Unfiltered Story #139474

, , , | Unfiltered | February 12, 2019

(I am a customer at a restaurant in Venice, Italy. I hear this exchange between two other customers, a pair of British tourists.)
Tourist #1: This is just terrible. The lack of English food in this city is disturbing.
Tourist #2: Such savages. Do they really expect civilized people to eat Italian food?
(They were met with dirty looks from just about every other English speaker in the restaurant)

We Know Zip About That

, , , | Right | February 5, 2019

(I’m working in a store that sells printer cartridges, toner, and the like. On all the walls are toner and cartridges, there is a printer on a stand just on my left, and there’s a TV screen right behind me that shows our offers and services. I have four customers in line. I finish talking to [Customer #1] about the cartridges for his and his wife’s printers, and he pays and leaves.)

Customers #2 and #3: “Hello. We have a projector and we need this cable.”

Me: “Have you tried going to an electronic store? We only sell printer cartridges and the like.”

Customers #2 and #3: “Ah, okay, sorry.”

(I direct them to a couple of electronic stores around here and they leave. In all of this, [Customer #4] has been looking around the store and probably hearing everything.)

Customer #4: “Hello. I’m searching for a shirt with a zip on the front”

Me: “Have you tried going to a clothing store? We…”

Customer #4: “Yes, but they told me to came here, to the bike store.”

Me: “The bike store is on that corner there.” *points in the direction* “We sell printer cartridges.”

Customer #4: “Oh! Really? Thank you!” *goes, after looking around once more*

(Nobody was rude or anything, but seriously, A BIKE STORE?)

Thankfully, No One Smelled A Rat

, , , | Working | January 10, 2019

(I work in a post office. A registered parcel lays unclaimed in the office for a long time, and for some reason, it cannot be returned to the sender, so after the mandatory four weeks, the office staff sets about to destroy it. They open it and find it is full of sweets — marzipan, chocolate, torrone, etc. So, for the next few days, they help themselves to the sweets whenever the mood takes them. Bear in mind that the office is on the ground floor of a rather old building. One day the parcel’s recipient shows up to claim her parcel. Frantically, they tape it together again, claim it fell apart in transit, give it to the recipient, and pat themselves on the back for having averted a well-deserved complaint.)

Coworker: “The weight wasn’t even that much off; I put the parcel on the scale before giving it away and it was nearly the same weight as stated on the label!”

(An hour passed, and everyone had forgotten about the incident when the recipient stormed into the office again. She had opened the parcel at her house and a huge, angry rat had jumped out and attacked her! Postal workers weren’t the only ones helping themselves to the freebies. Luckily, the inspectors assumed that the rat had torn open and entered the parcel all by itself, and the office was eventually moved to a newer building.)

On Strike Against Stupidity

, , | Right | January 5, 2019

(Until recently, cashiers would count their till as soon as they had a quiet moment, but as per a recent policy, we now must do so whenever prompted by a phone call from the general management. I’m at my till scanning a customer’s groceries while several more are in line. I receive the phone call saying I have to count my till, so I warn the next customers.)

Me: “Gentlemen, just so you know, after I’ve finished checking out this lady’s groceries, I’ll have to stop to count my till. This is just going to take a couple of minutes.”

(The customers mutter their approval. The first in line, however, seems puzzled.)

Customer: “Is this some sort of strike?”

Me: *loses it*

What A Bloody Jerk

, , , , | Right | January 3, 2019

(The blood test department in this hospital has a queue management system, not unlike those in a deli: you take a ticket at the desk, and enter the room when your number comes up on the monitor. In the room there are six or seven nurses each with their own button, so the number on the monitor can “jump” pretty quickly. The monitor is currently showing 33. I have ticket number 34 and I’m in front of the door. The monitor shows 34, then 35 in quick succession. I enter the room looking for a free nurse when someone grabs me by the arm and shoves me aside. I recognize the old man who was in the queue behind me.)

Man: *angrily* “Why did you enter? What are you playing at? I have 35; it’s my turn!”

Me: “‘Yeah? It called two numbers at once. I was right before you the whole time and here is my ticket: number 34.”

Man: “Well, it’s showing 35 and it’s my turn!”

Me: *getting angry* “Can’t you see 34 comes before 35, you old—“

Head Nurse: “PIPE DOWN AND GET A CHAIR BEFORE I DECIDE THAT I NEED A LITER OF BLOOD FROM EACH ONE OF YOU!”

(The man muted immediately. I sat at the first available station and didn’t even dare to mutter, “Good morning,” to the nurse!)

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