Social Insecurity, Part 8

, , , , , | | Legal | June 1, 2019

(Like most people, I do not pick up my phone when an unfamiliar number rings unless I am expecting a call from a specific person or company. A number unknown to me rings and I ignore it. They leave a voicemail, which is unusual, so I listen to it thinking it may be important. The message goes as follows:)

Message: “You are receiving this call from our department because we have noticed suspicious activity on your social security number and we have suspended it until further notice. Press two to learn more.”

(No information on what “department,” I laughed and deleted it, knowing social security numbers don’t work that way. By far, the silliest scam call I’ve ever gotten.)

Social Insecurity, Part 7
Social Insecurity, Part 6
Social Insecurity, Part 5

Sand(wich) Of Time

, , , , , , | Right | August 15, 2018

(I work at a local sandwich-and-coffee eatery in a college town. A lot of students stop by for lunch, but since they all get out of class at the same time, the lunch rush is crazy. One of our sandwiches is extremely popular, but it takes a little longer because it goes in a panini press and we only have space for three sandwiches. An average wait time for this sandwich during the lunch rush is twenty-five minutes. When a lot of these get ordered in quick succession, something like this happens at least once a day. It is noon:)

Me: “Here’s your receipt. We’ll have your food out to you as soon as we can, but this sandwich usually takes a little longer.”

Customer: “Okay.”

(At 12:15:)

Customer: *to a very busy me* “Um, excuse me, I’ve been waiting like twenty-five minutes for my [sandwich]. Can you go check on it?”

Me: “Your sandwich usually takes a little longer because it’s a panini, but I’ll go check.” *goes to the sandwich line* “Do you guys have a [sandwich] in the panini press?”

Coworker: “We’ve got like ten [sandwiches]. Do you know which one it is?”

Me: “Yeah, her receipt number is [number].”

Coworker: “It’s waiting to go in the press.”

Me: *goes back to the front* “They’re working on it.”

Customer: “Yeah, okay.”

(At 12:20:)

Customer: *to someone else* “Um, I’ve been waiting like 45 minutes for my [sandwich]. Can you go check on it?”

Coworker: “It’s probably in the panini press, but I’ll go see.”

(My coworker goes away and comes back.)

Coworker: “Yeah, it’s in the panini press.”

Customer: “Well, okay.”

(At 12:25:)

Customer: *to yet someone else* “Um, I’ve been waiting like an hour for my [sandwich]. Can you go check on it?”

Me: “You know your receipt is time-stamped, right?”

It’s All In The Delivery Zone

, , , , , | Right | March 2, 2018

(The sandwich shop I work in during college is a chain famous for its speedy delivery. This means that the shop has a delivery radius; according to corporate, we can’t deliver outside that radius. I have been working there for about three months when this happens. The phone rings.)

Me: “[Sandwich Shop], how can I help you?”

Customer: “I’d like a [sandwich #1] with extra lettuce and no tomato, a [sandwich #2] with double meat, a bag of [flavor] chips…” *goes on with a very complicated order that involves several other sandwiches, all with modifications*

Me: “Okay, great. Can I have your address, please?”

Customer: “It’s [address].”

(As soon as she says this, I check it on the map above the phones and realize with a sinking feeling that she lives outside our delivery zone.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t deliver there.”


Me: “Ma’am, I’m not even qualified to cut bread. I have absolutely no say over our delivery zone.”

Will Get A Roasting For That Later

, , , , , | Working | December 18, 2017

(At the end of my undergrad, I started working at a small local coffee shop. I end up graduating a semester early and decide to work at the shop full time until the lease on my apartment is up. When I switch to full-time, I work with an older woman who isn’t quite up-to-date on her science. This happens right as we get a new light roast, so we offer light, medium, and dark.)

Coworker: “Hi guys, would you like to try our new light roast today?”

Customer #1: “No, thanks; I’d rather have the dark roast. More caffeine.”

Coworker: “Actually, lighter roasts have more caffeine than darker roasts!”

Customer #2: “Wait, really? Why?”

Coworker: “Because roasting the beans longer makes more caffeine evaporate out of the beans!”

Me: “Um… that’s not how that works.”

Giving Handicapped People A Bad Name

, , , , , , | Right | December 11, 2017

(I’m the fitting room attendant today. From my post, I can see a man shopping with his toddler. He keeps holding up outfits and making comments according to her reaction.)

Dad: “How about this?” *toddler shakes her head* “I know, stripes and spots; what was I thinking? How about this?”

(They joke around for a few more minutes before coming up to me.)

Dad: “Do you have a family fitting room?”

Me: “Of course. How many?”

(I set them up in the room and return to my post. A few minutes later, a woman on a handicapped scooter drives right past me and towards the family fitting room.)

Me: “Ma’am, excuse me.”

Lady: “Two, don’t bother with a card.”

Me: “Ma’am, that handicapped stall is occupied.”

Lady: *ignores me and beats on automatic door button, which won’t work when the door is locked* “What’s wrong with this piece of crap?”

Me: “Ma’am, the room is occupied. You’ll have to use the handicapped stall in the women’s fitting rooms.”

Lady: *shakes doorknob* “I need to use this one; it’s bigger. Open it!”

Me: “Ma’am, that is the only family stall we have, so families take priority. You’ll have to use the other stall.”

Lady: “I’m f****** handicapped; I take priority! Get them out!” *keeps shaking doorknob and hitting door*

Dad: *pops head out door* “Is there a problem?”

Me: “I’m sorry—”

Lady: “Get out of my stall! You can’t use that; you’re not handicapped! It’s for handicapped people only! This is discrimination.”

Me: “Ma’am, this is our family stall; he needs it because he has a daughter trying on clothing, and they can’t use the other fitting rooms. There is another handicapped stall in the women’s fitting room.” *gives man apologetic look*

Lady: “No, I get to use this stall! Get out!” *tries to push in*

Dad: “I need to put my daughter’s shoes on.” *closes door*

Lady: *pounding on door* “Get out of there, you b******! Why isn’t your wife taking your daughter shopping, huh? I bet you’re a f****** [homosexual slur]! Get out of my stall, you [slur]!”

Me: *frantically paging security with my silent alarm* “Ma’am, please. His child is very small; you must be upsetting her.”

(Security finally arrived to escort her away!)