We Hope He Means Pizza Lover

, , , , | Romantic | February 8, 2020

(I work as a hostess at a local pizza joint in my hometown. It is a really busy night, the house is packed, and I am pretty tired from working a double today and yesterday. I am stretching my back out behind the hostess’ counter when an elderly gentleman comes up to pay for his family’s dinner.)

Older Guy: “You know, I could probably fix that for you.”

Me: “Oh, my back? Are you a chiropractor or something?”

Older Guy: *just as his wife walks up behind him* “No… just a really good lover.”

(Cue me laughing awkwardly and then taking a pile of dirty dishes from a coworker so I could scurry off to the back.)

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An Act Of Wonton Violence

, , , , , | Working | January 24, 2020

(I am craving Rangoon, which is cream cheese and sometimes spices or meat, wrapped in a thin dough and fried. I go to a locally-owned restaurant I’ve never been to before. It could be Chinese-themed, but I am not sure. The menu says, “cream cheese wontons plate,” which is a very similar dish. Good enough, I figure. When I receive the order, instead of the delicious little treat I wanted, I’m given a plate of flat, fried dough, like a plate of homemade potato chips basically.)

Me: “Excuse me, I didn’t order chips. I ordered the wontons.”

Server: *walks away without answering or saying anything*

(A manager is sent over.)

Manager: *surprisingly aggressive* “What do you want?!”

Me: *startled, gesturing to the plate* “Uh, I ordered wontons, not chips.”

Manager: *raises his voice* “Well, too bad! Those are our wontons!” 

Me: *confused but getting tired of his attitude* “Uh, well, no, they’re not wontons. These are chips. Wontons have filling.”

Manager: *still unusually aggressive, and leaning over me as though to threaten or intimidate me* “Well, that’s how we do wontons! What now?!”

Me: *blunt, but speaking calmly and quietly* “You can’t sell fried duck made from chicken. This is the same. The menu said, ‘cream cheese wontons.’ Where is the cream cheese?”

Manager: *grabs the plate and slams it violently onto the ground, shattering it, then shrieks* “Well, now it’s not a problem!”

(He stormed into the kitchen and started shouting in another language. The lady at the cash register was apologetic and told me to leave without paying for either the “wontons” or my soda. A friend said that they used to make proper wontons and they didn’t know what the reason for the change could be. I haven’t been back since. The business is still there, shockingly, despite never having customers inside.)

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This Driver Is Bus(t)  

, , , , , , | Working | January 15, 2020

(Since my wife takes the car to work, I take the bus to school. There is a bus stop right next to the house so it’s no trouble. Normally, there’s no problem with this arrangement as the majority of bus drivers are relatively attentive and will stop if they see people. Then, there’s this time. He flies right past me, leaving me screaming and chasing the bus. A passenger yells at the bus driver which forces him to stop after a couple of blocks. I decide to be cool about it, even though it seriously irritates me.)

Bus Driver: *passive, not even looking towards me* “Sorry ’bout that.”

Me: “I guess we all have off days.”

(I pay for my ride and sit. During the ride, he stops for people who start talking to him; clearly they know each other. They don’t even pay but he lets them sit and keeps talking. They don’t even ask for a stop but he does stop where they need to go. Right as I’m starting to think it was just a one-off moment, he blows past the next bus stop, where an old, thin man with a walking cast is holding his cane up to ask to get on the bus. I shout at the bus driver to stop. He backs up the bus about 200 feet back to the stop, incredibly dangerous. The old man gets on the bus, and the driver doesn’t apologize. Now my stop is coming up, so I pull the stop-request lever, naively assuming that the bus driver knows this means the next bus stop is where I want to go. I am mistaken and he blows by my stop.)

Me:Excuse me! I pulled the lever! Stop the bus!”

Bus Driver: “This isn’t one of my stops! I don’t have to!”

Me: *standing up, which means if he keeps driving he is knowingly endangering passengers so he’s forced to stop if he doesn’t want to get fired* “Actually, you do. The official stops are to denote expected timing. You have to stop whenever people are at bus stops, and at the next stop when someone pulls the lever!”

(He stops the bus in the middle of a busy intersection, a couple of blocks away from my stop.)

Bus Driver: *aggressive and angry* “GET OFF MY BUS!”

