Sometimes You Have To Be A Panini-meanie  

, , | Right | December 13, 2019

(It’s usually quiet but a rush of people just came in and a big queue has formed. A customer just came in and stared at our self-serve fridge where we keep sandwiches and such for a good few minutes before joining the queue empty-handed.)

Customer: “What paninis do you have?”

Me: “They’re in the big fridge there.”

Customer: “Oh. Are any of them vegetarian?”

Me: “Yes, the mozzarella one is, if we have any left.”

(We have a very large number left.)

Customer: “I couldn’t see any.”

Me: “I guarantee you we have them.”

Customer: “Well, can you get me one?”

Me: “They’re in the fridge over there.”

(The customer looked like she was about to protest but I ignored her and served the next customer. I have a low tolerance for people who want to be waited on hand and foot. That’s not how the place is run, but some people don’t seem to get that.)

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You Need To Be More Emily Blunt

, , , | Right | December 11, 2019

(I work for a small family chain of four fish and chip shops, with takeout or sit-down service. Everyone here is just a general “assistant.” We all know how to serve customers, fry food, and do general tasks.)

Me: *serving a table of twelve* “I have one kids’ chicken nuggets and chips.”

Customer: “Oh, that’s Emily’s.”

Me: “Who has the chicken nuggets and chips?”

Customer: “That’s for Emily!”

(Who the f*** is Emily? Why can’t she shout “here” or someone else point to her?)

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Soaked In Rage

, , , , | Working | December 11, 2019

(My workplace has an area to store your bags, coats, etc. The hooks are overwhelmed by coats, so everyone leaves their bags on the floor. One day, a pipe bursts and the bag area floods. I work at the front and the pipe is at the back, so I don’t find out about this until my break, nearly an hour later. Some of my coworkers, including a manager, knew about the burst pipe as soon as it happened.)

Me: “So, where did you move the bags to?”

Coworker: “What do you mean?”

Me: “The bag area is flooding, right?”

Coworker: “Well, it’s not flooding anymore, but there is still a lot of water on the ground.”

Me: “Right. So, where did you move the bags?”

Coworker: “Why would we move the bags?”

Me: *eyes go wide* “You left them in the water?!”

(I run to the back of the store and grab my bag. It is sopping wet. I get everyone else’s bag up on a nearby table and then woefully check on my stuff. My change of clothes is soaked. Thankfully, my phone was spared, as it was on top. The papers I had in there are completely destroyed. I confront my manager.)

Me: “[Manager], why weren’t the bags moved? They’re soaked!”

Manager: *flat voice* “[Company] is not responsible for theft or damage to items left in the back room. It is provided to you as a courtesy.”

Me: *gritting my teeth* “Fine. It’s not like I was gonna sue you, anyway. I just want to know why you didn’t move them.”

Manager: “They’re your responsibility.”

Me: “I was on register! How was I supposed to know the pipe burst?!”

Manager: “They’re your responsibility.”

Me: *completely losing my temper* “But why would any decent person just leave them there? Why couldn’t you just pick them up? I just picked them up, and it took me less than two minutes! Why?!

Manager: “They’re your responsibility.”

Me: *screams in rage*

(And that’s the story of how I got fired for the first time ever.)

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Login For The Win!

, , , , , | Right | December 9, 2019

(I work for a bank. Letters have been sent out to our clients about a new loyalty scheme where they can get prizes for using our products, like wine.)

Client: “I’ve received this letter about your new [loyalty scheme]. It says to go onto [website] to log in or register.”

Me: “Okay.”

Client: “So, what do I do? There are all these options.” *lists options, including one that says “Login/Register”*

Me: “You need to click on Login/Register to… log in… or register.”

Client: “Oh, what’s the difference?”

Me: “If you know your username and password you can log in, or if you haven’t created one you can register your details.”

Client: “It’s asking me for my username. What’s that?”

Me: “Have you registered?”

Client: “No. I need to do that first?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Client: “Oh, seems like jolly hard work.” *hangs up*

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It’s Not Just The Organs That Are Failing

, , , , | Healthy | December 9, 2019

(When my brother is around nine, he wakes up screaming in pain. As we have no vehicle of our own and no way of getting a taxi or a lift, my mother has to walk with a screaming child two kilometers to the hospital. She went to nursing school, but is not currently working as a nurse.)

Doctor: *after barely poking him* “Well, seems to be just some gas. He’s probably just using the pain to get attention.”

(My mother looks at her like she’s crazy, while my brother still cries and screams.)

Mom: “My son is not like that. Look, I am a nurse. I’m pretty sure he has appendicitis.”

Doctor: “Oh, nonsense. You don’t know what you are talking about.”

Mom: “But I do–”

Doctor: “Listen. I am a doctor. You are just a nurse. He is fine. Now leave.”

(My mother leaves the hospital furious. Not surprisingly, two days later, my brother’s appendix ruptures. My mom manages to get a passing car to take them to the hospital, and my brother has surgery. Because the hospital has no full anesthesia, they have to use local — the kind that only numbs the area — and my brother is operated on while awake and screaming. While he is still in surgery, my mother runs into the doctor in the hallway.)

Doctor: “Oh, you are here again. What, does your son have a headache now? It might be a tumor, don’t you think?”

(My mother almost attacked her, but her father entered the hospital on time and stopped her. My brother survived and made a full recovery, and my mother reported the doctor; unfortunately, nothing came out of it at the time, but a few years later she was forced into retirement for repeatedly misdiagnosing patients.)

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