Not The Kind Of Behavior That Cuts The Mustard

, , , , | Right | November 11, 2019

(I’m a cashier in a grocery store. I’m very friendly and like to help out in any way that I can, though I’m bad at picking up on “hints” that people try to give without just asking for what they want. We’re often a bit short-staffed, and when people forget an item, the vast majority of the time they’ll run off and grab it themselves while I’m scanning their other things because it’s a lot faster than waiting for a clerk, though some are still worried about holding up the line behind them. A lady in her late 50s comes through my till.)

Me: “Hi there. Did you find everything you needed today?”

Customer: “Hi. Yeah.” *finishes putting her stuff on the belt* “Oh, I forgot mustard.”

Me: *cheerfully* “Well, did you want to grab it still? You’ve got lots of time while I scan this stuff, and it’s just right there!” *gestures to the aisle, which is maybe thirty feet away*

Customer: *a bit coolly* “No, it’s fine.”

(I figure she doesn’t need it that badly and will get it next time. I scan a few more things.)

Me: “So, how are you today?”

Customer: *in a suddenly very chilly voice* “Fine. I’d be a lot better if I had my mustard.”

Me: *responding to her tone* “Oh, er… Are you sure you don’t want to grab it? There’s not a line or anything; you’ve got lots of time!”

Customer: “No.” *glares pointedly at me*

Me: *finally catching on* “Oh, would you like me to call someone to get it for you?”

Customer: *loudly snapping at me* “THAT WOULD BE NICE.”

(Taken aback by her anger, I page a clerk to come over to my till. While we are waiting, I ask:)

Me: “Ah, so, what kind of mustard would you like? Regular, dijon, flavoured? We have dill, bacon, horseradish—”

Customer: *in the same snippy tone* “Just normal mustard.”

Me: “Okay, so just yellow mustard. What size? Just a small one, or large, or something in between?”

Customer: “I don’t know. Just a regular size! It’s just mustard!”

Me: “All right, ma’am, we have quite a few types; I just want to make sure he grabs the one you want.

(A second customer joins the line as the grocery clerk arrives. I relay the message to the clerk and he hurries off to the condiment aisle as I smile at the new customer and tell them it’ll just be an extra minute because he’s grabbing an item. By now, I’ve finished scanning all my current customer’s things and we’re waiting in awkward silence. I can feel the huffiness radiating from her and use the time to take a sip of water instead of looking in her direction. The clerk comes back a moment later with a medium-sized bottle of yellow mustard. I take it from him and am about to thank him when the customer makes a noise of disgust.)

Customer: *to the clerk* “I wanted Dijon mustard!”

(I know full-well she said “normal” mustard when I offered her Dijon as an option, but I hold my tongue and remain polite.)

Me: “Sorry, must’ve misheard you. Do you want the same size as this one?”

Customer: *grunts in what I assume is approval*

(I exchange a glance with the clerk, who sighs slightly, takes the bottle back, and runs off again.)

Customer: *yells loudly after the clerk, startling everyone now in line behind her* “Bring me a large one!”

(I’m trying to hold in my annoyance as she mutters to herself about incompetent workers, hoping my coworker will be fast so I can get this lady out of here. The second customer is eyeing my current one with a raised eyebrow and an unimpressed expression. Thankfully, the clerk returns quickly and hands over the new bottle.)

Me: “Is this the one you’re after?”

Customer: *rudely* “YES, finally.”

(I quickly scan and bag the item as the clerk scurries off, tell her the total, and let her put through her card. She is still being rude and huffy with me when I ask her for a rewards card or if she’d like carry-out service, so I say nothing more than I absolutely have to, still managing to keep my tone polite. Once she’s done with payment:)

Me: “All right, you have a good day.”

Customer: “Well, it would’ve been a terrible day if you hadn’t bothered to get me my mustard!”

(She gives a final sniff of annoyance and stalks off with a great deal of haughtiness. I try not to let the irritation show on my face as I turn to the next customer, who is watching the woman walk away with an incredulous look on their face.)

Next Customer: *rolling their eyes* “…or she could have just gotten it herself and spared everyone the hissy fit.”

(Or instead of being passive-aggressive, she could have just asked. I’d have been more than happy to call someone immediately if she’d just told me in the first place.)

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Eating That Many Will Make You Look Like A Dumpling

, , , , , , | Working | November 11, 2019

(My friend and I decide to go to a casual sushi train restaurant. They also have a selection of hot food, one option being prawn and vegetable dumplings. You can get either of these options in a plate of three and a plate of five.)

Server: “What can I get you today?”

Me: *lists what we are ordering* “Oh, and we would like three prawn dumplings and three vegetable dumplings.”

(When our food does come out, the waitress puts down three PLATES of three prawn dumplings each.)

Me: “No, we only ordered one plate with three dumplings.”

Waitress: “The order said three?”

Me: “Yes, three dumplings, not three plates.”

(The waitress takes the extra plates back and we continue with our meal. After a few minutes, the original server comes out, followed by what looks like a manager.)

Server: “You told me you wanted three dumplings!”

