Restroom Results In A Rest From Service

, , , , , | Working | September 21, 2017

(My sister-in-law speaks English as a second language; communication is a challenge in most situations for her, and today is no different. My sister-in-law, my grandmother, and I go out for coffee before dropping her off at work.)

Cashier: “What would you like?”

Sister-In-Law: “Iced mocha.” *points to the both of us* “Them with me.”

Me: “Grande peppermint mocha.”

Grandmother: “Apple fritter, please. Where is the restroom?”

Cashier: “Around the corner.”

(When we get our orders, mine is fine, but not only have they misspell my sister-in-law’s name, but they have given her a hot mocha, and they have completely missed my grandmother’s order. I go up with my sister-in-law to help her talk to the cashier.)

Me: “She asked for an iced mocha and she got a hot one, and my grandmother’s apple fritter is missing.”

Cashier: “Oh, I heard her ask where the bathroom was and I forgot about it.”

Me: “Can we get the iced mocha and the apple fritter?”

Cashier: “Oh, I won’t do anything, since you got what you paid for.”

Me: “But you put it in wrong! Can you at least get a manager to void the transaction and re-take the order?”

Cashier: “Nope.”

(We were shocked that she wouldn’t do anything and neither would the manager. We had to get my sister-in-law to work, so she drank the coffee as it was, and my grandmother ate when we got back home. We are still waiting to hear back from corporate.)

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Don’t Cross The Crossing Guard

, , , | Right | September 20, 2017

(I work as a crossing guard at a summer camp that has the parking lot and some of the camp on one side of a not-all-that-busy road and the rest of the camp on the other. Every day at around 10 am a group of 3- to 5-year-olds and three adults from a local day care comes and uses the pool for an hour. I stop traffic to cross them from the parking lot to the pool at 10 and again at 11 for them to go back. One day, after I’m done crossing them back, a minivan stops and the driver rolls down the window.)

Driver: “Excuse me!”

Me: “Yes? Can I help you?”

Driver: “You do this to me all the time!”

Me: “What?”

Driver: “Every time I come this way you always stop me!”

Me: “Well, I am the crossing guard—”

Driver: “Every f***ing time, you single me out and stop me for no reason.”

Me: “Did you not see the group of kids crossing the road to their bus?”

Driver: “I have friends in the [Town] police department! Stop me again and I’ll call them!”

Me: “Seeing as I’m protecting small children, and you’re trying to run them over, I’m pretty sure they’ll be on my side.”

(The driver rolled up the window and sped off. I never did hear from these so-called police friends.)

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Entitlement Can Be Disabling

, , , , , , , | Friendly | September 20, 2017

(I am attending the county fair, and I go to use the women’s bathroom. There is only one handicapped stall, and a polite woman using a wheelchair is waiting to use it. She even moves her chair to make sure I can get into an empty stall. Once I am done, she is still waiting, and I notice she is squirming a lot in her chair. I work with disabled individuals, and I know that those with mobility issues, especially those who are paralyzed, can have little to no control over their bladders.)

Me: “Are you all right?”

Woman In Chair: “Yes, it’s just… I’ve been waiting about ten minutes, and it’s getting harder and harder.”

Me: *I knock on the stall door* “Excuse me, are you all right?”

Woman In Stall: “See? I told you to hurry up; people are waiting! We are not leaving this stall until you go potty!”

Child: *also in stall* “I don’t have to go! I told you already!”

Woman In Stall: “I don’t care! We’re not leaving!”

Me: “Ma’am? I’m sorry, but there are people waiting to use this stall.”

Woman In Stall: “We’re in here!”

Woman In Chair: “I can wait, I think. I’m trying.” *squirms more* “Really, I don’t like to cause a scene.”

Me: *to the woman in the stall* “Ma’am, that is the only stall large enough for anyone with a wheelchair to use; you need to move so others can use it.”

Woman In Stall: “I have my daughter with me!”

Child: “I don’t have to go!”

(This goes around for about three minutes. The mother keeps yelling at her daughter to go potty, the daughter says she doesn’t have to, and I try my hardest to figure out how to get a woman who cannot walk at all into a stall that isn’t large enough for her wheelchair. It’s not happening, at all. Even the larger stalls all have tiny doors. The woman in her wheelchair is actually tearing up.)

Woman In Chair: “This is my anniversary trip. I don’t have any spare clothes, or another seat cushion, and I just can’t… I can’t wait.”

Me: *bangs on the stall door*

Woman In Stall: “FINE!”

(She comes out of the stall, revealing that her daughter has to be close to seven years old. They leave, and I move out of the way so the woman in the chair can get in. As I move, an eleven-year-old girl walks over and actually steps over the foot pedals of the woman in the wheelchair!)

Me: “Hey! Wait your turn, please.”

Woman In Chair: “Excuse me. I was next; I’ve been waiting.”

Girl: *stares straight at the woman in the wheelchair as she shoves the door shut and locks it, literally having to push the woman back to do so*

Woman In Chair: *crying* “Please! Please! I can’t hold it any longer. Every other stall is free! Please!”

(The girl ignores us, and a woman comes in and walks straight past us and to the handicapped stall. She begins talking to her daughter through the stall.)

Me: “Ma’am, your daughter pushed this woman aside, who has been waiting!”

Mother: “Oops, sorry about that.” *continues talking to her daughter, notices that the woman in the wheelchair is crying* “[Child], this is actually a very good lesson for you. Look how upset this woman is getting over a bathroom stall. That is ridiculous! You did nothing wrong; it’s stupid to get upset over a stall.”

Me: “Wow! I’d be more upset over the fact you and your daughter are b****es.”

(The mother throws a literal tantrum. Her daughter comes out, and the mother then refuses to move, standing in front of the handicapped stall and trying to get other women in the bathroom to side with her, repeatedly saying, “I don’t have to move if I don’t want to; am I right?” Finally, a woman who has been doing her makeup at the sink turns around and stares the mother down.)

Makeup Woman: “If I were you, I would be beyond embarrassed. First for your daughter’s obvious lack of manners, and then for your own. If you were one of my employees, or if my daughters acted even close to how yours has, I’d be appalled. You are at a community event, and you are a parent. Act like an adult.” *looks at the girl* “As for you, I hope that you do not grow up to act like you are acting now, or how your mother is, because I can assure you it is a mistake.”

(The mother grabbed her daughter’s unwashed hand and stormed out, a bunch of us laughing at her as she did so.)

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Prepare To Lose All Reception

, , , | Working | September 20, 2017

(My colleague is passing through reception, where I work, and we small talk as she signs out for lunch. I use this as an example of how much respect receptionists receive. Bear in mind that this girl is my age, and until two months ago was an assistant administrator.)

Me: “I feel like I’ve done nothing this morning, because I’ve been in and out of meetings.”

Colleague: “What do you have to go to meetings about?”

Me: “Wow…”

(Fortunately I have very little to do with her professionally, and all my other coworkers are lovely.)

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Making A Boob Of Them All

, , , , , , | Friendly | September 20, 2017

(I start puberty early, and by the age of ten, I have a well-developed chest, while most of my classmates are still very flat. I was constantly teased long before this, but the other girls have started a loud campaign to convince everyone that my breasts are fake. One day, I am in the girls restroom when the head “mean girl” and her friends surround me.)

Mean Girl: “Look; we all KNOW you’re stuffing. You can’t fool anyone! Just admit it.”

Me: *fed up at this point, I lift up the front of my shirt and flash the entire group* “Trust me; they’re real.”

(I then left without saying another word. While I was still teased for a variety of other reasons, somehow no one ever questioned my breasts again.)

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