Right Working Romantic Related Learning Friendly Healthy Legal Inspirational Unfiltered

Plumbing The Depths Of The Cashier’s Knowledge

, , , | Right | CREDIT: Distilled_Dreamer | May 11, 2022

I’m a cashier where I work, so you can imagine all the crap I deal with on a daily basis. It’s not a physically demanding job, but it is extremely taxing mentally. One thing I deal with on a pretty regular basis is customers expecting more of me than I’m able to provide — not so much because I don’t know certain things but because I’ll be reprimanded if I do.

The other day at work, I had just rung up a customer when I greeted another one who came in. He immediately came up to me holding something. He didn’t greet me back.

Customer: “Where can I find another one of these?”

Me: “I don’t recognize that; what is it?”

The man’s head jerked back and he looked at me like I had asked him a stupid question.

Customer: “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

I blinked.

Me: “Um, because I’ve never seen that before? But if you tell me what it is, I can get someone—”

Customer: *Interrupting* “I’m asking you. It’s your job to know this stuff to help customers.”

I raised my eyebrows (a natural reaction, I can’t help it) and slowly corrected him.

Me: “No, sir. It’s not my job to know. My job is to ring up customers at my register and occasionally look up items missing barcodes. Now, if you tell me what that is—” *points to the thing in his hand* “—I can get someone whose job it is to know and where to find it.”

At first, the customer looked like he was about to give a half-baked rebuttal but thought better of it. He apologized and told me what the thing was: part of a toilet that he needed to replace. I called a plumbing specialist on the work phone and she told me exactly where it was. I told the customer the aisle she said it was down, and he walked off without another word, not even a thank-you.

Statements Like This Should Get Licenses Revoked

, , , | Right | May 10, 2022

I work as a teller in the drive-thru of a credit union. Our pneumatic tube is broken, and we’ve been waiting for some time to get it fixed. We still have a drive-up window where people can be served, though. We have two signs saying the tube is closed: one before drivers choose between the two lanes and one on the tube itself. Most of our members have been very nice about the situation, even when they’ve had to drive around the building because they missed the first sign. Then, there is this woman.

She drives up to the tube. When she reads the sign, she doesn’t drive around the building. Instead, she gets out of the car and begins to walk across to the window. Her car is now blocking the one lane, which also is used as an exit for people coming from the parking lot. (I know it’s a stupid design, but it’s what we have to deal with.)

She’s walking through the other lane, which is also shared with the ATM, where there is another car almost ready to drive off. It is dark out and she is wearing dark clothes. I quickly hop on the intercom.

Me: “Ma’am, for your safety, please drive around.”

The woman angrily gets back into her car and drives off. The car at the ATM pulls off, and a couple of minutes later, the woman pulls up to the window.

Customer: “You’re going to give me a stroke making me pull around!”

Me: *In my head, while biting my tongue* “If that’s going to give you a stroke, you’d better go see your doctor.”

Don’t we all wish we could say what’s in our heads without consequences?

Hashing Out The Hash Brown Issue

, , , , , , | Working | May 10, 2022

My car is out of commission, so I decide to order enough food from a nearby donut shop/breakfast place to last me through the weekend. My order is one latte, three bagel sandwiches, four donuts, and six orders of hash browns. Their hash browns are little medallions, so a single order of hash browns consists of a little paper baggie of five or six pieces each.

I decide to order on the mobile app as it’s a large order. About fifteen minutes after making the order, I arrive at the shop. There are only two workers: one making food and the other running the drive-thru, manning the cash register, and making drinks. My latte and donuts are ready in the pickup area with my receipt and name next to them. Everything listed on the receipt is correct, so I grab the finished items and sit at a table to wait for the rest of my order to get done.

Ten minutes pass and there is no sign of progress on my order, so I walk up to the counter. I was under the impression they were working on the rest of my order since someone obviously finished about a quarter of it, but boy, was I wrong.

Worker #1: “Are you waiting for something, ma’am?”

Me: *Confused* “Yes, I’m waiting for the rest of my order. I only got the latte and donuts.” 

I show my receipt.

Worker #1: “Sorry, I’ll get right on that.”

