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Their Bark Is Worse Than Your Bites

, , , , | Right | September 6, 2021

I work in a pretzel shop; we make soft pretzels and soft pretzel bites. It is in a mall, so occasionally we get quite busy. I have a couple in the store and the husband tells me they want a box of bites with garlic and parmesan on them. Both he and his wife watch me make their order, and then they pay and leave.

About ten minutes later, the wife comes back and cuts in front of at least six people.

Customer: “This order is wrong.”

Me: “I’m sorry. Can you tell me how I can fix it?”

Customer: “I need plain bites; my kids don’t eat this garlic and stuff.”

Me: “I apologize, but you and the man you were with ordered a box of garlic and parmesan.”

Customer: “Why can’t you just give me plain bites?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but could I have you wait in line to make a new order if you want plain bites? We have quite a few customers waiting.”

Customer:No! I was a customer I will wait right here!”

I am trying to finish up other orders while hoping she understands that she needs to wait.

Customer: “Why can’t you just give me three or four plain bites?”

Me: “You want three bites?”

Customer: “Yes, I will not leave until I get what my kids will eat!”

I literally put three bites — each bite is about an inch by an inch, so this is ridiculous— into a cup and handed it to her. She stomped away saying she was going to report me.

Sounds Like Someone’s About To Get Sued

, , , , , , , | Healthy | August 19, 2021

I work for a major financial company. I was the manager of the branch in question. I worked long hours there. I was usually there from a few hours before open until significantly after close. I was the first person to arrive in the morning and the last to leave at night. It was exhausting.

We were running on (essentially) a skeleton crew, so I had to be familiar with every position from janitor on out and fill in for anyone who was sick.

We were in a dense commercial block, with small antique shops, restaurants, other financial companies, and even a theatre.

I started getting headaches at work. Some days, they were so bad I threw up in the bathroom before driving home. It seemed that the longer I was at work, the worse I felt.

I started seeing the gas company van parked on the block more and more often. In a local restaurant, while enjoying lunch, I overheard that all of the commercial spaces near ours were complaining about gas smell.

One day, one of our clients complained of a gas smell in our branch. I didn’t smell anything. None of my coworkers smelled anything. But the guidance was clear on what to do; we called the gas company and reported that there was a gas smell.

We were told to leave the building, so we did dutifully, complaining the whole way. The gas company showed up with their tester. As he brought the tester device near my office, it started clicking. It started clicking really fast. The gas company guy turned to us, quite pale, and asked how we hadn’t exploded yet.

They evacuated us a few more blocks away. I remember a fire company person asking me if I was dizzy or nauseous. I was, but it was normal for me, so I was confused and didn’t know how to answer. I wish to this day I had answered, because my spouse had apparently noticed that I was mentally deteriorating the whole time, and even now, five years later, I’m noticeably slower and less mentally capable than I once was. 

After they aired out the first floor with large vans that had large fans, I was brought back into the office to unlock the door to the basement, where the gas concentration was strongest. By now, I’d sent all my coworkers home with a promised full day’s pay.

I unlocked the door a bit nervously and was hustled away from it again while they went into the basement.

Earlier that year, in January, we’d gotten a new furnace. It turned out that they hadn’t joined the unions correctly and the furnace was leaking out gas at a prodigious rate. What actually saved us from an explosion was that there was very little oxygen down there, mostly just gas and carbon monoxide.

The basements of all of the commercial buildings on the block were separated by old crumbling brickwork, so the gas from my office was leaking into the neighboring commercial buildings, too. They all had to be aired out. All of the gas problems on the block were the fault of my faulty furnace.

And I was the one who’d suffered the most exposure to it, as we kept our secure documents in the basement, and I was the only one with the key, going down there every day, multiple times a day to retrieve or return documents.

I still work for the company, but in a different district far away. I still don’t know how to get compensation for any harm I may have suffered in those working conditions.

Paying Your Bills Should Be A Priority, But… Yikes

, , , , , | Healthy | June 28, 2021

I work in the accounts billable department of one of the two major hospitals in Iowa City. It’s my job, essentially, to explain to clients why the amount they have been billed isn’t what they expected.

I’m the low peon on the totem pole, being the newest hire. That means I get to deal with the clients face to face across the billing counter.

One lady is yelling at me about her bill, when suddenly she makes a very strange, strangled sound. I figure she’s having some sort of medical event, so I immediately press the emergency medical event call button.

This turns out to be a very good idea. The lady is wearing a fairly short-skirted pantsuit, so I can see her legs. Specifically, I can see the stitches on her right leg coming undone. First, the top stitch pops, then the next one, and then the next, faster and faster until she’s got an open gash from her garters to her ankles.

Despite this, and despite her collapsing almost immediately like a puppet with her strings cut, the client continues to weakly try to discuss her billing with me, even as the orderlies pick her up and transfer her to a stretcher to carry her right back into surgery.

Still in shock from this whole affair, I stare at the massive puddle of blood in the middle of the floor, and I make the mistake of asking my coworker who’s responsible for cleaning it up.

Turned out it was me.

Pair This Down So That They Understand

, , , , | Right | June 7, 2021

Caller: “Hi, I was in there earlier and someone sold me contacts. I was supposed to get a box of twelve, but only received six pairs.”

She had the same prescription for both eyes. I had to think for a moment about how to respond.

Those Customers Will Have You In Stitches

, , , , , , | Healthy | April 27, 2021

I work in a doctor’s office that happens to be located inside a big box retailer. A few days ago, I had three punch biopsies done. The bandage on my shoulder blade feels weird, so I have a coworker check it for me.

An older and very condescending customer walks up and sees the bandage.

Customer: “You young people and your tattoos!”

For the record, I’m forty-five.

Customer: “What did you get, your latest boyfriend’s name? Or something else you’ll regret later in life?”

I choose my words carefully.

Me: “I have stitches on my shoulder blade from a punch biopsy to see if I have melanoma from multiple horrific sunburns in my youth. Would you like to see them?”

Don’t know why, but she walked away.

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