Her Chances Of A Place Are Spoiled

, , , , , , | Right | October 22, 2013

(I am 17 years old, and I volunteer at a local daycare center. It is part of my job to interview people if they want to send their children here.)

Me: “Hello and welcome to [Daycare]. I understand you want to send [Child] here?”

Mother: “Yes, I’m thinking about doing so, if you can meet my standards.”

Me: “Okay, then—”

Mother: “Well, don’t be useless, child! Show me around!”

Me: “Well, here is the main playroom where the children—”

Mother: “What cleaning supplies do you use?”

Me: “I’m sorry, what?”

Mother: “Don’t be daft, child! What cleaning supplies do you use here?”

Me: “We use [Brand #1].”

Mother: “Oh, I don’t like them. I demand that you use [Brand #2].”

Me: “Okay, I’ll tell my boss to see if she can ask the janitors to use [Brand #2] next time.”

Mother: “You had better, child!”

(At this point, her child begins climbing over the nap-time cribs.)

Me: “Oh, don’t do that, [Child]. You could fall and get hurt!”

Mother: “No, it’s okay, sweetie. I say you can.”

Me: “What? No, ma’am, she isn’t allowed to do that here.”

Mother: “You can’t tell someone else’s child what to do!”

Me: “When we’re watching her we get to set and enforce rules.”

Mother: “Well, if [Child] comes here, she will be allowed to climb over the couch.”

Me: “No, I’m sorry, ma’am. If [Child] comes here, she will be receiving no special treatment, and will not be climbing over the couch.”

Mother: “Yes, she will.”

Me: “No, she won’t.”

Mother: “YES, SHE WILL, BECAUSE I SAID SO!”

(The mother stamps her foot hard on ground. I am speechless.)

Mother: “Now, stupid child, give me the papers so that [Child] can be signed up. I request that you stay in another room from my little boy at all times!”

Me: “But, ma’am! It’s all one room!”

(My boss, who has been watching our exchange, comes over.)

Boss: “That’s okay, because you’re fired.”

Me: “Why? I’m really good with the kids! They like me! They do! And I work for $2.50 for every two hours without complaining! This job means everything to me! Please! I’ll work at $0.50 for every three hours! I need this job so much!”

Mother: “Serves you right for being a senseless b**** to these children.”

Boss: “No, [My Name], you are not fired. [Mother], you are.”

(The mother just stops and stands in awe.)

Boss: “[My Name] was being very helpful to you, and you kept cutting her off. Then, she enforced a big rule, and you told the child to continue to do so anyway. Then you called her a senseless b****, and laughed at her for begging to stay with these children. Now, get out before I call the police.”

Mother: “Fine! I don’t need this place! It sucks anyway!”

(The mother grabs her child and leaves. My boss turns to me.)

Boss: “Your next lunch break is on me, you’ve been promoted to $20 for every two hours, and you can go home now.”

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Stress About The Dress

, , , , , , | Right | October 21, 2013

(I’m an overweight woman who has always struggled with weight due to a non-functioning thyroid. I struggle to find a store that caters to larger brides until I find this one, so I go to see what they have. There’s a large woman (probably about 5’5 and 350-380 pounds) on the stage in the center of the room having a fitting done. I’m browsing the catalogs when I hear an exchange between a daughter and her mother and the manager. The daughter is a thin girl who appears spoiled with how she talks. The daughter is staring at the larger woman on the stage, and leans in to her mother.)

Daughter: “I can’t believe someone like her is actually getting married!”

Mother: “I didn’t think whales mated for life!”

(The bride-to-be has clearly heard the comments, and is looking devastated. She takes a step away from the manager who is doing the fitting, but the manager stops her and walks up to the mother and daughter.)

Manager: “I can’t believe you think you’re going to get a dress from my store.”

Daughter: “Well, joke’s on you, then, because I’m actually here to pick it up! Besides, I’ve already paid.”

Manager: “Oh, you’re picking up your order? What’s the name?”

Mother: “It’s [Name].”

Manager: “All right…”

(The manager goes behind the counter, taps some things on the register, and then hands a receipt.)

Manager: “I need you to sign this.”

Mother: “What’s this?”

(The mother signs anyway.)

Manager: “That’s you signing that you have accepted a full refund for your purchase. You can find another store to get your dresses at. I just cancelled your order and am refusing you service. Now leave before I call the police.”

Daughter: “YOU CAN’T DO THIS! MY WEDDING IS IN NEXT WEEK! HOW DARE YOU!”

(The daughter starts throwing things around.)

Mother: “We had those dresses custom made! How could you cancel her order! Look at her!”

Manager: “I cancelled the order because I am not going to let any bride feel like she’s not worthy of marriage just because of her size. Clearly you both feel that you are better than others, and I have no place for clients that are, frankly, a**-holes. I’m calling the police, and since I still have your card information, I’m going to charge you for whatever damages your daughter causes.”

(The manager picked up the phone. The mother grabbed her daughter and they rushed out of the door. I ended up buying my dress from them, and it was BEAUTIFUL! Turned out the manager had a daughter who had a severe thyroid disease and had struggled with weight as well!)

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A**hole In One

, , , , | Right | October 7, 2013

(I work at a golf course that is situated in a residential area. I am talking to a friend of mine who owns a home on the course when a ball lands in his backyard.)

Golfer: “Move!” *hops the fence*

Friend: “Hey! This is private property; get out of here!”

Golfer: “No, it isn’t; I paid good money to play on this course and I am going to play through.”

Me: “Actually, sir, it is private property.”

