Labelled As Dysfunctional

, , , , , , | Working | September 15, 2017

(The company I currently work for does this thing where employees can transfer to neighboring restaurants of the same company to work for a couple of days, even weeks. My general manager decides to transfer me to the one downtown. That restaurant is rumored to be the most dysfunctional yet, and I don’t want to take it straight from the horse’s mouth until I’ve actually experienced it. That day, I am completely clueless, because I’ve never worked the breakfast shift. Most people there are understanding; however, this cook from a different county isn’t taking any bulls*** from me.)

Cook: *throws sandwich on heat chute* “Here you go.”

Me: *looks at unmarked sandwich* “What’s this?”

Cook: *condescendingly* “Aren’t you supposed to know what it is, since you rang it up?”

Me: *speechless, packs food instead*

(This pattern continues well into the beginning of lunch. The cook makes a particular, well-known sandwich, with some adjustments, and just tosses it on the heat chute. And, not to my surprise, it isn’t labeled.)

Me: *waves sandwich at the cook* “What’s this?”

Cook: *sarcastically* “A dead cow between two burger buns, that we call a burger. But in [Restaurant] we call it [Burger].”

Me: *losing patience* “I know that, but we have at least 12 of these [Burgers] spoken for in the last 20 minutes, and I need to know which is which.”

Cook: *irate* “B****, CAN’T YOU READ?!”

Me: *finally fed up* “B****, CAN’T YOU LABEL S***?!”

(All is quiet, followed by a couple of “ohhs” from employees and customers nearby. I toss the burger back at the cook for her to see the unmarked wrapper.)

Cook: “I… um…”

Me: “Is this for drive-thru, front counter, or what? Because we are not f****** mind-readers.”

Cook: *huffs and walks away*

(I didn’t hear another word from her after the confrontation, but at least I found out why everything there was dysfunctional. This restaurant kept bringing in crazy people from other stores to work for them. Needless to say, when the manager asked me to come in the next day, I had no trouble telling them to f*** off.)

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Your Child Knows Copyright From Wrong

, , , , | Working | September 15, 2017

(My daughter is used for ads in another country, and the photographer gives me digital copies to use as I want. I take my daughter everywhere with me, because I’m a single mom. I go to get copies of the unused shots for the grandparents.)

Worker: “We can’t print these.”

Me: “Why?”

Worker: “They are obviously not yours!”

Me: “I’ve been given the right to use them.”

Worker: “Well, that’s not your kid!”

Me: *looking down at my kid* “She’s not?!”

My Kid: *looking up* “Hi! I’m [Name].” *then spells it* “I’m four!”

Worker: “That doesn’t prove she’s yours!”

Me: “I’ll go elsewhere.”

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Anti Antibiotics

, , , , | Working | September 13, 2017

(I went to the doctor a few days ago because of an infection I had, and got antibiotics for it. The infection cleared up, but I am now noticing that my tongue is turning yellow, swollen, and somewhat bumpy. I go to the doctor again, to make sure I’m not having a bad allergic reaction to the antibiotics.)

Doctor: “You think that you’re having an allergic reaction to the antibiotics?”

Me: “Yes; my tongue is turning weird colors and it feels swollen.”

Doctor: *looks at my tongue* “Well, I don’t see anything that concerns me.”

Me: “You’re sure? It doesn’t feel normal.”

(The doctor proceeds to Google what the possible side effects could be for this antibiotic.)

Doctor: “Are you sure that you don’t just have food stuck to your tongue?”

Me: “…”

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They Must Have Been High(lands)

, , , , , | Working | September 13, 2017

(I have applied for Universal Credit and have to attend a compulsory interview for it. I get the email telling me that my interview is not only 400 miles away, but also in another country. I call the helpline to ask them to reschedule my interview.)

Helpline Employee: “How can I help you today?”

Me: “I’ve been given a date for my interview, but it’s in Edinburgh, and I live in London. I was just wondering if that was a computer glitch or something?”

Helpline Employee: “Would that be a problem?”

Me: “Well… yes. I live 400 miles away. In London, England.”

Helpline Employee: *as though I am stupid* “Edinburgh is in Scotland, not in England. Can you attend the interview or not?”

Me: “No. As I have said, it’s 400 miles away, so I have no way of getting there. I’d like an interview closer to my home, please.”

Helpline Employee: “I can send you the public transport options to get you to your interview. It’s really important to go to it!”

(I don’t want to hang up and call again, as I was on hold for so long. I decide to go with it and see if she spots the problem.)

Me: “Can we talk through transport options now?”

Helpline Employee: “No, all I can do is email them to the email address you provided.”

Me: *getting frustrated* “I have already looked at transport options. As I don’t have a car, I can only go by train. A train from London to Edinburgh takes about five hours, usually longer. I can’t afford that kind of trip, and even if I could, I don’t want to spend more than ten hours on a train in one day. Can I change the location of my appointment, please?”

Helpline Employee: “How far away do you actually live?”

Me: *thinking we’re finally getting somewhere* “About 400 miles.”

Helpline Employee: “I can move your appointment to the afternoon. That will mean you will have time to attend!”

(I just hung up and resolved to be on hold again. I gave it a minute and called back. After being on hold for ages, I spoke to someone who changed my appointment to the branch that was 20 minutes walk from my house. He had no idea why I was sent to the Edinburgh branch, but at least he understood the concept of distance.)

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The Boss Is No Shrimping Violet

, , , , , , , | Working | September 12, 2017

(My sister and I are craving [Specialty Drinks] and we stop at [Popular Fast Food Restaurant] to treat ourselves. After placing our orders, we’re waiting, and we get to experience this interaction:)

Employee #2: *to the manager as she runs out of the kitchen* “Hey, [Manager], you need to talk to [Employee #1]. He’s back there eating shrimp again, and now I need some air.”

Manager: “D*** it, again? Fine. Hey, [Employee #1]!”

Employee #1: *sticks head out of kitchen while chewing* “What?”

Manager: “Are you eating seafood?”

Employee #1: “H*** yeah!”

Manager: “We don’t serve seafood at [Restaurant], so, none in the kitchen.”

Employee #1: “Why the f*** not?”

Manager: “There are people like [Employee #2] who are allergic to seafood, and we don’t have it on our allergen list.”

Employee #1: “F*** that, [racial slur]. I love shrimp.”

Manager: *apparently losing patience* “You can’t eat it in [Restaurant].”

Employee #1: *stuffs piece of shrimp into his mouth with a gloved hand*

Manager: “Okay. Fine. You’re fired. Let’s head to the office.”

Employee #1: “What the f***, [racial slur]! You can’t fire me!”

Manager: *authoritatively* “Office. Now.”

(He started towards the back. Employee #1 followed angrily. My sister and I left with our order. We were both glad we didn’t order any food, because my sister is deathly allergic to shrimp.)

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