Arcade Dire

, , , , , , , | Friendly | November 8, 2017

(I spend quite a bit of time at the video game arcade playing one of those two-person fighting games. There, I meet another player that frequents the place as much as I do. We often choose random characters when playing against each other, just for fun. One day, as we are playing, a young man comes in and puts his token on the machine to indicate he wants to be the next person to play. My arcade friend beats me and I let the new guy take my place as the next challenger. He goes on to beat my friend with some nice moves.)

Friend: “That was pretty good.”

Stranger: “Yeah, well, I come from [Major City] and there, if you aren’t good, they throw you out of the arcade.”

(Next it is my turn. I beat him, after he only gets in one hit.)

Friend: *in a deadpan voice* “Well, that’s how we play around here.”

(The young man did not stick around for a repeat performance.)

Interview Technique Is Lacking An Interview

, , , , , , , | Working | November 8, 2017

(I have just finished an interview, so I am wearing a suit and nice shoes as well as carrying a laptop. I decide to stop in a well-known coffee shop to get a tea and a bagel. I sit down at an empty table to eat and play a game on my phone, with only a handful of customers in the store. A well-dressed woman walks up to me.)

Woman: “Hi.”

Me: “Hello?”

Woman: “Do you need a phone charger?”

Me: *confused* “No, thanks… Do you?”

(The woman shakes her head but doesn’t move. After a moment…)

Woman: “Could you move over there?” *points to a different table*

Me: *now really confused* “Uh, no? I’m fine right here.”

Woman: “You know, you aren’t making a very good first impression.”

Me: “Neither are you.”

Woman: *with a rude tone, points to clipboard in hand* “I’m marking this down, I hope you know.”

Me: “For what?”

(With a shocked expression, the woman turned around and disappeared into the back room. I figured that someone had an interview scheduled that day and the woman assumed I was the candidate. If that’s the case, it was pretty rude to not even introduce herself or ask me if I was there for the interview.)

A Bunch Of Regular A**holes

, , , , , , , , | Right | November 8, 2017

(I operate an ice cream parlor in a small seasonal family resort. Business is slow and the shop is intended to be run by one person. Ice cream is served in the customer’s choice of a cup or in one of three different types of cones, which are stored in plain sight, right behind the ice cream freezer. A couple walks into the shop; they are my only customers at the time.)

Me: *genuinely happy, because these are the first people I have seen in a while* “Hey, guys! How are you doing today?”

(Neither of them responds; they just walk up to inspect the different flavors visible through the glass freezer. I don’t really let it get me down; this happens a lot.)

Me: “Let me know what I can get you, whenever you’re ready.”

Woman: “Cookies and cream.”

Me: “Sure thing! In a cup or a cone?”

Woman: “Cone.”

Me: *I point to each of the types of cones on display as I say their names* “Sure. Would you like a sugar cone, cake cone, or this big waffle cone for an extra 50 cents?”

Woman: “Regular.”

Me: “Sorry, which type of cone? I have this smaller sugar cone here on the left, this flat one in the middle is the cake cone, and this big one here on the right is the waffle cone that costs an extra 50 cents.”

Woman: “I said, ‘regular.’”

(She jabs her finger vaguely in the direction of the entire rack of cones from the opposite end of the counter, but I have no way of telling which one she’s pointing at. I make a judgment call based on my best guess at where she pointed and pick up a cake cone.)

Me: “Sure, would you like one scoop or t—”

Woman: “No, d*** it. Listen to me. I want a regular cone. Regular. I’m speaking English here!”

Man: *to me* “Yeah, dude. Come on, she said it three times now. Are you having a bad day or something?”

Me: “Woah, hey. Different people mean different things when they say, ‘regular.’ I’m just trying to get you what you want. Is that the small sugar cone on the left, or the big waffle cone on the right?”

Woman: *yelling* “I DON’T CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE MEAN! I’M AN AMERICAN AND I WANT A REGULAR F****** CONE. I AM NOT SOME [RACIAL SLUR]. I AM SPEAKING F****** ENGLISH. REGULAR! REEEEEEGUUUUULAAAAR!”

(My patience is wearing thin. I carry the whole cone rack over and put it on the counter in front of her.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to stop yelling. I still don’t know what kind of cone you want. ‘Regular’ isn’t one of the options, no matter what country you come from. The small cone on the left is the sugar cone. The big cone on the right is the waffle cone. Say one of those words, or point to one, or leave. Those are your choices.”

Woman: *points to the sugar cone, which is the smaller one of the two* “That one! The regular cone! We call that a regular cone in America!”

Man: “How do you work in an ice cream shop and not know that?”

(I scoop her the ice cream and try to recollect myself before handing it to her.)

Me: “There you are. Sorry about the confusion. Can I get you anything, sir?”

Man: “Yeah, rocky road on a big regular cone.”

(I guess correctly that “big regular” means “waffle,” since at least he used some sort of descriptive word for me to go by. I scoop his ice cream and ring them both up. The man pays for them both with cash, and I hand him back the change.)

Me: *in complete cheerful customer service autopilot* “There’s your change. Have a nice day!”

Woman: “F*** you.” *she grabs the man’s hand with the change, fishes through it, extracts two pennies, and slams them angrily into my tip jar* “Here’s what your customer service was worth to me!”

Could Only Happen In A Comic

, , , , , | Right | November 8, 2017

(I am the collections buyer for a comic book store. This involves going through however many comics the customer brings us. I ALWAYS tell the customer they are not going to get market value for their comics, and I give them options of where they can go to get market value, or close to it, for their comics. One day I am with a repeat customer. We get on well and chat away while I am checking his collection. Halfway through, a teenager comes up to me and thrusts a handful of comics in my face. Literally, he is holding them in his hands. They are dripping with moisture. The pages are dark brown, bits are falling off, and all I can smell now is mold and acid.)

Customer: “How much for these?”

Me: “Nothing. I’m not going to buy them off of you.”

Customer: “How much? They’re comics!”

Me: “Sir, they are falling apart! They are unreadable.”

Customer: “How much will you buy them for?”

Me: “If I buy those off of you, my bosses will fire me within the hour.”

Customer: “You have to buy them! They’re comics!”

Not Very Closed Minded, Part 26

, , , , | Right | November 8, 2017

(We close at 7:00 pm on Sundays, which is fine in winter, because it’s dark out and most of the time, people don’t really come in. When it gets lighter out, however, we get an after-dinner rush and have to coax a lot of people out of the store. My coworker is pulling out the cash drawers when a customer walks in during closing.)

Coworker: “Oh! I’m sorry, ma’am. We just closed.”

Customer: “Oh! What time?”

Coworker: “Just now, at seven o’clock.”

Customer: “Isn’t it two minutes before seven?”

(She is referring to the large clock behind our register, which is always slow.)

Coworker: “No, ma’am, I’m sorry; it is exactly seven o’clock. But maybe we can ring up a book for you. Do you know exactly what you want?”

Customer: “No, but can I just browse for a couple of minutes or so?”

Coworker: *pained smile* “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Me: *jumping in* “Don’t worry. We open every day at 10:00 am. You can come in then!”

Customer: “Oh. Well, I suppose you’re closed.”

(She proceeds to sigh and stand in front of the cash registers, quietly and somberly, for at least ten seconds before finally, slowly, shambling out. Whether or not she thought silently pouting would actually get us to change our minds about staying open for her is beyond me!)

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