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We Know What We Want, Too: For You To GET OUT

, , | Right | November 21, 2021

I am locking the door at work when a woman comes rushing up.

Customer: “Oh, please let me in. I know exactly what I want: a box of those glasses.”

She points at them. Like an idiot, I let her in and go to get the glasses.

Customer: “Oh, hang on. I’m not sure if we want these or the ones next to them. Mummy will be here in a minute. Can I wait for her?”

Just then, Mummy appears, strolling along like she has all the time in the world.

Mummy dithers about the glasses, all the time telling us how grateful they are that we let them in.

Mummy: “We’re going to a wedding, and this is their present!”

Finally, they decide, and they want every glass in the box checked, and then they want to check them themselves. These are a cheap set of glasses, nothing to write home about. We check the glasses, get it all rung up, and finally, we’re done. All this has taken over twenty minutes, while all the rest of the staff have been going home, saying goodnight, and making it very obvious that these women are keeping us, and that the manager still has to count and close the till.

I put the box of glasses in a bag and say goodnight.

Mummy: “Could you gift-wrap them for me?”’

Me: “Not at this time of night, no!”

Exit embarrassed daughter and Mummy, who will “never shop here again!”

Working With Family Is The Worst

, , , , , | Working | November 21, 2021

My father has two younger siblings: a brother and a sister. They, and especially my uncle’s family, are selfish, entitled, and greedy. I could tell lots of stories.

As I can’t find a job, let alone one that lets me live on my own, I’ve been living with my parents and working at my dad’s company off and on for over a decade. Despite not wanting the entire family working for him, he hired my aunt last year. I tried to tell him it would be a disaster and it has been — mostly for me, since I handle the admin.

Our first professional communication is almost two weeks after my aunt is hired when she calls about her tax forms, etc. With hardly a hello, she launches in.

Aunt: “This must be a [Past President] thing! I can’t believe I have to fill out all these forms! “

Me: “They’ve been like this since I was in college; everyone has to fill them out.”

Aunt: “I don’t want to! They don’t need to know my address!”

Me: “They already do.”

On and on she goes.

Almost a month after she is hired, and after weeks of reminding her to fill out her health insurance forms, I get another call.

Aunt: “I don’t want them to know my social security number!”

Me: “They need it to process your application. You had to give it to them for the insurance you had before.”

Aunt: “They shouldn’t have it! It’s none of their business!”

Me: “Then you can talk to them. My talking to them won’t do any good, since it’s your application.”

Aunt: “I don’t have time for that. I’m too busy!”

Me: “Then it won’t get processed. I can’t do anything about it.”

This continues for a good half an hour. Finally:

Aunt: “How are you going to send it?”

Me: “Email or fax.”

Aunt: “I don’t want you to do that! Anybody could read it!”

Me: “They have a mailing address. Would you prefer that?”

Aunt: “No.”

Me: “Then what do you want me to do?”

Aunt: “I don’t know! Just fax it in!”

I remind her every day for weeks via chat — her family never answers the phone — to fill out and sign the form so I can send it in. Finally:

Aunt: “Oh, you wanted me to fill these out?”

Me: “Yes, I’ve been reminding you for weeks.”

Aunt: “I didn’t see your messages.”

Me: “You replied to a few of them.”

She eventually does it, but as it’s been over a month since her hire date, they won’t take her. We file an appeal, which I tell Dad no other company would do and it’s a waste of my time. And even if they did, without her SSN, they won’t process the application. She refuses to talk to them, so I waste more time. Ultimately, she doesn’t have insurance for months.

Tax time rolls around a few months later. She has a six-figure salary while Dad hasn’t had a salary since starting the company because we never make enough. I only work part-time and earn not quite twice minimum wage.

Aunt: “I can’t believe how much tax I’m paying!”

Me: “You’re earning six figures.”

Aunt: “But the taxes are so high!”

