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You’ve Got To Cook Bacon To Bring Home The Bacon

, , , , , | Working | November 27, 2017

(A new duty manager has started with us. We come in after an extended weekend to find the entire menu changed and half the stock missing.)

Me: *after checking the stock* “What the h*** is going on?”

Manager: “Who was here on Saturday?”

Duty Manager: “Hello! My, isn’t it a mess in here?!”

Manager: “[Duty Manager], do you know anything about this? Half the stock is missing.”

Duty Manager: “Oh, I came in yesterday and cleansed the menu. It’s shocking how little of it was kosher!”

Manager: “Kosher? But we aren’t a kosher restaurant.”

Duty Manager: “Well, you should be. I’m Jewish and you should be sensitive to my religious beliefs.”

Manager: “But, we already have kosher selections. Are you seriously expecting our customers to be sensitive to your beliefs as well? What about [My Name]? He’s Jewish and doesn’t have a problem with it.”

Duty Manager: “He’s probably just a convert. I have real blood in my veins.”

Me: “Well, not that your accusation isn’t insulting enough, but if we’re dealing with respecting beliefs, shouldn’t we only have halal on the menu, as well, because of [Colleague]?”

Duty Manager: “Oh, no. It’s only the Jews you have to care about, because of the Holocaust.”

Manager: “What?!”

Duty Manager: “We deserve something back.”

(We’re all stunned into silence for a moment.)

Me: “Well, I guess I’m owed twice then, because I’m Jewish and gay.”

Duty Manager: “See?! You aren’t a real Jew, because Jews can’t be gay.”

Manager: “I’ve had enough. In my office, now!”

(We were forced to close after that day for a week to restock, and the duty manager worked that shift refusing to leave the office. About £15,000 of food was lost because of her, which the owner decided to pay themselves to avoid any further complications when dealing with conflicts of religion. It was mutually agreed that the duty manager should simply leave. Today as I was walking to work I bumped into her, causing her bacon sandwich to spray across the ground. I stared in disbelief as she tried to pick up the remains. When she recognised me, she screamed, “IT’S HARD SOMETIMES!” before storming off.)

Me No Speak Espaniano

, , , , | Right | November 27, 2017

(I am the manager of a store in a neighborhood that is heavily populated with Cuban-American people. This exchange happens between a customer and my employee, Fernando.)

Customer: *speaks Spanish*

Fernando: “I’m sorry, sir; I don’t speak Spanish.”

Customer: *yelling in English* “You need to learn your roots and speak the mother-tongue of our people!”

Fernando: *pointing to his name badge* “Fernando… Italiano!”

Customer: *quietly walks out the door*

Perhaps You Should Dig Into Your Pocket

, , , , , | Right | November 27, 2017

(My first week on my first job at an amusement park when I am 16, a customer comes up to me with the following:)

Customer: “Excuse me, do you know where [Theater] is?”

Me: “I’m sorry sir, I do not.”

Customer: “How could you not know where this theater is?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but it is my first week.”

Customer: “Maybe you should learn the park you work in.”

Me: “Well, I am sorry, sir, but maybe if I had a park map in my front pocket, I could help you out.”

(The customer looked down at his park map in his pocket and stormed off.)

Has (Other) Room For Improvement

, , , , , , | Learning | November 27, 2017

(When I was growing up, a lot of teachers in my elementary school thought I had a learning disability. They based this on the fact that I couldn’t get into classroom routines and that I wouldn’t do math work. In actuality, I just didn’t understand the transitioning between subjects while still remaining in the same room, so I chose to continue doing subjects I liked, instead. They fought with my parents a lot over this, but my parents were adamant I had the necessary skills because I would read a book every night and could show them the math skills at home. They suggested that I just needed more time than the other kids. Apparently, the school decided to take matters into their own hands one day. Keep in mind, this was quite a long time ago, so inclusivity in classrooms wasn’t what it was today. There was a big show if you were taken from the class to work with the special needs educators. This happens after morning routine in grade three, when they come to collect the students that will be in the “special education room.” I am waiting for the dinosaur work we are going to do, when…)

Teacher: “[My Name], you’re going with these workers, too.”

