Not Very Closed Minded, Part 27

, , , , | Right | January 10, 2018

(I work at a one-hour-turnaround personalised gifts store. It’s closing time and all the computers and lights are turned off, but the shutter is still open. A customer rushes in, anyway.)

Customer: “Are you closed?”

Me: “Yes, but we can take your order for tomorrow.”

Customer: “For tomorrow? But you do things in one hour!”

 

Related:

Not Very Closed Minded, Part 26

Not Very Closed Minded, Part 25

Not Very Closed Minded, Part 24

Tidying And Counting And Tags, Oh My!

, , , , , , , | Working | January 10, 2018

(I am a supervisor at a store. Then I leave for a year, and when I return someone else has taken over as supervisor. I don’t care, because I never really wanted the position in the first place, but it seems the new supervisor thinks differently. She often gives me misinformation, getting me into trouble from the manager for not doing the work correctly. This time is no different. She is giving out the daily job list.)

Supervisor: “[My Name], [Manager] said that [Department] is due for a count, but it has to be 100% tidy first. Today, I want you to completely tidy the whole area; spend your whole shift doing it. Don’t worry about the counter; I’ll cover that. When you finish tidying, you can start the count, but don’t worry if it’s not done today. You can finish it when you are in tomorrow afternoon.”

(I start tidying and hear the bell ring down at the counter which means there is a customer waiting. I hear it ring again moments later, so I head down, thinking the supervisor may have gotten stuck with a customer elsewhere. There’s a line of customers waiting. I apologise for the wait and serve them before I hear the door to our office closing at the back of the store. The supervisor comes down to the counter, telling me she had gone to the office for a moment, and sends me back to the department. She tells me to call her if I get a line up again. It happens again, and I notice that the phone line to the office is engaged, which means I can’t call her anyway. She’s on the phone for 20 minutes while I serve customers; there’s no reason for such a long phone call. I do as much of the tidying as I can between serving customers before my shifts ends, as well as scanning to make new price tags for the stock. I am part way through putting them out when the supervisor tells me not to worry; I can put them out the next day. The next afternoon, I get in and immediately am set on by the manager.)

Manager: “[My Name], what the h*** did you do yesterday? That count was due yesterday afternoon. I’ve been working four hours on it this morning; you can take over and do the rest. I told [Supervisor] that you had to do the count yesterday and that you weren’t to serve until it was done. She’s told me that she kept finding you at the counter after she told you to only do the count. Your problem is that you won’t listen.”

Me: “But she told me to tidy the area, first.”

Manager: “I don’t want any excuses; she told me that you were told to tidy as you counted. Don’t argue with me, or I’ll write you up. I also noticed that there are a few price tags missing; you were supposed to make sure they were all there.”

Me: “I have them here, ready to go out.”

(I go and finish the count; it takes another couple of hours. I wonder how I was expected to both tidy and count in the four hour shift the day before, when it’s taken six hours to do the count in the perfectly tidy area. I have the next four days off on my roster, and when I get back the next week, the manager has a go at me again.)

Manager: “[My Name], I told you to make sure [Department] was completely priced. I went over there today and there’s no prices anywhere.”

Me: “Strange, I did them on Thursday last week.”

Manager: “Well, you are responsible for that area, and you need to check it every day.”

Me: “Even when I haven’t worked since Thursday?”

Manager: “What? Oh, just go and do it. Stop arguing.”

(I get into the area, and he’s right; there are no prices anywhere. I redo all of the tags, then start tidying the area, and I notice that some stock has been pulled forward and crooked on a shelf. I find a screwed-up pile of price tags hidden behind the stock.)

Me: “[Manager], I’ve finished putting those tags out, and this is for you.”

(I put the pile of tags on the desk.)

Manager: “What are they?”

Me: “By the look of it, they are all the missing price tags from [Department]. I found them stuffed behind [stock].”

(Unfortunately, I could not prove who had put them there, so the manager decided it had to be a customer.)

Doctor’s Note Versus Musical Note

, , , , , , , | Learning | January 10, 2018

(I’m a senior and in the top audition-only choir at my school. It’s near Christmas, and I have come down with a nasty case of the flu. My doctor has ordered me to stay home for at least a week. My mom drops by the school with a doctor’s note, as I’m so sick I can’t drive. She runs into the office while I stay in the car. She comes back out with a frown on her face.)

Mom: “[Choir Director] wants to see you.”

(I’ve got a fever of 103, so I’m very out of it.)

Me: “Huh?”

Mom: “He wants to see you. He left word with the office that he doesn’t want a note; he wants to see you, personally. Something about missing two performances. He wants proof you’re really sick.”

Me: “But I’m sick. And I’m in my PJ’s.”

Mom: “I know, honey. I’ll walk with you.”

(I slowly shuffle to the choir room. I open the door, and am greeted by the shocked faces of my classmates. The director drops his sheet music and books it over to me.)

