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Returner Burner Until Burning Point

, , , , , | Right | November 29, 2017

(I take my father to lunch. He likes to complain about every little thing in the hopes that he can get a new meal along with the “defective” meal. He has sent back his perfectly fine, well-prepared meal, twice.)

Server: “Let me just get these out of the way, and we will have your correct order up in a few minutes.”

Dad: “Leave them. I can feed them to the dog.”

Server: “F*** you.”

Dad: “What did you just say?!”

Server: “I said, ‘F*** you!’ You try to pull this s*** every time you are in here!”

Dad: “I want to speak to a manager—”

Server: *cutting him off* “I AM THE F****** MANAGER, AND TODAY IS MY LAST DAY! All bets are off. So, as acting manager, for the rest of my two hours left working for this company, I am hereby barring you permanently from this establishment. Now f*** off!”

(Applause erupts from the kitchen as Dad makes a run for the door. The server stops me as I slink away, and then hands me Dad’s food along with mine.)

Server: “You take this. On the house. And you are welcome back here any time, as long as you promise not to share any with him.”

(I never saw that server again, but Dad never tried to weasel his way into a free meal after that. The last day on the job is obviously the best day.)

 

Related:

Returner Burner, Part 7

Returner Burner, Part 6

Returner Burner, Part 5

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Thank You For Your Pretty Good Service

, , , , , , | Friendly | November 27, 2017

(I am at the grocery store, talking to a nice older lady cashier, with a young man of about 20 behind me. I am eighteen at the time and I’m in the Navy. I’m in civvies and wearing makeup. We are right next to the naval base and you can hear jets flying overhead.)

Cashier: “Hear that? That’s the sound of freedom!”

Me: *laughing* Well, there are plenty of flights scheduled today, so you’ll be hearing plenty of freedom.”

Cashier: “Oh! You’re in the Navy? I’m so proud of you, dear.”

(The cashier starts talking about her son in the Navy. Then, the man behind me speaks up.)

Man: “You can’t be in the Navy! You’re too pretty.”

Me: *weak laugh* “Well, I am.”

Man: “No, seriously, they don’t let pretty girls in the military because they won’t get married. Especially young ones like you. Such a waste in that ugly uniform.”

(I’m starting to get pretty mad, when the cashier starts laying into him for several minutes about his blatant sexism and lack of respect. He looks beyond embarrassed.)

Cashier: *as I’m leaving* “Remember, young lady: bravery doesn’t have a face.”

(It made my day to hear this, because I’m quite proud of my uniform, and it really irritated me that this man thought my career worth was based on my looks.)

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Defeated By A Two-Year-Old

, , , , , | Working | November 23, 2017

(My home has been plagued with the same telemarketer over and over the past few weeks. They tend to call around the time my two-year-old daughter is napping, waking her up every time. Despite trying everything to get them to stop, and being on the do-not-call list, they keep going. They’ve just done it again, and I have had it. I am enjoying a cup of coffee when the phone rings.)

Me: “Oh, son of a b****.”

Daughter: *wakes up screaming and crying*

Me: “Hello.”

Telemarketer: “Hello! I’m calling about a survey. Is this a good time?”

Me: “I don’t know; you tell me.”

(I take the phone over to my daughter’s crib and place it in there. I can hear the telemarketer swearing when they hear my daughter crying. I pick the phone back up.)

Me: “You call every single day at this time. I have told you repeatedly that you are waking up my child, that we want to be removed from your list, and that we are actually on the do-not-call list. From now on, if you call at this time, or ever, you will hear my daughter either babbling away or crying. It’s your choice.”

Telemarketer: “We’re so sorry. You have been removed.”

Me: “Thank you.”

(We’ll see if we really were removed.)

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Really Hope It’s To Go

, , , , , , | Right | November 23, 2017

(I work in a food court inside an office building. Our customers are the building’s employees. Some of them are nice and friendly, but a lot are condescending and rude to us every day because they can get away with it. It doesn’t take me long to get fed up with their nastiness.)

