Noise-Cancelling Headphones Can’t Cancel Out Annoyance

, , , | Right | December 5, 2018

(It’s lunchtime, and I’m running the coffee and specialty drinks area at a convenience store. A smoothie order comes up. I make it and call it… and call it, and call it. I call it about a dozen times, but no one comes for it. After twenty minutes, I start thinking the customer forgot it and left; it happens more often than you’d think. The assistant manager is working the deli, and I hear him do a “last call” for a sandwich. The customer picks it up, and it turns out she ordered the smoothie, as well. She comes over, and I realize that I saw her while I was calling her order… She was standing at our coffee island WITH HEADPHONES ON!)

Customer: *picks up drink, looks at it* “Can you remake this? It’s all watery.”

(I had to remake her drink because she was too stupid to bother LISTENING for her orders! On top of that, I got the distinct impression that she was annoyed at having to wait for me to remake her drink.)

You Drive Me To Drink At Extra Cost

, , , , | Right | December 5, 2018

(People can buy part of the kids’ meal without making it a combo, but you won’t get the kids’ meal deal unless you buy an entree, a snack, and a drink. Buying only two items is actually more than buying all three. A woman comes in with her three kids and buys three snacks and three entrees. Believing she wants a kids’ meal, I ask her if she wants a drink; she doesn’t answer me, but continues ordering. I ask her TWICE later on in the ordering process, and she says no. I then repeat the whole order, still believing she wants a drink for her kids and the deal price, but she is fine with the order as is. Then, I cook her food and deliver it to her. Just when I think everything is fine…)

Customer: “Where are their drinks?”

Me: *internal sigh* “You didn’t order them.”

(She throws her receipt down on the counter with force and I pretend I am looking at it, but I know what it says. I try to think of way of telling her that she literally wasn’t listening to me without sounding like I am pointing the finger at her, as she is already yelling at me. I’ve dealt with rude customers before and politely tell them how they misunderstood something, but she really doesn’t listen to me.)

Customer: “It’s your fault! I am going to pay extra! It’s your fault! You also didn’t smile when I first came in here; you were very rude to me! You’re a rude girl!”

(None of this was true, of course; I smiled the whole time when she came in and as she was ordering, as I like kids and I thought she was nice. Then, she actually slammed her credit card on the counter. Now, it would have been very, VERY easy to adjust the price of the kids’ meal on her receipt and get her kids drinks AND the discounted price, so she would actually be getting money back. But… since, she went from 0 to 60 and was telling me that I didn’t smile AND I was rude, I simply got a supervisor to take over for me to complete her order. I let the woman pay extra and complain to the supervisor, while I sat in the back for an early break. So, remember, kids, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.)

The Key To Getting Your Lost Property Back

, , , , , | Right | December 4, 2018

(I’m the idiot in this story. My husband and I have had a rare night out drinking, and we are making our way home in a private hire taxi we called and booked in advance. My husband decides to stop the taxi early, so we can get out and buy supper at a fish-and-chips shop before walking the last 250 yards to our house. It has stopped raining, thankfully, so it is quite a nice walk — aka “slight stagger.” I decide I don’t want supper, so I walk down the road on my own in order to get the fire going, put the kettle on, and so forth. I reach our front door, only to realise I’ve lost my house keys. I check my pockets and my bag — even emptying both onto the floor — but no keys. I am getting stressed by now — my husband has left his keys at home. I call the taxi office.)

Me: “Hello! My name is Mrs. [My Name] and I just got out of the taxi at [Street]. I dropped my keys in the cab! Could you ask him to look for them, please? I’m so sorry; I know you’re busy.”

Dispatcher: “Okay, one moment.”

(I hear the dispatcher radioing my taxi driver, and several moments later I hear the reply.)

Dispatcher: “Sorry, Mrs. [My Name], but the driver said there are no keys in the cab at all.”

Me: *explodes* “They must be! I’ve just got out of the cab, not five minutes ago!”

Dispatcher: “Mrs. [My Name], please, he’s a very honest driver! Only this afternoon, he handed in a wallet that—”

Me:I don’t care about a wallet! My keys are in his cab! There’s nowhere else they can be! I had them in my hand, and now I don’t have them! I bet he didn’t even look, did he?”

Dispatcher: “Mrs. [My Name], he’s back at the office, and he’s had another look. Another driver helped, and there’s nothing there—”

(My husband walks up to the door, eating his supper. I quickly and angrily explain what happened.)

