The Meat Is Not Kosher And Neither Is The Boss

, , , , | Working | October 1, 2017

(I recently started working in a deli at a large chain store. This is my first day on the floor.)

Customer: “Is your meat kosher?”

Boss: “Yes.”

Me: *immediately* “No!”

(The customer looks confused while my boss looks ready to strangle me.)

Boss: “Yes! It. Is.”

Me: “Sir, our cheese is sliced separately from meats, but we put ham on the same slicer as turkey, and everything is washed in one unit. There is nothing kosher about our fresh product once sliced.”

(The customer thanks me for being honest and moves on. My boss, however, pulls me in the back and tries to tell me the meaning of kosher.)

Me: “You’re an idiot.”

Boss: “Excuse me?! I’ll have you fired!”

Me: “I can’t wait to see how the lawsuit plays out.”

Boss: “You’re fired!”

Me: “No, I’m not.”

(I’m still there. My boss won’t speak to me anymore.)

Gets Short About His Height

, , , | Friendly | September 30, 2017

(My friend is a very short: he’s five feet tall. He’s so insecure that he refuses to ask for help. My friend reaches for a soda on the top shelf.)

Me: “I can grab that for you.”

Friend: “No. I’ve got it.” *jumps for it*

Me: “You need to be careful; it might break.”

Friend: “Don’t.” *jump* “Need.” *jump* “Help!” *jump* “Aha!”

(He does manage to get a hold of it… for a second. It crashes to the floor and soda ends up everywhere.)

Friend: *embarrassed* “Whelp! Time to leave.”

Me: “Nope. You’re grabbing an employee while I wait here and try to prevent people from walking in it.”

(He tried to argue, but eventually got the employee. The worst part is, he works at a different store and complains about customers making messes all the time!)

Should Have Banned Their Aid

, , , , | Right | September 29, 2017

(I am at the information desk when a customer approaches.)

Customer: “My son tore the plastic covering off this picture book, but we put it back together again.”

(She hands me a picture book with half the plastic jacketing torn off and held in place with at least ten bandaids. The bandaids are attached to the actual cover of the book in some areas where the jacketing is missing.)

Me: “Bandaids?”

Customer: “We didn’t have any sticky tape.”

Me: “Ma’am, we can’t accept this. We can’t loan a book out in this condition.”

Customer: “I fixed it, though.”

Me: “With bandaids. I’ll be entirely honest, if you had just left it we could have re-jacketed the book, but you’ve attached bandaids to the actual cover.”

Customer: “And we fixed the inside, too.”

(I flick through the book to find bandaids holding two lift-the-flap pieces in place.)

Me: “Yeah… I’m going to have to charge you a replacement fee for this one.”

Customer: “Why, though?”

Me: “Because you’ve covered the book in bandaids.”

Customer: “I think it’s fine to read this way.”

Me: “Well, the good news is that once you pay for a damaged item, it’s yours to keep.”

Customer: “I don’t want to keep that! It’s all torn and covered in bandaids!”

Me: “Exactly.”

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Sofa, So Bad

, , , , , | Friendly | September 29, 2017

(My mom has an ad up to give away our old couch. The ad says that we will deliver if you are on our side of town, but that we will not deliver any further than a certain street. She gets this text:)

Text: “I need this couch. I’m at [area of town WAY further than we said we would deliver to], and you need to get it here ASAP because we’re going to church in an hour.”

Mom: “How about instead of us delivering it, you pray at church for patience and kindness towards strangers.”

(She blocked his number, and we gave the couch to a lovely lady who didn’t demand the couch from us!)

Doing A Disservice To Service Dogs

, , , , , , | Working | September 29, 2017

(Ever since I was little, I have always shopped at this dollar club with my mom, but because I have very bad social anxiety, with ADHD and autism, I need to have my service dog with me or I can’t go by myself. I walk into the store with my therapy dog and start looking around for some things. I have a handful of items, and an employee comes up to me and speaks to me.)

Employee: “You need to pick up your dog; he isn’t allowed on the floor.”

Me: “Um… that doesn’t make sense. He’s a service dog?”

Employee: “It doesn’t matter; he can’t be on the ground! You need to pick him up. There’s even a sign outside.”

(At this point I’m starting to panic, because I really can’t stand arguing with strangers. I will do it to defend my rights, but not if I’m going to have a panic attack. Now other customers are beginning to stare. I decide to grab my service dog and pick him up. My dog is a Chihuahua-Dachshund mix and is about the size of a fox, around 14 pounds. I feel embarrassed about picking him up, and I am carrying other things aside from him that are somewhat heavy, and some that I would prefer not to get dog hair on, so I have to set the dog down. Out of frustration, I end up setting all my stuff down and walking out to the front of the store. I get mad when I read that the sign indeed says no pets allowed, but that it also says service animals are welcome, and says nothing about needing to carry a service dog around while in the store. Now irritated, I decide to walk right back in, grab the stuff I had left in a basket and continue shopping. I am approached by the employee again, and immediately, defensively, I say that there is a sign in the front of the store, which she demands to see.)

Me: “See? It says, ‘No pets allowed; service animals are welcome.’”

Employee: “It doesn’t mean you can leave your dog on the ground. It could bite someone. The manager made the rule; why not just put your dog in a cart?”

Me: “He is a service dog. He can’t bite; he’s not supposed to. Do you need proof of that? Actually, let me speak to your manager, because dogs aren’t allowed in carts for allergy and hygiene reasons!”

Employee: “Ugh, what a stubborn child; do what you want. The manager isn’t in right now.”

(I was extremely distressed at this point, about to cry, and I couldn’t help but think how un-freaking-believable this lady was being with me. I could hear some people who were staring, talking about how I was being a spoiled brat about my dog not being allowed inside the store, or how I was self-entitled. I was emotionally exhausted, I felt embarrassed, I wanted to cry, and I wanted to go home. I bought my stuff and walked out. On my way home, though, I called the store and spoke to the manager about what happened. He offered his apologies, but that still doesn’t make up for all the embarrassment I suffered at that store.)

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