Don’t Carry On Insulting If You Can’t Carry Out

, , , , , , , | Working | April 6, 2020

(I am paying for a big, heavy bag of cat food. The cashier, a high-school-aged girl, offers to carry it out.)

Me: “Sure. Thanks. That’d help.”

(She turns to another teen girl coworker behind her.)

Cashier: “Hey, [Coworker]! Your fat, ugly a** needs to carry this bag out.”

(She talks softly enough that most people can’t hear, but I have good hearing.)

Me: “Hey! No. I want you to carry it.”

Cashier: “What?!”

Me: “Yeah. You need to carry it to my car. No cart. You have to carry it.”

Cashier: “I can’t.”

Me: “You can, ’cause I carried it up here, so chop-chop.”

Cashier: “I can’t leave my till.”

Me: “I’m off to move my car to the far side of the parking lot. See you there.”

(There was no one in line, and there was another cashier open, so I glared at her until she followed me out. And yes, I did move my car while she waited, struggling with the bag.)

Karma Instantáneo

, , , , , , | Working | April 5, 2020

(I’m on a four-day high school trip. After we stop for lunch on the way home, I go with a friend to a nearby gas station/corner store so she can buy some candy for the remaining fourteen hours of the bus ride. While she gets her candy, I start looking for a cheap souvenir, since everything in the hotel gift shop was either ridiculously expensive or simply impractical to travel with. I’m still looking when my friend pays for her candy, so she stands outside the store while I try to pick something out. Finally, I pick something and bring it to the counter. The cashier, a friendly young black man, has been cheery with my friend and absolutely nothing at all notable has happened so far. Neither I nor my friend look even remotely Latino or Hispanic, so I’m a little surprised when he starts speaking to me in Spanish, just as happily as before.)

Cashier: “¡Hola! ¿Como estás?”

(I’m surprised, but I smile and speak with next to no trace of my American accent.)

Me: “Cansado. ¿Y tu?”

(The cashier is clearly thrown off.)

Cashier: “Oh, s***.”

(His coworker, who heard everything in the back room, started laughing so hard that I thought he was going to fall off the small ladder I could see him standing on. I quickly told the cashier that I spoke English and was taking Spanish as a second language. He said that he sometimes did the Spanish to have some fun with customers, and he definitely didn’t expect me to try to start a conversation. The back room employee kept laughing about how “you showed him!” while the cashier rang up my souvenir. He was still laughing when I said, “¡Gracias, adios!” on my way out. I sometimes wonder if the back room guy ever let the cashier live down that little Spanish encounter or if it became some sort of cautionary tale about not trying to confuse customers.)

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Insuring Nemo

, , , | Right | April 4, 2020

(In some states, our claims are required to have a list of all the passengers in a vehicle that’s involved in an accident. The person I am speaking with here is from one of those states and he’s been giving me a hard time for most of the interview already.)

Me: “Okay, next question: were you the only person in your vehicle at the time?”

Caller: “Naw, it was a full car; I had my wife, kid, and gran’kids with me.”

Me: “And what are your passengers’ names, please?”

Caller: “Do I have to tell ya? I mean, why would you even need that?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but in your state, it’s required for us to have a list of the names of everyone in your vehicle.”

Caller: “Well, we had some fish in the car; you wanna know about them, too?!”

Me: “You know, I guess that depends, sir. Do your fish have names?”

(He took a few seconds to recover from that but was much more cooperative for the rest of our conversation.)

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The Miserable Tale Of Mr. Grumpy Pants

, , , , , | Right | April 3, 2020

I’m supervising the checkouts in my supermarket. There is a section of about eight to ten checkouts where the customers can scan, pack, and pay for their items themselves.

It’s a busy day and all the regular checkouts have fairly large queues. I can see one gentleman getting frustrated and he decides to enter the self-service checkouts.

The checkouts have a weighing mechanism built into them so that the shopping you have in your basket at the beginning matches the weight of your bags at the end.

This customer keeps placing items on the floor and the automated checkout keeps telling him to place the shopping in his bag… It’s not rocket science! 

One of my checkout girls who supervises the self-service checkouts explains the process to the customer and he huffs and puffs and mumbles under his breath. This goes on for about five minutes and he is really getting angry!

Finally, he scans his last item and tries to scan his coupons to get money off some of the items he purchased. Again he fails miserably and really begins shouting at my member of staff, who is fairly new and very timid but polite and very good at her job. He is getting quite aggressive and is making personal remarks about the lack of service the assistant is providing.

I am just about to step in, but she waves me away and gestures that she is okay and is handling the situation. 

Finally, the customer pays with his card, turns, and shouts at the checkout girl again and exits the store.

She looks at me and smiles and points down to the bagging area and we both start laughing; Mr. Grumpy Pants paid for his shopping and left it all behind!

He never came back for his shopping!

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Beaten By A Minor Key

, , , , , | Right | April 3, 2020

(I am male and work at a small music store. As well as music, we sell instruments, including upright pianos. A middle-aged, balding customer enters and makes a beeline for the uprights.)

Customer: “God d*** it, I’m so f****** good at the piano! You just sit your d*** a** down and listen to me play!”

(He begins to play Beethoven’s Sonata Op. 10 No. 1, which is an impressive piece, although I wouldn’t be surprised if an eighteen-year-old could play it. The man appears to be drunk, so I say nothing about his talent and listen to the piece as he requested.)

Customer: “I’m so f****** good at the piano that you should give me this piano for free to show your appreciation for my motherf****** amazing talent!”

Me: “Sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”

Customer: “Why the f*** not?”

Me: “Well, sir, because this piano costs a lot of money, and I can’t just give it away for free. Also, if you keep using that kind of language, I’ll have to remove you from the store.”

Customer: “What the f***, you…”

(As the customer rants at me for not giving him the upright for free, a gorgeous young girl who looks about fifteen approaches.)

Girl: “Sorry, I think I can solve this situation. If I can sight read this piece better than you just played it, you don’t get the piano for free. Deal?”

(The customer grumbles a bit but eventually agrees. The girl sits down and plays the piece with much more expertise and fewer mistakes than the customer did, even adding in little comments like, “In this part, you’ve got to be as sassy as humanly possible,” and, “I’d use pedal here, but not where the sequence repeats, just to shake it up a bit.”

The customer gripes and groans but finally leaves the store. I tell my manager and he gives her half off her entire purchase. As she is leaving, she drops this bomb.)

Girl: “I’m glad he fell for it. I wasn’t really sight reading. I haven’t played the piece since I was nine, though, so I guess it counts!”

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