Me: *mocking and snarky* “WITH PLEASURE! Have a NICE. DAY.”

(I got off the bus and immediately called the bus dispatch and complained about him, both about what happened to me and to the old man. It turns out he had just barely gotten out of mandatory retraining, and this was his first day back after having been forced off the job for a legal infraction. I don’t know if he’s still working for the bus company, but he was taken off my route and one of the good bus drivers returned!)

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Where Santa’s Work REALLY Happens

, , , , , | Right | December 16, 2019

(It’s about a week and a half before Christmas and I go to the post office to mail a package that I really should have mailed earlier. When I get there, the line is out the door. Since I won’t have another opportunity to get there before Christmas — and it’s bound to be that busy all the way up until the holiday, anyway — I go ahead and get in line. There are two young ladies in front of me in line that are complaining about the wait time. They look at me to elicit my opinion on the wait time; I just shrug and tell them that it’s my own fault for not coming sooner. By the exit door is a little stand with a smiley face, a neutral face, and an angry face on it, as well as buttons you can press to rate your experience at the post office. Almost everyone in line reaches over and slams down the angry face as they pass it, even though they haven’t actually been helped yet. When I get to the front of the line, only about twenty minutes have passed as they have five employees working very rapidly behind the counter. I get called up to the station where one of the more brusque and loud employees is working.)

Employee: “Hi there. How are you doing? What are we doing for you today?”

Me: “I’m doing fine. You?” *sets my box on the counter* “Just this.”

Employee: *starts the process of weighing and processing* “Oh, I’m fantastic. You picked a good day. But every day here is a good day. Not if you ask most people, though.”

Me: “It’s almost Christmas. It always boggles my mind that people would complain. They should know better. Plus, this line didn’t take that long, really.”

Employee: *reaches into his drawer and pulls out a candy dish with, I kid you not, homemade cookies on it* “Do you like cookies? Have a cookie!”

Me: “Oh! Thank you!” *picks a small cookie and he runs me through the mailing options*

Employee: “Do you like chocolate?”

Me: “Yeah, I do.”

Employee: *pulls out ANOTHER candy dish filled with fun-sized chocolate bars* “Help yourself!”

(I take one but he insists I take at least three of them.)

Employee: “All right, that’ll be [price]. Would you like to pay with cash, card, or firstborn child?”

Me: *chuckling* “Card. I think I’ll keep my son a bit longer.”

Employee: *as payment is processing, pulls out a foil-wrapped package from his drawer and hands it to me* “You can take these ones home and share them with your boy.”

Me: “You sure?”

(The foil contains MORE cookies.)

Employee: “Yup, I don’t need any more.” *pats his belly* “You have a great day!”

Me: “You, too!”

(On my way out the door, I slammed down the green smiley face button, cookie in mouth. By far that was the weirdest and best post office experience I’ve ever had.)


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Preventing The Loss Of Your Olfactory Senses

, , , , , , , | Working | December 12, 2019

When I was in high school, I went shopping at the local mall with two of my friends. At the time, it was common for people to smoke everywhere with no restrictions. We were looking at many things, laughing, joking around, and having a good time.

Then, in a large department store, we noticed we were being followed even though we couldn’t see who was tailing us; he reeked of body odor and very floral, unpleasant cigar or pipe smoke. We were looking at records — yes, that long ago — and the smoke wafted our way, so we hightailed it to accessories. There was that stink again. Off to another department, and wouldn’t you know it, there the stench followed. Figuring where it was coming from, we peeked around the end of a display and saw a man trying to look unobtrusive but very much failing to do so. We let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he was to stop following us.

A few months later, after high school graduation, I started work for the local small-town police department. Although my job was primarily filing and acting as relief dispatcher, I occasionally accompanied an officer — all men — to pick up a female suspect. One day, the destination was that same department store, where they’d detained a suspected shoplifter. Entering the office, I saw, and smelled, that the loss prevention officer was that same creepy man!

I’m sure he thought we were acting suspiciously those months before because we kept quickly moving from location to location without buying anything, although he was close enough he should have been able to hear us talking about why we were doing it. I really don’t know how he could catch anyone unless they had no sense of smell!

Shortly after, the mall banned smoking and the number of apprehensions increased so I was back several times. The man still stunk of BO, but at least that truly awful smoke smell was mostly gone, thank goodness.

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