Mmm, The Afraid-Of-Being-Called-Racist Discount

, , , , , | Working | September 5, 2018

(The fast food restaurant where I work is only a short walk from my place of residence, so my friends and I often go there and use my employee discount. I have never been given a weekend shift in the eight months since I started. Yet, lo and behold, the one time I misread the roster, I am assigned a Sunday morning shift and do not realise until Sunday morning when I wake up to three missed calls and texts from the shift manager. This is the first shift I have ever missed. Up until now, this particular manager has been friendly with me, even giving me the 50% discount any time I come into the store even though it is only reserved for our break-time meals. But after this incident, his attitude completely changes. He becomes a lot more commanding and bossy, stops making casual conversation with me, no longer gives me the 50% discount, and looks for any reason to not give me the usual 20% employee discount, like if my order is over $20 or if I am ordering from the cheaper items list — while these are technically the standard rules of the discount at all stores, managers have always been a lot more lenient with employees from their own store. When my friends and I enter the store on this night, I notice [Manager] is working this shift and let them know that I’m not likely to get a discount. I am a 20-year-old female of Southeast-Asian descent with light brown skin.)

Manager: *curtly* “Hey.”

Me: *politely* “Hey! Can I grab a [small family box meal] and two [cheaper items], please?”

(My manager silently puts my order in and the total comes up on the display as $20.95.)

Manager: “Your whole order is over $20, so I can’t give you the discount.”

Me: “That’s fine, just on card ple—”

Manager: “Also, how come you didn’t show up to your shift today?”

(I am about to tap the card to the machine when I stop and frown at him.)

Me: “What?”

Manager: “You were rostered on for six to ten this morning. Where were you? That’s the second shift you’ve missed in a month without notice.”

Me: “What are you talking about? I’ve been double-checking the roster every week since that shift I missed, and I definitely wasn’t rostered on at all today!”

Manager: “Yes, you were. We called you multiple times and you never answered, let alone called back to explain why.”

Me: “I’ve had my phone on me all day and never got any calls, let alone notifications for a missed call. As for the shift, I had university lectures starting at nine am today! I don’t think I even have today in my availability, and usually [Manager who organizes roster] puts me on six to ten Monday!”

Manager: “Well, you’re going to have to talk to her, because I sure as heck—” *he goes silent and stares at me intently for a second* “Wait… Aren’t you [Other Female Southeast Asian Employee]?”

Me: “No! I’m [My Name]! I’ve worked here for almost a year now!”

Manager: *sputtering and going slightly red* “I knew that… I did know that! And [Other Employee] doesn’t even go to university.”

Me: “[Manager], you’ve known me since I started!”

Manager: “Oh, God, I’m sorry! I just… I don’t know what… It’s really late… Okay, I’m sorry. I genuinely feel really bad. Um…”

(The manager taps on the register screen a couple of times and my displayed total is immediately halved.)

Manager: “I’ll give you the 50%.”

(I tap my card against the machine and wait for the approval.)

Me: “Thank you. Hope you get some sleep.”

(While we usually eat in the dining area, we decided to take this one home. I assured my friends, who had overheard most of the conversation, that I wasn’t hurt or offended, and we rejoiced at getting a $10 meal for four people. But the next time I went into the restaurant to buy food, the manager had gone back to his previous ways and refused me the 20% discount for ordering off the cheaper items menu. The only difference was that when he served me, he made a point to clearly say my name.)

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I’ll Pencil You In For Never

, , , , , , | Right | September 5, 2018

(I produce very fine pencil drawings of city views, done in psychedelic colour schemes. I also sell ink drawings of those same views, which resemble colouring book pages. Customers sometimes ask if it’s okay for them to colour them in, and it is, since it doesn’t affect me. This woman is a lot less polite about it, though.)

Girl: “Ooh, these look nice, Mum.”

Woman: “Yes, they look okay. How much are they?”

Me: “The colour prints are £40, black and white £20, and the originals are about £250.”

Woman: “What?! You’re charging £250 for pencil drawings!”

Me: *taken aback* “Well, they’re each nearly a month’s work and done in very fine detail.”

Woman: “I’m not paying that. I could do this!”

Girl: “Oh, but I really like them.”

Woman: “Fine.”