Me: “Hello, ma’am! What can I get for you?”

Customer: “One slice of cheese pizza.”

Me: “Will that be for here or to go?”

Customer: *in a loud, angry, nasty voice* “ONE! SLICE! OF! CHEESE! PIZZA!”

Me: *in same voice as customer* “FOR! HERE! OR! TO! GO!”

Customer: “Oh! Sorry. To go.”

(Somehow I did not get reported and fired for that, and soon moved on to a job with less abuse.)

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Found The Karma Chord

, , , , | Right | November 21, 2017

(I am working in the guitar department of a large music store. Amongst other things like sale, maintenance, and repair of instruments, we specifically offer customers the opportunity to try out the guitars. This almost always goes without a problem. This afternoon, I am alone, serving a line of about five customers.)

Customer #1: “Can I try out this guitar? I saw the signs by the racks.”

Me: “Certainly, I’ll show you the try-out amps and you can pick your favourite to try it.”

(I lead him to the amplifiers and hook up his guitar. I turn the amp up to about 25%, so that I can still hear the other customers. At this, the customer begins to rage.)

Customer #1: “NO! YOU HAVE TO TURN IT ALL THE WAY UP; OTHERWISE I CAN’T HEAR IF IT’S A GOOD GUITAR!”

Me: “Sir, if I did that, these other customers couldn’t understand their own words. It’s also company policy. I assure you that this level is perfectly acceptable to hear the qualities of your guitar.”

Customer #1: “I SAID TO TURN IT THE F*** UP! HOW THE F*** AM I SUPPOSED TO HEAR IF YOU’RE JUST SELLING S*** INSTEAD OF QUALITY INSTRUMENTS, IF YOU WON’T LET ME HEAR IT?”

(This goes back and forth for five minutes, until the customer finally and reluctantly accepts that I won’t turn the amp up any higher. While he starts playing what I can only guess should be classic rock riffs, I return to my till where [Customer #2], a gentleman in his late 60s with long, white hair, hands me an old, worn-down bass guitar.)

Customer #2: “My grandson has started to become really interested in music and wants to learn to play his own. I would like to have my old bass restored as a gift for his upcoming birthday. You do repairs, right?”

Me: “Of course! It will be as good as new in no time. If you will fill out this form, we can address any special issues and desires you may–”

(At this point we are interrupted by incredibly loud shrieking, as [Customer #1] has decided to turn his amp up himself. Everyone is holding their ears as I run over to him.)

Me: “SIR, PLEASE TURN YOUR AMP DOWN! YOU ARE DISTURBING THE OTHER CUSTOMERS!”

([Customer #1] is just standing provocatively in front of his amp, letting his guitar feed back and gesturing that he doesn’t hear me. After a moment, [Customer #2] comes over, takes a guitar from the racks, and plugs it into the amp next to [Customer #1], who is surprised and mutes his guitar.)

Customer #2: “Excuse me, young man. It is obvious you know what you’re doing. Would you honor me by letting me play along with you for a bit?”

Customer #1: “Errr… Sure, Grandpa, but try to keep up with me.”

(At this, [Customer #1] returns to play what I can only describe as the worst version of “Smoke on the Water” I have ever heard – and I have heard many – until [Customer #2] turns his amp just about a third of the way up and starts playing incredibly fast solos on his guitar. [Customer #1] stares in amazement, as does the rest of the shop, and stops playing.)

Customer #2: *stopping for just a moment* “This is only going to work if you play your part, as well, instead of looking at me. I can’t do all the work at my age.”

([Customer #1] stares a bit longer as the old man continues playing. Then, without a word, he drops his guitar on the floor and storms out, red-faced. [Customer #2] turns off the other amp and turns to the rest of the store:)

Customer #2: “The only way to silence bad musicians is by showing them how it is really done.”

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