Urine Trouble Now

, , , , | Right | October 10, 2017

(My style is punkish, with colorful hair and piercings. It’s a slow day and I am working the counter on my own when an angry, rather posh-looking customer comes up to me.)

Customer: “Go tell your manager to buy some urinal cakes. Here is 10€, since it seems that your restaurant can’t afford them!”

Me: *confused* “Uhm… Okay?”

(I refuse to take the money, since he’s made his point. He then throws it on the counter.)

Customer: “Take it and go to your manager!”

(As he leaves the counter new customers arrive, so I temporarily put the money in my pocket and take their orders first. While I am quickly serving the last customer, my manager joins me at the counter. Before I can say a word, the angry customer is back.)

Customer: *to the manager* “Did she give you the 10€ for the urinal cakes? Your toilets are really dirty and disgusting, and you should do something about it!”

Manager: “I am sorry that our restrooms seem to be dirty, sir. I will go and check them myself. But what money are you talking about?”

Customer: *to the manager* “I gave her 10€ and told her to give them to you, so you can buy some urinal cakes!” *to me* “You little piece of s***! You put the money in your own pocket without even telling him!”

Me: “I was going to tell him, but then I had to serve new customers. Here: you can have the money back. I didn’t even want to take it in the first place, but you made me.”

Customer: *looking me up and down* “It seems that you are in need of all the money you can get. So, keep it, you poor piece of s***! What a crappy place!”

(He then storms out of the restaurant. My manager takes me to the back to ask what just happened there. I tell him the whole story, afraid that I’m in trouble for this.)

Manager: *laughing* “What an idiot! Just keep the money!”

Don’t Sweat It; No, Seriously, Don’t Sweat

, , , , | Right | October 10, 2017

(It is summer in San Diego, around 1:00 pm, and our air conditioner is broken. It is quite warm, to say the least. We are busy, and sweating is inevitable. I have a table of two women, maybe in their 40s, and I have just returned with their drinks.)

Me: “Ladies, are you ready to order?”

(One of them hands me a napkin because of the perspiration blatantly streaming down my forehead. I take it as a kind gesture, so I pat my forehead dry.)

Customer: “It’s a bit warm, huh?”

Me: “Thank you. Yes, it is; our air conditioner is broken.”

Customer: “You know, it’s not polite to sweat in front of customers.”

Me: “Um, I’m sorry, but it’s very hot in here, and I can’t really help it.”

Customer: “Oh. You’re one of those people.”

(…wait, what?)

Hard Rules For Soft Cheese

, , , , , | Working | October 10, 2017

(My friend is around eight months pregnant, and we’ve gone to a cafe for lunch together. Note that in the UK, soft cheeses such as Brie are on the list of foods that pregnant women are recommended not to eat, along with raw eggs, undercooked meat, etc. because there is an extremely small risk of listeria. However, there is no law preventing the sale of any of these foods to pregnant women, and it’s a woman’s individual choice whether she eats these foods or not. My friend picks up a Brie and bacon baguette from the fridge, and goes to the counter to pay.)

Cashier: “Okay, so that’s a Brie and bacon…” *spots my friend’s belly* “Oh. Oh, no, I’m sorry.”

Friend: “Sorry? Is there a problem?”

Cashier: “You can’t have this. I can’t sell this to you.”

Friend: “What do you mean?”

Cashier: “You’re pregnant. You’re not allowed to eat this.”

Friend: “Um, I think that’s my choice, don’t you?”

Cashier: “But… you’re pregnant.”

Friend: “Yes, and I’d like to have that sandwich for lunch.”

Cashier: “But this has Brie in it.”

Friend: “I know. That’s why I chose it. I assume the cheeses you use are all pasteurised?”

Cashier: “Well… yes. I think so.”

Friend: “Well, then, the risk of me getting ill after eating that sandwich is negligible. And anyway, it’s my choice whether or not to eat it. Please just let me pay for it.”

(Eventually the cashier scanned the baguette and let my friend pay, but all the time she was muttering about how pregnant women shouldn’t eat Brie and she really shouldn’t be selling it to her.)

Ah, Democracy

, , , , | Right | October 10, 2017

(It’s the day of the 2016 elections. I’ve just arrived to work.)

Me: “Hey, [Supervisor]. Do you want me in the lobby or the drive-up?”

Supervisor: “Your choice!”

Customer #1: “Hey! You cut in front of me!”

Customer #2: “You just told the teller you weren’t ready! I am ready, so I will go first!”

Customer #1: “You dodo bird. Must be a [Presidential Candidate] voter.”

(The entire lobby goes quiet and looks at [Customer #2].)

Customer #2: “You know what? I’ll just come back later.” *calmly walks out*

Customer #1: “So entitled and arrogant. I just know he’s a [Candidate] supporter. Did you know they’re trying to rig the voting machines? Ha! Like anyone in this area would vote for [Candidate].” *walks out, still talking to himself*

Me: “Ah… drive-up. I pick drive-up.”

Supervisor: “Yeah, I think I’ll join you.”

Coworker: “HEY! Don’t leave me alone up here! This city has turned into crazy town!”

You’re Chalk And They’re Cheese(d Off)

, , , , , , | Right | October 10, 2017

(I work as a parking enforcement officer for a police department while I’m attending college. One of my duties is to enforce the three-hour time requirement in a parking lot. As my partner and I are marking tires with chalk, a lady pulls in and parks her car, but instead of going to shop, she stands there and watches us. When my partner marks her tire, she leaps in her car and drives to a different spot, causing the mark to be erased. She sits in her car and flips us off and waits until we leave. Before we go though, we snap a cellphone picture of her car parked in the marked spot, making sure to catch the spot number and the license plate. Three and a half hours later, we return and ticket her car as well as several others. As we’re leaving, the lady comes rushing out, furious.)

Lady: “Excuse me! Why was I given a ticket?”

Partner: “This is a three-hour lot, ma’am, and you’ve been parked here for nearly four.”

Lady: “No, no, no! I moved my car when I was on my lunch. I work at [Store nearby].”

Me: “Do you have a local work permit exempting you from the three-hour rule?”

(The city gives these out for free as long as the worker can prove employment.)

Lady: “No! Why would I get one of those? You guys should just know that I work here and not ticket me!”

Partner: “I’m sorry, but we have no way of knowing that without the permit.”

Lady: “You need to take the ticket back; there’s no chalk mark.”

Partner: “Oh, no, we didn’t chalk your tire. We took a picture of your car parked in that exact spot at [time she parked].”

Lady: “Oh, really? What spot was I in and what’s my plate, then?”

Partner: “[Spot number] and [plate number].”

Lady: “F*** you both! You guys aren’t supposed to catch on to me. I specifically waited for you guys to chalk my tire so I could park here all day!” *storms off, mad*

(My partner and I shrugged at each other and moved on.)

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