Me: “Are you calling me a liar? Do you realise we are standing here in the rain, at nearly midnight, outside our locked door because your driver won’t search his car properly?”

(I fumble for my automatic umbrella, pressing the button to open it, and raise it above our heads. And hear a slight “tinkle” noise as my keys hit the concrete floor.)

Me: *speechless*

Husband: *laughing hysterically*

Dispatcher: “Mrs. [My Name]? Are you still there?”

Me: *calmer now* “Yes. I’m… um… still here. I found my keys, and I’m so, so very sorry. I somehow dropped them into my umbrella. I am so, so very sorry. Please apologise to the driver for me. Oh, God, I am so embarrassed. Oh, my word.”

Husband: *still laughing*

Dispatcher: *trying to answer me without obviously laughing* “It’s… ahem… okay, Mrs. [My Name].” *cough* “No, really, I’ll explain to the driver. You have a good sleep now, eh?”

(I apologised a lot more, and then let the poor man go and do his job. I vowed to — and did — pop into the taxi office the next day to leave a £20 tip for that driver, to try to apologise for practically calling him lazy and a thief. For the next six or so months, however, it was my husband who booked the taxis for us, and each time, I heard him say, “Yes, of course I’ll take my keys. I won’t let her be in charge of them. Yes, I promise. Thanks, bye!” He got a lot of mileage out of that one, with family and friends.)

Every Thanksgiving Is The Same Old Cycle

, , , , , | Related | December 4, 2018

(It’s the night before Thanksgiving, and my sister and I are at our parents’ house. My sister is helping Mom cook while I try to help Dad set up the meat smoker he’s planning to use to cook the turkey the next day. We get it set up and the app connected on his phone, and we think that’s the end of it. Dad goes to help set up the local Thanksgiving 5K and my mom comes home from a little window-shopping and decides to look at the smoker’s manual.)

Mom: “I’m guessing Dad didn’t do a seasoning cycle?”

Me: “Um, no? What is it?”

(We proceed to read the manual and look it up online to find out how long this seasoning cycle takes. I find out it takes about two hours. Mom and I begin doing the math.)

Mom: “There’s also a preheat cycle that takes 45 minutes.”

Me: “Oh, dear.”

(More math. If we’re going to eat at noon, all of this plus the turkey’s cooking time means we’ll have to start the smoker about nine hours before we’re planning to eat. That’s like three am, unless we somehow manage to do the two-hour seasoning cycle tonight before bed, and it’s currently after eight pm. Mom and I exchange a look.)

Mom: “I guess we’re not smoking the turkey tomorrow.”

(She goes to find her roaster oven, and we determine how long the turkey will take in the roaster, with a little more Googling since she can’t find the manual. Apparently, the oven is not an option. When Dad gets home, he heads downstairs to put his things away before he goes to bed. I hear Mom explaining the situation, and then Dad comes back upstairs.)

Dad: “So, we won’t be smoking the turkey tomorrow. I guess I didn’t read all the directions.”

Me: *pause, then matter-of-fact* “Nope!”

Dad: “Oh, hush.”

(This is why you read all the instructions more than a day before you need the device!)

Proof(read) Of A Conspiracy

, , , | Learning | December 4, 2018

(We are going to the library with the guidance counsellor and my civic education teacher to look for information on career guidance. Onisep is a French organisation under the authority of the Ministry of National Education, whose vocation is to offer information on studies and professions.)

Guidance Counsellor: “You should go to Onisep, and you can search in the fields you are interested in or look at the profession you want to do.”

(I type in “proofreader” because it is the job I want to do, but the site does not have a job sheet for a proofreader.)

Friend: “Have you tried [website of a French monthly magazine specialized in training information]?”

(I go to this website and find the description for “corrector.”)

Guidance Counsellor: *looks at us* “Go back to Onisep!”

Me: “But I can’t find the information about the job of proofreader on this site.”

Guidance Counsellor: “But you must not leave the Onisep site!”

Teacher: “They’re on a guidance site! They’re not playing on the computer! They’re not doing anything wrong.” *turns to us* “You can stay on this site if you have found the information you are interested in!”

(At the time, there was a rumor that our guidance counsellors were paid by the number of times they advertised for Onisep; that didn’t reduce the rumor.)

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