Cart That Employee Back To Training

, , , , , , | Working | January 5, 2018

(I am nine months pregnant. My doctor has recommended that I not spend extended periods of time on my feet. I really need to do some grocery shopping, so I go to the customer service desk to see if they have a motorized cart available. The customer service associate is a middle-aged man.)

Me: “Hi, excuse me. Do you have any motorized carts available?”

Worker #1: “No.”

Me: “Oh, okay. Have they all been taken recently? Do you think one will be available soon?”

Worker #1: “Not for you.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Worker #1: “There’s nothing wrong with you; you’ve got two legs that aren’t broken. Go get a normal cart.”

Me: “My doctor has told me it isn’t safe for me to walk around too much. I really need to buy groceries. If there won’t be a cart available soon, I will come back later, but I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to talk to a customer that way.”

Worker #1: “You can come back later, but I’m still not giving you a cart. You can walk; you’re just lazy.”

(At this point, I’ve had enough. I walk over to another employee.)

Me: “Is your manager around?”

Worker #2: “Yeah, hang on.” *she calls the manager over*

Manager: “Hi! How’s it going?”

Me: “Oh, great. I’m just a little upset because your customer service person won’t let me use a motorized cart.” *the manager looks at my obvious belly and turns white*

Manager: “Jesus! Again?!”

(The manager went to the desk and came back with a motorized cart and a gift card. I could hear the customer service worker shouting about how I was not disabled and didn’t deserve the cart. It turned out, he had done this to several other customers before me, all young people.)

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This Isn’t Your Father’s Library

, , , , , | Learning | January 5, 2018

(It is the last week of a 13-week semester at our very small college. The college has no dedicated study space and our one-room library is packed. Through diligent outreach efforts, the other librarian and I have increased the number of students we serve by 400% over the last four semesters. I get this email from the vice-president of the college.)

Vice-President: “I hear it is too noisy in the library. Students are complaining. I need you and [Other Librarian] to come to a meeting tomorrow at 10:00 am to explain why it is so noisy.”

Me: “I’m sorry; this week is our busiest week of the semester. We have about 150 students in the library right now, and there are no down times throughout the day. We cannot possibly be away from the library at this time. Could you find a time next week when we could meet?”

(The vice-president then proceeds to send me a 500-word essay on the importance of quiet. Then the principal, who has been cc’d in our emails, sends his own essay about how “in the old days,” libraries were quiet places, and asking “what’s wrong with kids nowadays?”)

Me: *to other librarian* “You’d think they’d realize that if there are 150 students packed into one room, it is going to be loud!”

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Running Into The Street-Wise

, , , , , | Friendly | January 4, 2018

(My mother is at the bus stop and sees a guy stumbling around, from the sidewalk to the bike path, and close to the curb. She calls the police so they can take care of him, as he is clearly too out of it to be safe on his own in public. They arrive and talk to him, asking about alcohol and drugs. He admits to taking some drugs, then suddenly turns on my mother.)

Druggie: *yelling* “Look at all the trouble you got me in!”

Mother: *yelling back* “I saved your life! You were almost running into the street!”

(So much for helping people.)

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I Don’t Work Here: The Schooling Edition

, , , , , , , , , | Friendly | January 4, 2018

(I’m 17 and I’ve just moved in with my grandparents so I can attend the college of my choice with a lot shorter commute than if I stayed living in London, where I was born. It’s 7:15 am, and I’m in the local supermarket to buy lunch for the day. I’m wearing black jeans and a purple polo neck shirt with my college name and course embroidered on it. I’m also wearing a black hoodie decorated with the logo of a Morris group I side with, I have a bright yellow cartoon bag on my shoulder, and I’m using my phone as I walk along the aisle. The shop employees wear smart trousers, and a blue shirt in a different material and style. I also grew up in South London, so I learned pretty quickly as a kid that I needed to be verbally aggressive to make up for my small size of 5’2″.)

Random Lady: *taps me on the shoulder* “Excuse me! Excuse me, boy!”

Me: “Hey, what are you doing? Get off me!”

Random Lady: “Don’t be so rude! Get off your phone and help me find the fresh vegetables.”

Me: “They’re right at the front of the shop; you had to walk past them to come here and attack me. Now, p*** off.”

Random Lady: “EXCUSE ME?! Where’s your manager? You’re so rude! How dare you be so rude?!”

Me: *turning properly so she can see my shirt* “What colour is my shirt?”

Random Lady: *stutters and blinks* “Uh, purple. Why? What’s that got to do with anything?”

Me: “Can you read, or are you illiterate as well as rude? What does my shirt say?”

Random Lady: “I— What? It says [College, Course].”

Me: “I don’t know what the f*** you think you’re doing, but I clearly don’t work here. I’ve been up all night working on coursework so I’ve had three hours sleep. I recently moved house, I’m trying to make new friends as all mine live two hours away, and it’s seven fifteen in the f****** morning. Don’t touch me again, and don’t ever treat an actual employee as rudely as you just treated me. Got it?”

Random Lady: *stares at me with her mouth open, looking like an oversized salmon, then nods*

Me: “Good. Now, f*** off.” *I go and pay for my food and massive energy drink*

(After paying, I headed to the bus station to wait for my bus, and as I got on, who should I see walking past but our dear [Random Lady]? She caught sight of me as I was standing in the door paying for my ticket, then scurried away, avoiding looking in my direction.)

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Don’t Get Sandwiched Between Her Opinions

, , , , , , | Related | January 4, 2018

(My parents and my paternal grandmother lived together for a couple of years before I was born. One day, my mother comes home, looks in the refrigerator, and asks my grandmother:)

Mother: “What happened to the sandwich I made for [Dad]?”

Grandmother: “Oh, that was a sandwich? I saw two dried-up pieces of bread with something odd between them, and threw it out.”

(Some years later, my grandmother goes on a hunger strike because she doesn’t get her way. My aunt — my father’s sister — is worried about her and keeps begging her to eat. My parents, by now living out of town, come by for a visit.)

Mother: “So, [Grandmother], you’ve lost some weight. You look good!”

(My grandmother started eating shortly thereafter.)

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