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Nothing “Left” To Spend

, , , | Right | November 3, 2017

Me: “How much are you looking to spend?”

Customer: “Around £1050.”

Me: “Well, the world’s your oyster, then.”

Customer: “I know.” *acting if he was a baron or something*

(I start showing him the products in his stated price range, and we find a good model which suits him.)

Customer: “Oh, don’t have them in left-hand, do you?”

(It is obvious he is saying this as a way to get out of the sale, as he thinks we don’t have any left-hand models.)

Manager: “Yes, we do.” *gets one straight out of the box*

Customer: “Oh, okay. But I really wanted one in camouflage.”

Manager: *gets a camouflage, left-hand model from another box* “Must have got another shipment in.”

Customer: “Yeah, um… Yeah. Well, now that I think about it, I actually shouldn’t go over £950.”

Manager: “I can do this for £935.”

Customer: “Oh! Um, yeah, okay, well…” *thinking of a way out of this situation he got himself into* “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

(That was the last we saw of him.)

Human Interaction Is So Mechanical

, , , | Working | November 3, 2017

(I stop by my local bank on lunch to make a cash deposit. There is just one other person in line and two people being waited on, so I decide to go in. The wait isn’t long, and I soon approach the teller.)

Me: “I’d like to make a deposit.”

Teller: *processes transaction and hands receipt to me* “You could have used the ATM.”

Me: “I know.”

Teller: “Have you ever done it before?”

Me: “No.”

Teller: “Do you want me to show you how?”

Me: “No.”

(I left confused, unsure if she was trying to be helpful and save me the two-minute wait or because she would rather I not have come in to interact with her.)

Will Weather Through That Bad Grade

, , , , , , | Learning | November 3, 2017

(I am a graduate student at [University #1]. As part of my graduate coursework, I have to take a departmental seminar on how to make presentations of your research. I choose to present about a project I did as an undergraduate at [University #2]. For the project, I collected storm water runoff from roads, so I could only collect water when it was raining exceptionally hard. Because of this, I was only able to collect water on three days. I know that the project isn’t perfect, since I only had one summer to do it and $500 to spend on it. For reference, most graduate projects get tens of thousands of dollars in funding. But it is all I have to present on, because my graduate work isn’t done yet. It’s useful to note that the professor who moderates the presentation class has a reputation for being unreasonable and a bit of a show-off, and I don’t stand for it. At the end of my presentation, he goes on a rant that culminates in this exchange.)

Professor: “I just can’t believe you thought this was science. I mean, I’ve never seen a study with only three data points. Why didn’t you collect more data?”

Me: “Sorry, but the magic weather machine that makes it rain was booked up by a different department for the summer.”

(I got a C.)

Which One Is The Entitlement Lane?

, , , | Right | November 3, 2017

(In my experience lifeguarding, there are some scary categories of customers. For me, the worst is when I have to deal with an angry lane swimmer. Hell hath no fury like a former competitive swimmer having their workout affected. My first job is at a small indoor pool, only 25 meters long and three lanes. Each lane is for a different swimming speed. This one day, the lanes are quite busy, with at least three people in each lane. A swimmer I have never seen before comes out of the change room with a bunch of swim gear. He stares at the pool for a while until he comes over to me.)

Me: “Good morning, sir. How may I help you?”

Customer: “I’m a fast swimmer.”

(I wait a bit to see if he’ll add more, but he doesn’t.)

Me: “Okay, well, the middle lane is the fast lane. Do you need any equipment?”

Customer: *stares at the lane* “You see, I’m a fast swimmer. I’m going to be a lot faster than everyone in that lane.”

Me: “Oh, well, the people that are swimming there are really good with working out swimming in the same lane. You see how they are travelling in circles? If you hop in, I’m sure you can figure something out with them.”

(The man doesn’t say anything but continues to stare at me. Thinking he doesn’t like that option, I add more.)

Me: “Or, one of the people in that lane has been swimming for a while; they might be done soon. You could start with a warm up and then wait and see?”

(Again, the man doesn’t say anything.)

Me: “Or, I know the ones in the slow lane don’t swim for very long. If they leave, you could use that lane, but if more people come in, you would have to accommodate them.”

(The man still stares at me awkwardly and I don’t know what else to say.)

Me: “Um, that’s all I can think of for now.”

Customer: “So, you’re not going to kick them out of the lane for me?”

Me: *taken aback* “Uh, no. They got here first and have been swimming for a while now. I don’t even know where I would put them if I got them out of that lane.”

Customer: “But I’m a fast swimmer.”

Me: “Sorry?”

(The customer just emitted an impatient sigh as he stormed past me. I then watched him go up to swimmers, and I thought he was asking them if he could join in the swim. When he stormed out, one of the customers let me know afterwards that he was actually asking when everyone was done swimming.)

Dressing Up The Problem

, , , , , , | Related | November 2, 2017

Because of the layout of our house at the time, [Brother #1] had to walk through my bedroom, which used to be [Brother #2]’s before he moved abroad, in order to get to his. It was the middle of summer. [Brother #2] was visiting, and our parents were away on holiday, leaving just the three of us. I was lying in bed one morning when [Brother #1] returned from the shower. Wearing only his boxers, he proceeded to throw a towel around his shoulders like a cape, exclaim that he was Superman, and run around my room making “woosh” noises for a solid minute. He was 20 at the time.

I also had a problem with the both of them using my room as a meeting and dressing room, especially while they were getting ready for work in the mornings, which I was reminded of a few months ago: My father, in the process of changing out of his work outfit, entered my room in just his boxers and socks to ask me a question.

My mother only sighed when I asked her why none of the boys in the house would get dressed in their own rooms.