Me: “We meant one plate of three dumplings, not three plates!”

Server: “Well, when you say three, I will take that as three!”

Me: “Why would we want six whole plates of dumplings? Eighteen dumplings between two of us?”

Server: “Well, when you say three, I order three!”

(The server then stomped off with the manager following behind. We ate quickly and left as soon as we could.)

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Not Taking The Call Should Be Their Calling

, , , | Right | November 11, 2019

(I work in a bakery. It’s a slow afternoon at a basically empty store when a couple enters. I stop the tasks I’m doing and head to attend them. The moment the woman starts ordering, her phone rings.)

Customer: *holds up one finger* “Oh, one moment, please!”

(She takes two steps back, pulls out her phone, and answers it. Her partner and I exchange dumbfounded stares. After a few minutes, she comes back and actually orders. After she has paid, I return to what I was doing before, but as the store is pretty much empty I can still hear them while she is putting sugar into her coffee.)

Customer’s Partner: “You don’t do that! That was rude; you don’t answer your phone when you’re in the process of talking to someone!”

Customer: “Well, what was I supposed to do?!”

Customer’s Partner: “You don’t answer! You can call back after you’re done, but what you did was incredibly rude!”

(They were still arguing on their way out, but it felt sooo good that he at least tried to put her in her place.)

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Getting Carriage Away

, , , , , | Friendly | November 11, 2019

(In Brisbane, where I live, passenger trains typically have six carriages. Carriages two and five are designated “quiet carriages,” and passengers are requested not to talk loudly or play loud music or electronic devices. I like sitting in these carriages on my way to and from work because I’m very much an introvert and struggle with having a lot of people around me. These little areas of — relative — peace and tranquility make my hour-long commute so much more bearable. This story starts a couple of stops down the line from mine when a lady gets up out of her seat, walks to the door area, and loudly announces:)

Passenger: “Hello, train people!” 

(She then starts to ramble on about getting up and moving, and says something about dancing before playing some music on her phone. She then turns to the nearest person, which happens to be me, and tries to get me up to dance. At this, I simply pull one of my earbuds out of my ear, point to the “quiet carriage” sign on the window, and say:)

Me: “Just so you know, this is a quiet carriage.”

(She looks where I’m pointing, reads the bit about no loud music or talking, turns back to me, and says:)

Passenger: “Oh, do you want me to get off, then?”

(I am a bit taken aback that she hasn’t even made the smallest attempt to apologise for disturbing the carriage, so I say:)

Me: “Actually, if you don’t mind, that’d be great.”

Passenger: “I’ve got so much love in my heart. Do you need a hug?”

(I’m not proud of my reply, but all I want is to do was sit in peace on my way to work.)

Me: “No, I need you to shut up.”

(It did the trick, though, because she packed up her stuff and moved to another carriage.)

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Cash Back Attack, Part 9

, , , , , | Right | November 11, 2019

(On a lazy Saturday afternoon, I’m on register duty when a couple comes in. The woman makes a beeline for me with a very angry look on her face.)

Woman: “You! Where’s the nearest ATM? I’ve been through this whole plaza and not one of them has an ATM!”

(The plaza I work in has four different restaurants and about five different shops. The bank we used to have closed years ago and the ATM went with it.)

Me: “I’m sorry to hear your troubles, ma’am, but the closest ATM is going to be across the street at [Gas Station #1] or [Gas Station #2]. Personally, I prefer [Gas Station #2] as they don’t charge withdrawal fees.”

Woman: “I don’t want to go across the street! That’ll take too long!”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry again, ma’am, but those are the only options I can think of.”

(The woman glares at me a minute and wanders back to her compatriot. They discuss something for a minute and she walks back to me, now with a smug look on her face.)

Woman: “You guys do cashback here, right?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. The options for cashback are $10, $20, or $40.”

Woman: “Any minimum I gotta pay?”

Me: “No, ma’am.”

(She nods and wordlessly grabs a candy bar and slams it onto my table. I ring her up and she goes through the cashback steps, selecting $40. The transaction finishes, the drawer opens, and as I’m grabbing her money, she says the following:)

Woman: “Give me $200.”

(I’m stunned for a moment, but I get the $40, close my drawer, and hand the money to her.)

Me: “No, ma’am. I’m not giving any money out that isn’t counted for on my till. You told it $40; you get $40.”

Woman: “But it’s my money! Just fix it when you count it later!”

Me: “I don’t know how you think cashback works, but that is certainly not how it operates here. Like I said a minute ago, you can head to one of the ATMs across the street if you need more cash.”

Woman: “You’re really gonna make me do this, aren’t you?”

(Before I can ask what she means, she grabs another candy bar and again slams it on my table. I check her out again and again, she gets $40. She proceeded to do five total transactions, totaling about $10 for candy, to pull out $200.)

Woman:That ought to teach you a thing or two.” 

(She then flounced out the door with her companion and candy bars. I just stared after her in silent rage and confusion.)

Related:
Cash Back Attack, Part 8
Cash Back Attack, Part 7
Cash Back Attack, Part 6

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