows I can do this. This badge is safety orange. One of the hardware retailers is known for safety orange. It should be noted that this badge has a railroad logo on it, but I’m sure you can see where this is going.

I visit my fifth hardware store of the day, and I start looking in the aisle where they usually keep these. I find the area, and it is DESTROYED. It looks like a gorilla was looking for wall outlets. I check their stock on my phone — it says they have twelve of the sockets I need — and I start looking.

After a minute or so of digging around, I hear someone clearing their throat loudly behind me. I ignore it.

Woman: “A-hem! Excuse me!”

I ignore it again.

Still digging in the shelves, I find an unopened box of thirty-amp four-wire sockets. PAYDIRT! I’ve been buried up to my waist in dusty shelves looking for these, so I pull myself out with a box of sockets looking like I just wrestled a badger. I come face to face with the woman.

Woman: “So, are you deaf or just plain stupid?”

Now, I’m pretty low on f***s to give on a good day due to a congenital malformation of my f*** gland, but today I am completely out. My f***s are so low that they are in danger of collapsing in on themselves and creating a stable negative-f*** event that Stephen Hawking could only dream about. A f***ularity, if you will. So, with all the sass I can muster, I reply.

Me: “Neither, ma’am, I just don’t give a s*** about what you have to say.”

Woman: “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?!”

Me: “I don’t give a s***.”

Woman: “Where’s your manager? I hope you enjoyed your last day working here! You’re done!”

Me: “I don’t work here. It’s why I couldn’t care less about you or your opinion.”

Woman: “Of course you do! Why else would you be wearing an employee badge?”

Me: “Employees here wear aprons, not badges.”

Woman: “But it’s orange.”

Me: “Yup. Bye.”

Woman: “You’re not going anywhere until I talk to your manager!”

And she stretches her hands out for my badge.

Me: “You need to think really hard about what you do next. Any part of you that touches me is going to be broken. I already told you I don’t work here. I’m leaving. Find someone else to b**** to; I’m not interested.”

Now admittedly, this is beyond the pale, but as I said, I am tired and irritated from a stretch of long, back-breaking days, this is my fifth store today, and now I have to go and START work. I do feel bad for how I talked to her as I walk away. I find a few other things I need and head up to pay.

As I’m up at the customer service desk trying to ring up a tax-free sale on this stuff, I hear the shriek of the woman.

Woman: “That’s him! I’m not leaving here until he’s fired!

A woman with a kind but exasperated face comes walking up to me.

Manager: “Listen, I’m the manager on duty. This woman is in here all the time, and she’s a huge pain in my butt, so I’m sure that she’s completely full of crap. But she says you pushed her over, called her a bunch of names, and threatened her.”

Me: “Literally none of that happened. I told her that if she touched me, she was going to regret it, and that was that.”

Manager: “I thought so. I’m going to make a big show of ‘firing’ you, and we can both be done with her.”

Me: “Nope. I’m not dealing with her. She acts like a self-entitled hag because you bend over backward for her every time she throws a tantrum. You do what you want. I’m not playing.”

The woman was standing behind her sputtering like a lawnmower engine when I said that, but I didn’t hear what happened after that. The cashier winked at me and handed me my receipt, and I left.