Me: “You have this salary, plus an IRA from this job and your old job.”

Aunt: “But I pay so much in taxes!”

Me: “You pay twice in taxes than I earn, never mind what you get to take home.”

Aunt: “I never got any alimony in the divorce and I need retirement money.”

I try futilely to explain that this is not the sort of thing you should tell your HR and to shut up. She keeps going. I lose it.

Me: “Between your IRA and salary, you’re still taking home six to seven times minimum wage. You have more in your IRAs combined than anyone making minimum wage would in their lifetime. I won’t ever see even half your salary.”

Aunt: “But the taxes!”

I could go on and on. She’s been working with us for a year and a half. She has never turned in her timesheets on time and they are now months late. Dad reminds her daily to turn them in but otherwise does nothing, despite my pointing out how unprofessional and against company policy her behaviour is. She still gets paid her full salary. And he even gets mad at me for pointing all this out. Guess it’s not my problem when we can’t file taxes on time.

In Hot Water Over A Hotdog

, , | Right | November 21, 2021

I was working at a store’s café and we were about to close. A woman approached the counter.

Customer: “I’d like a kid’s hotdog for my son.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we’re all out of those. They’re not very popular at night, so I don’t make a lot before closing, and I’ve already cleaned the machine. I do have regular hotdogs left.”

The woman was mad, but she left.

Fast forward to closing. I was in the middle of rushing to get things done because I had to clock out at a certain time. The woman came back with the store’s night supervisor.

Night Supervisor: “Just make the hotdog. Cook it in the microwave.”

So, I microwaved it, checked the temperature to make sure it was cooked, and gave it to the woman.

Woman: “I’m not gonna pay for that.”

And she just walked away with the hotdog. I literally didn’t have time to fight with her, so I just left a note to my café supervisor explaining everything.

I never got in trouble. In fact, all the café workers were mad at the night supervisor for interfering with our closing procedures.

Don’t You Wish You Could Wash These Customers Right Out?

, , | Right | November 21, 2021

A number of years ago, I worked in a sandwich shop, primarily on the closing shift. One evening, two ladies came in about thirty minutes before closing. They proceeded to sit, eat their food, and chat. No issue; I had things to do.

I did everything I could for my closing, but all that was left was the floor. I proceeded to sweep up everywhere else other than their section. I put chairs on the tables and prepped my water for mopping. I started at the opposite end of the store and mopped all I could.

We had been closed for nearly an hour when one of the women spoke up.

Customer: “I think it’s totally disrespectful to clean while customers are eating. The smell of those chemicals is making me lose my appetite!”

Me: “Ma’am, we closed forty-five minutes ago, and this is the last thing on my list to do so I can go home.”

I had never seen that shade of red before, she blushed so hard.

Customer: *Clearly embarrassed* “Well, you still should wait, no matter the situation. ”

Sheesh, lady, can’t read the signs? Didn’t see me cleaning for the last forty-five minutes? Heck, almost all the lights were turned off in the dining room!

Laziness, Uh… Finds A Way

, , , , , | Working | November 20, 2021

I go to an unfamiliar coffee shop. A server is at the counter but she’s facing away from me.

Me: “Excuse me.”

She doesn’t even turn around; she holds up a finger indicating for me to wait. I wait and I wait.

Me: “Can I order? Or not?”

Server: “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you were someone else who works here.”

Me: “Okay. I’d like a medium latte to go, please.”

Server: “What size?”

Me: “Medium.”

Server: “Sitting in?”

Me: “No. To go, please.”

Server: “Any syrups?”

Me: “No, thank you.”

Server: “Can I interest you in a cookie or cake?”

Me: “Just the coffee, please.”

Server: “We have a range of cups on offer at the moment.”

Me: “I just want my coffee, please. I’m trying to get to work.”

Server: “We’re all busy, buddy.”

I look around the shop; we are alone and the car park was empty.

Me: “You’re clearly not. I wonder why.”