Quentin Tarantino Really Took Liberties With History On That Movie

, , , , , , | Working | August 26, 2019

(I work for a film locations company. I get a call from a stage director.)

Me: “[Company], how can I help you?”

Director: “Yeah, I’m looking for an old house.”

Me: “Okay! Can you give me a few more specifics? Do you mean run down, or from a certain decade?”

Director: “I need a first-century house.”

Me: “Sorry, did you say first century?”

Director: “Yeah.”

Me: “So, like… a cave?”

Director: “Ugh, no! Umm, okay, have you ever seen Inglourious Basterds?”

Me: “Yes.”

Director: “You know the old house from the opening scene?”

Me: “Yes.”

Director: “I need a house like that.”

Me: “Okay. Now that I have a sense of what you need, I’m sorry to say that we don’t have any properties in our database that look like that. Our houses are more residential.”

Director: “Ugh, seriously? Well, I guess I’ll have to look elsewhere.”

Me: “I’m so sorry we couldn’t help you today, but for your future reference, Inglourious Basterds takes place in Nazi-occupied France in the 1940s, so you’re looking for a house from the 20th century.”

Director: “Thanks.” *hangs up*

(The opening shot, with the house in the background, literally states the setting year is 1941.)

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Addressing The Lack Of Addressing

, , , , , , | Working | August 23, 2019

(I start work as a temporary assistant for a non-profit; my main job is to help them prepare for a fundraiser that will be happening in the next week. Within my first day, it is clear that the main boss lady is a huge b****, and she has very clearly been bullying another of the employees. She more or less leaves me alone, other than a snide or frustrating comment here or there, but I’m pretty thick-skinned and I know it’s a temporary position, anyway, so I let most of them go. However, I’m starting to feel uncomfortable because a lot of employees, who I have never met, due to this being a temp job, keep coming to me to complain about the boss. None of this is a good sign, but I soldier on. The day of the fundraiser arrives. I ask them the whole day before if they want me to come help set up, but the boss lady keeps brushing me off. They’re literally walking to their cars when I ask for the final time if they want me to come. Then, this happens:)

Boss: “Oh, yeah, it would be good if you could come and help set up.”

Me: “Okay, cool! Can I have the address for the hotel to put in my GPS?”

Boss: “No, just get in my car.”

Me: “Um… I prefer to drive myself. That way I don’t have to bother you to drive me back to my car when I’ve exceeded my hours; I can just go. Can I have the address, please?”

Boss: *snottily* “Well, are you actually planning to show up?”

Me: “Yes, but I can’t if you won’t give me the address.”

Boss: “Just get in my car! It will be easier that way!”

Me: “No, I’m not getting in your car if you won’t even tell me where we’re going.”

Boss: *snottily, again* “You know, if you want to get paid, you actually have to work.”

Me: “I literally just need the address. I don’t know where the place is, and I prefer to drive myself.”

Boss: “I told you to get in my car!”

Me: “No.”

Boss: “Ugh, fine, you can stay here and enter the donations into [Program], then.”

(I have never heard of this program in my life, and it isn’t in the job description, either.) 

Me: “What’s [Program]?”

Boss: “Are you f****** kidding me? You don’t know [Program]? Fine! Go home, then! Just go home!”

(I’m a little upset at this point, but I turn around and start heading to my car to go home.)

Boss: “Where are you going?!”

(Finally, the boss’s daughter got out of her car and handed me a flyer with the address on it. That’s literally ALL I NEEDED. They drove off. I got in my car and considered actually going home since I really didn’t need to be treated like that, but then figured I needed the money so whatever, I’d help them set up and then go home. I helped them set up, and lo and behold, they were way too busy with the function when it was time for me to go to even say goodbye, so I doubt they would’ve bothered to drive me back to my car if I hadn’t driven myself. I would’ve just been trapped there. The next day, the lady who had been clearly bullied by the boss quit in a rage and stormed out. I called the temp agency and when I explained what happened they pulled me off the job immediately and told me they’d no longer send people there. Good riddance.)

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Two Ounces Of Coffee, Less Than An Ounce Of Sense

, , , , , , | Right | August 19, 2019

(I work as a barista. One day, a woman I’ve never seen before enters the café.)

Me: “Hi. What can I get for you?”

Customer: “I’d like to try some of your coffee.”

Me: “Sure, will that be a drip coffee, or–“

Customer: “I want coffee, but I don’t want to buy it. I just want a sample.”

Me: “If you’d just like a taste, I can give you a sample of our drip coffee in our two-ounce cup.”

(I hold up the cup so the customer can see.)

Customer: “No, I want a sample but in that size cup!” *points to our regular-size paper cups*

Me: “I’m sorry, but we only do free samples in the two-ounce cups. Did you still want the sample?”

(The customer huffs and puffs but finally agrees, and I pour the sample for her. She takes the cup and then makes her way to the self-serve area where the cream and sugar are kept. I watch with curiosity — which soon turns into dumbfoundedness — as this woman takes a sip of her tiny sample of coffee to make room, and then pours half-and-half into it, then another sip, and then pouring some more half-and-half, etc. After drinking her coffee in this fashion for at least twenty repetitions of sipping and diluting her sample, she marches back to the register, face flushed with anger.)

Customer: *slamming the cup down on the counter* “I demand you remake me a free cup of coffee! This one was disgusting!”

Me: “That can happen when you pour twenty creamers into a two-ounce cup of coffee.”

Customer: *storms out, shouting profanities*


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The Time Cost Of A Dollar

, , , , , | Right | August 13, 2019

I’m at a bus stop with several other people waiting for a bus that’s a couple of minutes late. Our bus tickets cost $1.25, and we can pay by a variety of passes, student cards, or cash. Cash is the most troublesome due to coin rejections and dollar bills having to be smooth enough to actually go in the machine’s pay slot.

One of the waiting women keeps looking down the road impatiently, sighing, glaring around, and muttering about the bus being late, etc.

After a few more minutes of waiting, the bus finally arrives. The impatient woman makes sure she gets on first, with me and a line of other passengers behind her waiting to board. 

Then, only after getting on, the impatient woman proceeds to pull out a super-extra crumpled-up dollar bill from somewhere on her person and to slowly and carefully uncrumple and straighten it out so she can put it in the machine. 

I, and all the people in line behind me, stare at her in disbelief while we’re all forced to wait to get on. It takes her at minimum three minutes to uncrumple that miserable dollar bill and manage to successfully put it in the machine, along with her multiple coins. She won’t move aside to let anyone else board the bus while she is doing this.

Unsurprisingly, the bus is significantly late to all our destinations.

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Unfiltered Story #160090

, , , | Unfiltered | August 12, 2019

I was standing in line at a fast-food place. The line next to the one I was in was being handled by a trainee and her supervisor. It was apparent that it was the trainee’s first day on the job and she was understandably nervous.

The people in the line were patient and pleasant and more than willing to cut the trainee some slack while she learned to use the order screen. Until an older man stepped up to the counter, barked his order, and then decided to berate the trainee for “not smiling.” The poor girl was close to tears and her supervisor had a comforting hand on her shoulder, when the jerk turned to me. I guess because I’m an older woman he thought he’d have a sympathetic audience. “These kids never heard of service with a smile!”

As it happens, I’ve stood behind my share of counters in my life. So I said, loud and clear, “Who do you think you are, Dale Carnegie? You leave her alone!” It was very satisfying to see Mr. Smiley turn bright red and slink away.

The supervisor offered to comp my meal, but I declined. The satisfaction of getting to tell off a jackass customer with no fear of retribution was its own reward.