Another ten minutes pass as I idle by on my phone. [Worker #1] comes up to me with a bag. From the look and weight of it, I’m certain it’s not my whole order. Sure enough, when I open it, there are only two bagel sandwiches and just one baggie of hash browns. I go back up to the counter again.

Me: “Hi, sorry, my order still isn’t done.”

Worker #1: “What’s missing?”

Me: “There’s a bagel sandwich missing, and this bag only has one of the hash browns. I ordered six.”

Again, I motion toward the receipt, which correctly lists everything in my order. [Worker #1] looks as annoyed as I’m starting to feel.

Worker #1: “Sorry, I’ll fix that.”

I wait another ten minutes. If you’re keeping track, it has been forty-five minutes since I made the order on the app and thirty minutes since I showed up in the shop. The other worker, who has been busy with other duties, comes up to me.

Worker #2: “Sorry, ma’am. I’m making your bagel sandwich now. Would you like something as compensation for the wait? More donuts or hash browns?”

Me: *Like a fool* “More hash browns would be nice, I guess.”

Worker #2: “Got it!”

Five more minutes pass, and [Worker #2] hands me another bag. It has the third bagel sandwich and two more baggies of hash brown medallions, which are the “compensation.” I am still missing the complete six orders of hash browns I ordered from the very beginning. At this point, I think the universe is punishing me for wanting to eat unhealthy food from a donut shop. It’s a sign, but I’m in too deep; it’s been fifty minutes!

Me: *Finally losing my patience* “I’m sorry, my order is still wrong.”

Worker #1: *Angry* “What’s wrong with it?”

Me: “I’m still missing five hash browns.”

Worker #1: *Defensive* “I already gave you that!”

Me: “No, you didn’t.”

Worker #1: “Show me your food!”

I’m floored. I have been in sight of the counter sitting at a table the entire time on my phone and haven’t touched the food, nor do I have any place to put it. I start taking out the items from the order and passive-aggressively counting the contents as I pull them out of the bags.

Worker 1: “Give me the bags!”

Fed up, I hand them to her. At this point, [Worker #2] comes over and starts counting the baggies of hash browns.

Worker #2: “Ma’am, there are three orders of hash browns here.”

Me: “That’s not all of the hash browns. I only got one from my original order. There’s supposed to be six.”

Worker #1: “I gave you six!”

I stare at her. It finally dawns on me: she literally put six medallion PIECES of hash browns in the first baggie she gave me and didn’t realize I wanted six ORDERS of hash browns.

Worker #2: “Ma’am, we’re going to have you charge you for those if you want extra.”

Flabbergasted, I pull up the receipt of the order on the shop’s mobile app and hold it up, barely keeping myself from shoving it in her face.

Me: “I wanted six orders of hash browns. I only got one.”

From the food now spread out on the counter, it is now obvious what has happened.

Worker #2: *Long pause* “Sorry, ma’am. [Worker #1] didn’t tell me that. I’ll start on them right away.”

[Worker #1] has gone silent. I don’t even look in her direction anymore.

Five more minutes later, [Worker #2] gives me four more baggies of hash browns. I sigh, but I’ll take it.

Worker #2: “I’m really sorry, ma’am. She really did mess that up.”

I murmured a half-hearted thanks and finally got out of there almost a whole hour after I’d ordered the food. When I get home, I gorged myself on the hash browns and donuts. Was it worth the hassle? Debatable, but d*** if those things weren’t delicious.

Have Fun Juggling Your Shopping

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: greeniepi | May 9, 2022

I used to work at a supermarket, and at 9:00 am on a Saturday, the following went down.

Me: “Good morning! Would you like a bag?”

Customer: *Sarcastically* “No, I’m going to carry all of these by themselves.”

It may have been the underpay, the rude tone, or the fact that I was just so tired of customers being nasty, but I decided to go along with it.

Me: *Beaming* “Okay, sir, no problem!”

I then proceeded to scan all of his shopping and charge him. The man paid and stood there, blankly staring at his groceries for a moment, before looking at me.

Customer: “Where are my bags?”

Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry, sir! I thought you said you were going to carry them?”

Customer: *Angrily* “Well, OBVIOUSLY, I can’t carry all of this without a bag!”