Director: “You’re sick. You’re actually really sick. What are you doing here?”

Mom: “You told the office you wanted to see her. Here she is.”

Director: “No, no. I didn’t—”

Mom: “Yes, you did. You told the front office that you wanted to see her, because you wanted to make sure she was really sick.”

Director: “Okay, I did say that. But so many students lie about being sick, and I just wanted to make sure that she was actually sick. I believe you. You ladies can go home.”

Mom: “We have a doctor’s note. You always tell them to bring one in if they can’t sing.”

Director: “Ah… no. That’s not necessary—”

(Normally, I’m very quiet and well-behaved, but I’ve lost all patience.)

Me: “I had to drag myself out of the car to come in here and present myself to you. YOU ARE TAKING THIS DOCTOR’S NOTE! Have I ever missed a performance in three years of singing for you?! NO! Why would I lie about missing one now?”

(He takes the note. My mom gently guides me toward the door.)

Director: “I… ah… really do hope you feel better.”

Me: *under my breath* “I hope you get all my flu germs.”

(One of my friends, who was sitting near the door, snorted. I went home. The director didn’t talk directly to me for a month.)

Enchilada-rama

, , , , , | Right | January 10, 2018

(I am waiting on a group of elderly people.)

Me: “Are we all decided on what we want to order?”

Customer #1: “Where’s the enchiladas on here?” *she waves the menu around*

Me: “We don’t have enchiladas.”

Customer #1:Yes, you do!

Me: “No, we have never sold enchiladas. Can I offer you something else?”

Customer #1: “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid! Get me your manager!”

(I go and get my manager and explain the situation. He lets out a long sigh and approaches the table.)

Manager: “What’s the issue I can help you with, ma’am?”

Customer #1: “I WANT ENCHILADAS! YOUR RUDE WAITRESS LIED TO ME; I KNOW YOU HAVE THEM!”

Manager: “We don’t have enchiladas; we have never had enchiladas on our menu.”

Customer #1: “YES, YOU DO!”

Manager: “Ma’am, we sell burgers.”

Customer #1: “Stop lying!”

Customer #2: *in booth next to them* “You dumb b****, if you want Mexican food go to [Fast Food Place]. Leave these poor people alone. Not everyone should have to deal with your stupidity!”

The Marketers Are Reverting To Baby Talk

, , , , , , , | Working | January 10, 2018

(I’m at home with my young son, who has just woken up from his nap and is happily playing with his toys. My phone rings.)

Me: “Hello?”

Telemarketer: “Hello, may I speak to [Son]?”

Me: *thinking she meant “about”* “Um, this is his father. What’s this in regards to?”

Telemarketer: “I need to speak to [Son], please. It’s quite important; is he there?”

Me: “Yes. But he’s also 14 months old. I seriously doubt you want to speak with him, at least until he’s capable of… you know… speaking.”

(I hang up, thinking that’s the end of it. However, shortly afterwards, my phone rings again.)

Me: “Hello?”

Telemarketer: “Hello. I don’t think you realise how important this call is to [Son]. It’s vital that I speak with him on this matter.”

Me: *figuring I can get rid of her quicker if I take the bait* “Okay. About what, exactly?”

Telemarketer: “That’s private, I’m afraid, sir. I need to discuss this with [Son] personally. Data protection, I’m sure you understand.”

Me: “Listen. My son is 14 months — as in one year and two months — old. I don’t know what you want, but I guarantee he won’t be interested. So, I’m going to go ahead and decline your generous offer on his behalf.” *hangs up*

(Ring, ring.)

Me: “All right, what?”

Telemarketer: “You know, if I were the police I could have you arrested.”

Me: “WHAT?!”

Telemarketer: *condescendingly* “If my call was a police matter, you could be arrested for obstruction of justice.”

Me:Are you the police?”

Telemarketer: “I could be! As I said, this is a private matter between [Son] and me. I can’t discuss it with you.”

Me: “And as I said… You know what? I’ll pass you over to him.”

Telemarketer: *smugly* “A wise decision, sir.”

(I put the speaker on and pass the phone to my son, who holds it, staring in wonder.)

Son: “Ah?”

Telemarketer: “Good afternoon, Mr. [Son]. My name is [Telemarketer]. I’m calling on behalf of [Not the Police], and we have wonderful news! You have been selected to receive our exclusive offers that you won’t find…”

(My son giggles and babbles to himself as he turns my phone this way and that.)

Telemarketer: “I’m sorry, Mr. [Son]. I didn’t quite catch that; could you say that again?”

(My son then put the phone right up to his mouth and yelled, “AAAAAAAAHHHH!” down the line, louder than I’d ever heard him. I could make out the unmistakable sound of an earpiece being thrown onto a desk, followed by the muffled voice of the telemarketer shouting, “Good f***ing God!” before the call got dropped. My son guffawed and then went back to playing with his toys. We didn’t get any more calls from them again.)

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