The Unoriginal A**hole

, , , , , | Friendly | October 4, 2017

(I’m getting a few small tattoos at a nice parlor that’s doing a $20 special. There’s a pretty big line. The parlor has about 20 sheets with multiple tattoo designs that fall under the special. I have a saying tattooed on my arm: “For something to be fixed, it must first be broken.”)

Friend: “You never said what tattoos you were getting.”

Me: “I want the flower by my ankle, the book on my wrist, and if we have time I want to get the cracked mirror added to this one.” *indicates tattoo on my arm*

Rude Guy: “Wow. What unoriginal tattoos you’re getting.”

Friend: “Uh, you know there’s a finite amount of designs they’re doing today, right?”

Me: “Also, it’s my body, so I can add whatever art I want to it.”

Rude Guy: “Whatever. If you want the crappy tattoos, get them. I’m just some guy and have like fifteen tats already, but what do I know?”

Me: “Okay, we’re ignoring him now. Did you ever decide between those two?”

(A little while later, a tattoo artist grabs me, my friend, and the guy behind us to confirm what designs we want. I decide to get the cracked mirror on top of my other two.)

Rude Guy: *scoffing* “How many chicks got those exact tattoos in those exact places already? How original.”

Artist: “If you have a problem with the art, you can leave. If you wanna be a jack-a** to people getting tattoos, I ain’t gonna ink you.” *he notices my arm tattoo* “I like the saying. What’s it from?”

Me: “I really don’t know if I heard it somewhere or what, but I got it a few years ago. In the past two years it’s been a reminder that, even though I had cancer and still have lingering medical problems, I’m not broken.”

Friend: “And her last surgeon liked it so much she got permission to take a picture of the tattoo. It’s hanging in her office now.”

(The artist chatted with us and collected our payment. My friend went first because she only wanted one, then the rude guy, who was getting two, then me. Turns out, the tattoo my friend was getting was the same as one of the ones the rude guy wanted, and in the same spot. The rude guy turned bright red and stormed out of the parlor. The artist put the $40 he left behind towards our tattoos. We gave him the original amount as a tip.)

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Not In Receipt Of The Correct Answer

, , , , | Right | October 4, 2017

(I work as a cashier, and have a particularly rude customer in my line.)

Me: “Would you like your receipt with you or in the bag?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “I asked you a question with more than one answer: with you or in the bag?”

Customer: “I said YES!”

Me: “Okay, but I asked a question that doesn’t require a yes or no; it requires an actual choice.”

Customer: “Oh, my God! Just give me the d*** receipt!”

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Your Cousins Are Not Always Right

, , , , | Related | October 4, 2017

(It is my 14th birthday, and I am going to a local restaurant to celebrate with my cousin and little brother. I am a bit shy, so I don’t really speak out a lot. As we come in, get seated, and place our orders, a bit of time passes by. I do not mind, as I can wait long times for my food. It has only been 30 minutes, and it is busy. My cousin, though, starts to get irate.)

Cousin: “D***, what is taking so long for our food?” *waves a nearby waiter to us* “Hey, what is taking so long?”

Waiter #1: “I’m sorry for the inconvenience; we’re really busy today and it takes longer to prepare the food, but it will be out shortly.” *walks away*

(Another few minutes pass, and we finally get our food.)

Cousin: *looking at the plates* “What is this? This looks f****** stupid. Hey, [My Name], do you have any problem with it?”

Me: “Uh… no. I don’t think it looks odd.”

Cousin: *waving another waiter* “What the h*** is this food? I want a manager, now!”

Waiter #2: “I’m sorry; I’ll get one for you right away.”

(A few minutes pass, and the manager walks over to us.)

Manager: “What seems to be the problem?”

Cousin: “First of all, it took a long-a** time to get our food, the food looked awful, and [My Name] had to deal with it!”

Manager: “I’m terribly sorry for that. I’ll see my employees on that, as well as you getting a discount.”