Me: “Oh, okay. Well, in that case…”

I then proceeded to go through the usual “single-use or reusable bag” spiel, and then, wouldn’t you know it? We were out of the bags he wanted, so I had to call a manager over to bring some more bags to me, which always took ages in this supermarket.

The customer then had to dig out his wallet and card to pay a tiny amount for some bags. Then, I handed them to him with a smile and receipt and watched while he bagged his own groceries, scowling the whole time.

Normally, I would scan and bag, but as he didn’t want bags to start with, I didn’t offer and he didn’t ask.

All in all, a five-minute transaction took a good fifteen minutes, and he never pulled that with me again. I have no idea what he thought would happen while he watched me scan everything and pile it up in a very obviously non-bagged heap, but hey, he said no bags!

Barely Keeping It Together

, , , , , | Working | May 9, 2022

I work on the manufacturing of an experimental biotech product. When we manufacture our product, we have to maintain careful batch records, which are a series of handwritten documents attesting to the quality of the product. The documents are, for good reason, very carefully controlled.

The particular batch of records I’m in charge of maintaining and submitting is a stack of about fifty sheets of paper by the time we’re done. For years, I’ve been submitting them to Quality Control with a paper clip or binder clip holding them together. This seems to work fine, and no one has ever suggested I do otherwise.

Then, some of the documents are lost. Now, pretty much everyone at the company knows how they were lost: our terrible head of Quality likes to bring documents home, where she promptly loses them. This happens over and over, and nothing happens, because she’s BFFs with the head of manufacturing. In fact, every time documents go missing, the question is not where they could possibly be; the question is where they could possibly be other than the head of Quality’s dining room.

So, when part of my batch records go missing — batch records that I submitted months ago — the hammer falls on my group and how we must have lost the documents.

Head Of Manufacturing: “I don’t understand. Where are the batch records now?”

Me: “Well, I turned them in to Quality on [date], and—”

Head Of Manufacturing: “You’re blaming Quality? You’re blaming Quality for your mistake? I just can’t believe you wouldn’t take responsibility for your own actions.”

Me: “I’m not saying it’s Quality’s fault. I’m just saying I turned them in—”

Head Of Manufacturing: “And these batch records. Were they stapled together?”

Me: “Uh, no? We never do that. It’s, like, fifty sheets of paper. I don’t even think we have a stapler at the company that could do that.”

Head Of Manufacturing: “So, these were lost because you never bothered to staple them.”

Me: “That’s not really—”

Head Of Manufacturing: “From now on, staple the batch records! Staple them! How hard is it to do that?”

Me: “Fine. We’ll staple them from now on.”

I figure this is over. Not even close. She emails my boss and tells him that, from now on, we have to staple the batch records. She tells him to make sure the entire team understands this.

Okay, we get it. We find a special stapler in a closet somewhere that can handle fifty sheets — not without jamming every stupid time, but still. My boss emails our entire team, six people, to let us know that, from now on, we staple.

Not good enough! The Head of Manufacturing finds my boss in his office.

Head Of Manufacturing: “You sent an email telling your team to staple the batch records.”

My Boss: “Yes.”

Head Of Manufacturing: “That isn’t enough! We can’t afford to lose these batch records! This is too important!”

My Boss: “So, what do you want me to do?”

Head of Manufacturing: “I want you to look your entire team in the eye and tell them to use the stapler. I want you to have a training session.”

My Boss: “A training session… on… the use of a stapler.”

Head Of Manufacturing: “Yes! And I want the training session documented, with signatures!”

And that’s how my team — all of us with advanced degrees in molecular biology or biomedical engineering — ends up having to have formal training on how to operate a stapler.

The kicker: the first time I turn in batch records after the training session, I staple them and hand them into our Document Control person. The next day, she pulls me aside.

Document Control Person: “Hey, could you not staple these batch records? I noticed you started doing that, and it’s a real pain because the first thing I need to do to scan them is remove that staple — and it’s really hard to take off.”

Apologetically, I told her the story of the stapler training, and how, despite it making her job harder, I would be using that stapler from now on. From then on, every time, I’d staple the batch records, hand them to her, and she would begin the process of trying to pry out the staple.

I am so glad I no longer work there.