Me: *confused* “What? Why?”

Teacher: “Because they will help you, [My Name].”

Me: “B-but I wanted to play with the dinosaurs.”

Teacher: “I am not going to argue with you! Go with them now!”

(Scared because she raised her voice, I get up and follow, embarrassed that everyone is watching me. I head with the group until we get to a small room. They keep other students out of this area, so I don’t understand why I am there. I am even more confused when they sit everyone around the table, and have us just identify numbers on the number line to start. I can do it easily and can’t understand why I’m not learning the multiplication work from my classroom. Then, they read out loud from a simple picture book, and I can’t understand why I can’t go back to my class and listen to the chapter book the teacher has been reading and that I really enjoy. I keep asking if I can read a book by myself, but they won’t let me. I am hoping I will go back to class eventually, but they keep me in there the whole day. I even have to eat lunch there. After school, before I meet my mom, I go back to my teacher.)

Me: “Ms. [Teacher], can I come back to class tomorrow? I don’t want to miss [Chapter Book].”

Teacher: “Oh, I’m sorry, [My Name]; you have to go back tomorrow.”

Me: *tearing up* “But I want to finish the book.”

Teacher: “We finished it today, so I can give it to your new teachers to read for you tomorrow.”

(This is when I start bawling, so my teacher tries to comfort me while she walks me to my mom. She then explains to my mom that I am upset because I missed the last chapter of a book.)

Mom: “I don’t understand. How did she miss it? Did she go to the bathroom?”

Me: *through tears* “I missed it because they took me to the other room, Mommy.”

Mom: “What other room?”

Teacher: “The special education classroom. It was [My Name]’s first time there, so she might need some adjusting, but I’m sure after a week or so, she’ll get use to the routine.”

(At this my mom’s eyes grow wide and she turns a shade of red I have never seen before.)

Mom: “My daughter was where?

(Apparently, somebody decided it would just be easiest if I went to the special education room so I wouldn’t be a bother. To make matters even easier, they were going to give me the exact same work and not adjust the workload to my needs. My mom was very angry that they did this behind her back. She yelled at the principal until it was sorted out and I was put back in my original class. I would like to note that I didn’t mind being with the other students; I actually enjoyed being with them. I was upset that they made a big show of taking me to the room so I didn’t feel included with the rest of the school. I was upset that the work wasn’t at my level, and that it wasn’t explained to me why I was there. Now that I’m older, it upsets me that the kids in that room were referred to as a “bother.” It also upsets me to realize that I could communicate my frustrations and something was done because of that, but there were students in there who couldn’t. As a result, I went on to become a teacher and receive my Masters of Education. With my own classroom, inclusivity is an important aspect, and I am proud of how far education has come today compared to when I was a scared grade three.)

Mismanaged Your Attitude

, , , , , , | Working | November 27, 2017

(I am cleaning up after having lunch. The staff room hasn’t been tidied since the morning, so I decide to have a quick run around.)

Coworker: *walking in* “What are you doing?”

Me: “Just cleaning. It hasn’t been touched since [Cleaner] left this morning.”

Coworker: *condescending* “Why should you be doing that?”

Me: “Why not?”

Coworker: “Because you’re a man!

(I turn and stare at him, expecting it to be a joke. He stares back until our manager, who is a woman, walks in, too.)

Coworker: *snapping his fingers* “[Manager]! Get this mess cleaned up. [My Name] has been doing it because you’re too lazy!”

Manager: “Excuse me?”

Coworker: *snaps his fingers again* “You heard me!”

Manager: *takes a second to compose herself* “You’ve only been here a month, [Coworker], so I’ll give you a moment to adjust your attitude.”

Coworker: *stares, confused, for a second before snapping his fingers for the last time* “NOW!”

Manager: “That’s it! Get out. We’ll be having a little chat with your supervisor tomorrow.”

(The coworker didn’t leave at first and tried to argue his point across, shouting at the manager. I didn’t see him until a week later; he was tasked with cleaning the staff room in the evenings. Whenever he thinks he’s alone he mutters to himself that it isn’t a man’s job to clean, and that he’ll get back at [Manager] someday.)