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She Is Fala-full Of Herself

, , , , , , | Friendly | June 14, 2018

(My roommate’s best friend recently had a nasty breakup, and moved in with us until she can get back on her feet. I don’t really like her; I think she’s kind of petty, and she’s constantly getting angry about things that I consider pretty inconsequential. When this happens, she claims it’s because of my white privilege, no matter what the issue is about. We’re both Caucasian and female, and after a month or so of this, I’m so sick of it that I usually just leave the room. At work one day, I go to pull my lunch out of the fridge, and sigh.)

Coworker #1: “Dude, what’s wrong?”

Me: “Oh, I picked up samosas for lunch, and I was really looking forward to them, but [Accidental Roommate] was guilt-tripping me about it earlier, that it’s not my culture and I shouldn’t be stealing someone else’s cuisine and traditions.”

Coworker #2: “F****** seriously? Look around you!”

(I do… at my Hindi coworkers eating pizza and pasta, my Filipino coworker eating hummus and pita chips, my black, Muslim coworker eating tacos, my Native American coworker eating fried rice and egg rolls, etc. I have to laugh.)

Me: “Okay, fair point.”

Coworker #3: “Seriously, f*** that. Other than [Native American Coworker], everyone’s family came here from somewhere else. They were looking for better lives for themselves and their kids, which includes better food. Tell that b**** to find something worth complaining about.”

Coworker #4: “Plus, I think a lot of businesses would go under if no white people ever shopped there. My mom runs a cafe, and she always said Americans make the best customers because they don’t know how the falafel is supposed to taste, so they aren’t constantly comparing it to their mom’s and grandma’s the way all of her Middle Eastern customers are.”

(I had to laugh, and I enjoyed my samosas a lot more after that. My accidental roommate is moving out in two months, and my coworkers have preemptively started a countdown.)

Not Taking Account Of Your Account Of Events

, , , , , | Working | June 14, 2018

(This occurs about a month after my father passes away. I have been working to get various accounts closed. The one I’m having issue with is his phone carrier. Since I am not authorized to access his account, I have no luck until a monthly payment comes due. Before now, the workers wouldn’t discuss anything with me, understandably, for legal reasons. However, unknown to me, his bank account — which my name was on and has since closed — is set up to autopay to his cell phone. Therefore, I am finally able to get them cooperate with me a bit.)

Worker: “Ma’am, the payment for Mr. [Father] is due and it is [amount].”

Me: “Ma’am, I need you to listen very carefully. [Father] is dead. He died three weeks ago. I’ve been trying to close his account with you guys. I am not paying for a dead man’s account. His name is [Father]. His number was [number]. I even have his SSN and am more than willing to fax you a copy of his death certificate I am currently holding.”

(Line is silent for a few minutes.)

Worker: “Okay. Just a moment, ma’am.”

(Many more minutes go by.)

Worker: “Do you have [other service] with us?”

Me: “Ma’am, I am trying to close my deceased father’s account. To the best of my knowledge ,all he had was your phone service. Please cancel his service.”

(More minutes go by. I can hear her typing something. At one point I hear her talking and laughing with what I assume is a coworker. I am beyond frustrated by this whole ordeal, but continue to silently wait and try to be polite.)

Worker: “Okay, ma’am, it looks like I can send it back to his bank account.”

Me: “Ma’am, his bank account is closed. That is why you weren’t paid.”

Worker: *another long pause* “Looks like I can only send it back to the bank; you’ll have to talk with them.”

Me: *sighs* “All right, thank you. Is his account closed, though?”

Worker: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “Thank you.”

(I’m not sure what she’s talking about, so I go back to the bank and wait to speak to a banker so that I can clear this entire mess. I begin to explain the situation to him when there’s a knock on the glass. A see a young woman smiling and happily waving at him.)

Banker: “Hey, [Young Woman]!” *gets up and goes to hug and speak with her*

(I just sit there, floored by this display, but southern politeness kicks in, so instead of yelling at them I glare as hard as possible.)

Banker: *finishes talking to her then turns to see my glare* “I… s-sorry. Sh-she used to work here. She’s going to college. Uh—” *clears his throat*

Me: “How nice.” *explains the situation finally*

Banker: *types on his computer and cross-checks the account number, my ID, and my father’s death certificate a few times* “Okay, looks like everything is cleared up.”

Me: “I shouldn’t have any more issues? No more auto-payments on there?”

Banker: “Nope!” *wide smile* “And please, take this with you, should you ever want to open your own account with us.”

Me: “Thank you.”

(I tossed the pamphlets in plain view into a nearby trash-can.)

Let The Right One In

, , , , | Right | June 14, 2018

(I work at a cafe that opens early in the morning. We often get people hanging out outside the doors before we open, waiting to get their coffee before going to their jobs. The supervisor usually locks the door, so they can’t get in, as they always try to get in early even though it isn’t time for us to open yet. One morning, however, the supervisor must have forgotten to lock the door; as I’m setting out the pastries, I look up suddenly to see a customer off to the side in front of the register. I stare at him with wide eyes, shocked that he’s in there before we’re open, and he just smiles at me, a bit condescendingly.)

Customer: “It’s 6:30; you’re open.”

Me: “Is it really?”