(She decides to buy one of the black and white prints.)

Woman: “Mind if I take a photo?”

Me: “That’s fine.”

Woman: *to her daughter* “Now we can copy it, and sell our own for £250.” *smiles smugly and leaves*

Me: “It’s your money.”

Another Visitor: “Aren’t you worried about her?”

Me: “It took 300 pencils to do these. A lot of the patterns are in very tiny spaces and done on a whim. Computers have trouble scanning them, and I couldn’t copy them, even with all the pencils to hand. Even if she does succeed, she’ll have to invest a few hundred getting her own art business set up. That’s money I haven’t made back yet. She is not going to make this £20 back.”

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Watch What You Say

, , , , | Right | September 4, 2018

(I work for a major auto insurance company, where we are required to take one hour daily of inbound-only calls, to help mitigate the rather large overall call volume. My call time is the last hour of my shift, and this call comes in right before the end of my night.)

Me: “Insurance, this is [My Name]. Do you have a claim number I can help you with?”

(A lady yells, “HELLO!” over the line and I repeat my greeting.)

Customer: “Yes! Finally. It’s [claim number], and this is really making me angry.”

Me: “All right, I have your claim. How can I help you?”

Customer: “How the f*** did you get my email address?! You just sent me an email saying my claim is being watched? You’re watching me now? I don’t even have a claim — it’s my son, and his car was parked, so you better tell me what the h*** is going on!”

(I review the claim, and it’s pretty easy to see: the whole family each has their own policy with us, and the mother, whom I am speaking to, provided her email address as the main point of contact for each of the policies.)

Me: “Well, ma’am, your son did file a claim with us so we could assist with the damages to the vehicle, and I see here that your email address is the primary contact for all the policies, so—”

Customer: *cuts me off, yelling* “WHAT DO YOU MEAN? HOW DID YOU GET MY EMAIL?!”

Me: *slowly* “Ma’am, you provided us this as the email when you made this policy.”

Customer: “So why did I get an email about this claim when it’s my son’s car? WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME?! I am very secretive and no one has my email!”

(This continues for several minutes; I keep explaining just why she got the automated claims email after filing a new claim. Finally, she seems to understand that we didn’t randomly decide to dig up her information.)

Customer: “I still don’t understand how you got my email, though.” *click*

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Never Sausage An Unhealthy Thing Before

, , , , , , | Friendly | September 4, 2018

One of my colleagues is a naturopath and health nut. She’s noticed that I have a certain fondness for hot chips/fries and often buy them for lunch, and she’s taken to telling me how unhealthy, fatty, salty, etc. they are, in a vain attempt to improve my diet.

One day, just for a change, I decide to buy a sausage roll for lunch. My colleague notices this and proceeds to lecture me on how much worse this is for me, because of how many carbs are in the pastry and how much fat is in the meat.

The next day I buy chips again. I show them to my colleague and tell her that I went with the healthier option.

The horrified and appalled look on her face was priceless, and was well worth the earful she gave me!

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Setting The Snowcone Tone

, , , , , , | Right | September 4, 2018

(At age 16, I am volunteering for the first time at a concession stand at a college football game to raise money for my church. Directly above the stand, a large sign says, “SNOW CONES $6 CASH ONLY.” Two guys in their twenties, apparently tipsy, come up to the stand.)

Me: “Welcome to [University] Stadium! How can I help you?”

Customer: “Do you have beer?”

Me: “Sorry, but we only sell snow cones.”

Customer: “What? Where can I get beer?”

Me: “No alcohol is sold in the stadium, sir.”

Customer: “You’re f****** kidding me! Since when?”

Me: “As long as I know of.”

Customer: “Are you sure? You don’t have beer?!”

Me: “Quite sure. Would you like a snow cone?”

Customer: “I guess so. How much?”

Me: “Six dollars.”

Customer: “That’s so much!” *looks through his wallet* “Can I have it for five?”

Me: “Sorry, we can’t change the prices.”

(The customer hands me a credit card.)

Me: “Sorry, but the stands on this level are cash only. However, credit cards are accepted at stands on the ground floor.”

Customer: *to his friend* “What the f***?” *they start walking away*

Me: “Sorry for the inconvenience. Enjoy the game!”

Customer: “Are you sure you don’t have beer?”

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