(We finish our food and leave, discount in hand, the staff apologizing to us, but as we walk out of the store, I finally say something.)

Me: “Why’d you have to complain? I didn’t have any problems with the whole thing, and you just made a scene about it.”

Cousin: “Well, yeah, but I got a discount for it, so…”

(To this day, I still don’t understand why she did that, on my birthday of all days!)

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This Sausage Doesn’t Tickle Me Pink

, , , , | Working | October 4, 2017

(My family and I have just ordered and picked up dinner from a local pizza place. While we are eating pizza, my father has ordered a sausage sandwich. He’s taken a few bites before noticing that the inside of the sausage is still completely pink. I call up the restaurant and am transferred to someone, who doesn’t identify themselves.)

Me: “Hi, we ordered the Italian sausage sandwich, and the sausage is still very pink inside and doesn’t look safe to eat.”

Employee: “Yeah, we get that all the time; it’s fine to eat.”

Me: “Honestly, I’m not too sure. It doesn’t look very safe, and my father doesn’t feel comfortable eating it—”

Employee: “Listen. It’s safe. You’re fine; we get this all the time. We’ve been making it for 50 years; I can’t do anything different.”

Me: “I understand that, but the menu doesn’t suggest the sausage would be pink inside, and no one informed us when we ordered or picked up.”

Employee: “Fine, we’ll credit you, but you are complaining about nothing.”

Me: “I’m not. Common sense tells you if meat is still pink, then it’s rare, and eating rare sausage is not appealing. Even if it is cooked, it’s a very unappealing color. Maybe you should tell people who order it ahead of time? You said you get several complaints. Maybe it’s an indication that you should warn people, or try cooking the sausage in a way that it’s not going to be that color.”

Employee: “Listen; what did I just tell you? You’re getting your free food; I don’t need a lecture from you.”

Me: “I don’t need your attitude. You immediately start out telling me I’m flat-out wrong, and don’t even offer an apology. Instead of the sausage sandwich, can we please get a beef one? We were also missing the side sauce we requested originally, so this time I’d like that there. I would also like it if you delivered this, for our inconvenience.”

(The man clearly did not want to deliver the food, but ended up relenting, all with the attitude that I was trying to scam him out of food. We hung up, and about 20 minutes later, the delivery driver knocked and basically threw the bag at me when I answered. Cooked or not, the sausage was not an appealing color, and I don’t think anyone who saw it would feel safe eating it!)

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Unable To Register That Much Entitlement

, , , , , | Right | October 4, 2017

(In our store we have three tills, side-by-side, on a reasonably long desk. The regional manager doesn’t allow us to use the left-hand till for transactions, so we only use it to search inventory. We are mid-sale, and the queue for check-out is as long as the store, and a coworker and I are frantically working away. I am on the right-hand till, and my coworker is on the middle.)

Me: “Next, please!”

(The next customer in line approaches the left-hand till, despite the fact that it was no more effort to side-step right instead of left.)

Me: “Can I just get you to come to this till for me, please, sir?”

Customer: “No! You’ll come to me, because that’s service!”

(It’s a tight squeeze behind the counter, especially with random bits of product from returns, holds, and such lying around while we’re busy, but I edge behind my coworker and take the first item the customer is holding up. I return to my till, and scan it, before edging past again to take his other item he is brandishing in my face. Again, I go back to my till, scan the item, and squeeze back to the customer)

Me: “That totals [amount]. Do you have a loyalty card?”

Customer: “[Amount]?! How much was [first item]?”

(I sigh, and my coworker stifles a giggle. I push past again and check the amount. Having lost patience, I shout to the customer remaining at my till. He agrees and shows me his bank-card before sliding it in the scanner at the non-functioning till.)

Me: “Sir, I’m going to need you to use this one, please.”

Customer: “Why? What’s wrong with this one?”

Me: “It doesn’t work.”

(The customer’s face dropped, as if he had lost the victory he thought he had over me. He quietly paid and left.)

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