Golfer: *not listening* “Why the h*** do you put such stupid obstacles in the way? What kind of course has fences so close to the green?”

Friend: “It isn’t an obstacle! It’s my fence, and you are in my backyard. Now beat it before I call the police.”

Golfer: “Shut the f*** up; you’re throwing me off my game.” *turns to me* “Shouldn’t you escort him off the course? He isn’t showing any etiquette.”

(My friend gets irritated and goes into his house.)

Me: “He doesn’t have to show any etiquette; he owns the property. You are the one I will be escor—”

Golfer: “No, he doesn’t! The course owns all of this; how stupid are you?”

(My friend comes back with a bucket of golf balls and dumps them where the golfer’s ball has landed.)

Golfer: “What the f*** are you doing?! I’ll never find my ball!”

Friend: “Good.”

Golfer: “I paid good money for that ball, and you’re stealing it! I am calling the police!”

Me: “It landed in someone’s yard. It is clearly stated in the rule book that a residential area is out of bounds, so he can do whatever he wants with it.”

Golfer: “Shut up! What do you know? You’re just some kid!”

Me: “Sir, please come with me. You are not welcome here anymore.”

Golfer: “No! I can do what I want! I paid good money to—”

Friend: “I spend all day cleaning up after a**holes like you that think they can do whatever they want. They rammed their carts into my fence thinking it was a personal cart stopper, and I had to finally shell out $1,500 to buy a new one because it eventually fell down completely.”

Golfer: “I didn’t—”

Friend: “People like you have stolen my stuff and left their trash in my yard, even though there is a bin right there next to the tee-box. They have killed my dog, and one of you pricks had the audacity to walk into my house and use my bathroom without even so much as asking.”

Golfer: *stuttering* “But the course owns it; I’m allowed to—”

Friend: “No, you’re not. My property line extends another twenty feet past the fence line; you are trespassing. I own this house, this yard, and everything in it.”

(My friend picks him up and tosses him over the fence.)

Golfer: “That’s assault! I am calling the police on you! I paid good money!”

Friend: “I don’t give a d*** how much you paid; this is private property and according to the state penal code, I can remove you just like I did.”

Golfer: “I’ll sue! I paid good money!”

Friend: “Go ahead; I’ll be your lawyer.”

(One of the owners showed up and escorted the golfer off the golf course. He was banned from playing there again. My friend now plays free for his trouble.)


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In Line And Out Of Line

, , , | Right | August 5, 2013

(I’m in line to pay. [Customer #1] in front of me is about in his 40s, and very well-dressed in a suit and tie. [Customer #2] in front of him seems to be a single mother with her child. I’m 25, and pretty shabbily dressed; wearing only faded jeans, an old, novelty Star Wars shirt, and have my long hair almost covering my eyes.)

Customer #1: “Lady, can you hurry up! Some people are important and actually have places to be!”

([Customer #2] is fumbling with her money. In her cart she only has basic groceries and what appears to be a birthday cake for her child. She mumbles something about not having enough money, and decides to leave the cake behind.)

Customer #1: “Don’t waste everyone’s time if you can’t even pay for your s***! Or maybe you need another government handout that comes from my taxes?!”

(At this point, I feel like I’ve got to step in.)

Me: “Hey, man, that’s enough!”

Customer #1: “Who do you think you are? I’ll have you know I’m the [High Profile Position] at [Large Shipping Company], and no one ever talks to me like that.”

(Suddenly, I become much more respectful.)

Me: “I’m so sorry, sir. I had no idea you were so important. Would you mind if I asked you for your business card?”

(Customer #1 smugly hands me his card. I see he is, indeed, who he says he is.)

Me: “And here’s my business card.”

Customer #1: “Why the h*** would I want your—”

(Customer #1 suddenly goes pale, as he notices that I am co-owner of [Large Shipping Company].)

Me: “Now that I know your name, I’ll be sure to phone your supervisor to ensure you’re put on probation. One more act like this and you’re fired.”

(Customer #1 stammered for a bit, before practically running from the store. I ended up paying for the mother’s cake, and even gave them a bit extra to buy the kid any toy from the store.)

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All In A Huff About The Man With A Puff

, , , , | Right | May 22, 2013

(My boyfriend is standing on the sidewalk outside the store. He is smoking a cigarette while he waits for me to get off. A customer comes in and starts complaining.)

Customer: “Look at him! Standing out there as if he owns the place! You’re going to make this place go out of business by allowing riff-raff like that to hang out here and smoke right beside the door!”

Me: “Ma’am, he is near the ashtray, which is more than the state-mandated twenty-five feet from the entrance. Furthermore, I ask that you not call my other customers names, and especially him, because he’s my boyfriend.”

Customer: “What is wrong with you?! Why would a good, sweet Christian girl like you date a tattooed heathen like that?!”

Me: “Ma’am, please stop calling him names. He is not a heathen; he is a good Christian man. I, on the other hand, am not religious, but spiritual. He is also an Army veteran who served in Iraq and Afghanistan and deserves to be treated with more respect than you are giving him. Now, please leave. I am refusing you service for being so rude.”

Customer: “The customer is always right! I’ll tell [Owner] that you were letting a heathen lurk outside his store!”

Me: “You do that, ma’am. I’ll make sure to tell him how rude you were, too.”

Customer: “The customer is always right!”

(The customer runs out of the store. At this point, my boyfriend walks in.)

Boyfriend: “What was her problem, baby girl?”

Me: “Who knows? She apparently thought the customer is always right.”

Boyfriend: “Sometimes the customer is just an a**hole.”


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