(I’m skeptical because I know how long it takes me to put out the pastries in the morning and there was no way it is 6:30 already.)

Customer: “Yes, see?” *looks at his phone* “Oh, wait. You have ten minutes. That’s okay; I’ll wait.”

(And then the customer steps back near the windows to wait. I’m speechless at this point, so I just sort of make an agreeing noise and go back to putting out pastries, as I can’t think of a polite way to tell him to get the hell out until we’re supposed to open. Naturally, my supervisor decides to come out right then.)

Supervisor: “Sir, you can’t be in here.”

Customer: *points to me* “Oh, it’s fine; she let me in to wait.”

Supervisor: *looks at me and frowns* “Oh, you can’t do that. We’re not allowed to do that; don’t do it again.”

(I just sort of nod, pissed at this point that the customer is trying to pin this on me and that I might be in trouble now. Naturally, two other customers slip in, since they see the original customer, and now we have three people waiting in the shop and we’re not ready to open yet, but the supervisor isn’t telling them to get out so I stay silent and finish. We officially open a few minutes later and take care of them before sending them on their way.)

Me: “You know I didn’t let him in here, right?” *explains what happened*

Supervisor: *in disbelief* “Seriously, man, that’s messed up. That’s not your fault. though; I guess I forgot to lock the door. I’ll have to be more careful next time.”

(Thankfully, I didn’t get in trouble, as she understood, and we both had a laugh over it, and I have yet to see that particular customer in the morning again, thankfully. I guess some people just don’t know how to be patient.)

Common Decency Has Logged Out

, , , , , | Working | June 14, 2018

(Our small company hires a new tech guy who is kind of a jerk. He really likes to lean hard into the “everyone but people who work in IT are helpless and have stupid problems” stereotype and takes it beyond harmless teasing, even when the issue you have is legitimate and out of your control. He also tends to be very arrogant and condescending. One day I’m trying to update something in our database and keep getting an error. It’s something I’ve done a million times before, as outlined by the steps left behind from our previous tech guy who moved away, and the system isn’t giving me any information that I can use to troubleshoot besides the error. I call up our tech guy and give him the error I’m seeing, plus the steps to reproduce it, and everything I’ve tried.)

Tech: “Huh, that shouldn’t be possible. You probably aren’t logged in.”

Me: “I am definitely logged in. I couldn’t see the dashboard if I wasn’t.”

Tech: “You need to be putting these things in the assets folder.” *drags the word “assets” out long, as if speaking to a dog*

Me: “I just told you, I did. You can see them in there for yourself. I know the error it gives me when it can’t find them, and that’s not the code it threw. Did you try to replicate it?”

Tech: “We’ll do that later if necessary. For now, let’s just make sure everything you’re doing is on the up and up.”

(Frustrated, I walk him through everything that’s happening, again. He just keeps reiterating that I must have done something wrong, and I keep asking him to try and see if he gets the same error. When he loops back around to saying I must not be logged in, AGAIN, I hang up and go down to his office, make him move aside, and show him, right in front of him, what I’m doing and the error I’m getting. I have to tell him to pay attention multiple times because he keeps sighing in a put-upon way and fiddling with his phone.)

Me: “Okay. You just saw me do everything correctly, right in front of you, and I still got the error. What is happening?”

Tech: “I told you, you… Oh. Well, why aren’t you doing [completely different process than the one I’ve been following for years]?”

Me: *baffled* “Why would I? That’s not the way the system works.”

Tech: “It is now. I made some updates yesterday, so you need to do things that way from now on. I told you about this, hon.”

Me: “You absolutely did not, and please don’t call me ‘hon.'”

(While he initially insisted he did, when he pulled up his email to prove it, what he’d actually done was save the message as a draft instead of sending it. He never apologized for the confusion or his attitude. I found out from another coworker that he’d gone to complain to our boss about my “bad attitude.” My boss just laughed and said, “I’ve never heard her so much as raise her voice; what did you do?” Keep in mind I still HADN’T actually raised my voice to him at all. He quit a couple weeks later, saying he was looking for a company a little less “high maintenance,” right after he’d been reprimanded for coming in more than an hour late three days in a row. Can’t say we miss him, and the new guy we hired is absolutely fantastic.)

We’ll Sit In The Ong-Back

, , , | Working | June 14, 2018

(My boyfriend and I are traveling in Thailand, and we decide to try and see a muay-thai match, so we go to a nearby stadium. At the ticket window, we check the prices, and decide on third-class for $20 instead of first for $60.)

Me: *tapping the seat chart, since my Thai isn’t great* “Third, please.”

(The ticket-seller glances at us, clearly the only white people in line, and also taps the chart.)

Ticket-Seller: “First.”

Me: “No, third.”

Ticket-Seller: “Farang—” *white people* “—always sit in first.”

Me: “We want tickets for third-class, please.”

Ticket-Seller: “But there will be Thai people there!”

Me: “I hope so; we’re in Thailand!”

(Third-class seats turned out to be perfectly comfortable, and everyone was too busy cheering the athletes on to notice or care about the white couple cheering, too. As an added bonus, my boyfriend checked out the first-class area in his way back from the bathroom, and it turned out they were selling the same beer for twice the price!)