Stripped Of The Relevant Training

, , , , , | Working | October 30, 2017

(I am 17. I have left home and am broke, so I lie about my age to get a job in a nightclub. I am a month away from being 18, so I don’t feel too bad. There are no checks and screenings by a lot of places at this point in time. However, I am THE most naive young woman. I know nothing about how the world works in reality, and I find myself working in a nightclub that has seven different rooms and bars, all with different themes. I’ve never even been to a pub or bar socially before this night. I am assigned to [Bar #1], which is pretty normal, and most of the customers seem to be okay. I mess up quite a few drinks, but it is laughed off when I tell the customers it’s my first night. I am doing okay, I think, and even manage to navigate my way around the multi- and split-level corridors to get to the bathrooms and back. The place is a total warren. And then:)

Supervisor: *shouts over the music* “[My Name]! Go to [Bar #7]! They need a barmaid!”

Me: *shouts over the music* “Where’s [Bar #7]?”

Supervisor: *shouts over the music* “Downstairs! Ask someone on the way!”

(So off I trot, trying to find my way to [Bar #7], asking various customers and staff along the way. Whenever I ask for directions, however, I get comments like, “You don’t want to be going there, love,” or, “Why the h*** are they putting YOU there?” or, “Who the bloody h*** told YOU to go to [Bar #7]?” and so on. But nobody will tell me why I shouldn’t go there, so I get stubborn and carry on. When I finally find [Bar #7], 20 minutes later, I drag the door open, only to be blasted with deafening music – much louder than upstairs. I walk to the bar, and look at the shocked face of the barman there.)

Me: *angry now* “What on earth is the matter with everyone? Why shouldn’t I be here?”

(My new colleague just spluttered and pointed at the stage, going beetroot red in the face. I turned around just as a woman on stage was removing her last piece of clothing with a “TA-DAAA!” gesture. She posed there, stark naked, to rapturous applause from the 200 men watching her. The lights went down, she dashed off the stage, and all 200 men turned to face naive little me at the bar, who was standing there with her bottom jaw resting on the top of her prim little lace-up shoes. I was the only female in the room after a full-on strip show. Gulp. It actually didn’t turn out too badly. I think most of them saw me as a substitute daughter, while the rest were so embarrassed to be caught watching a stripper by a very shocked young woman that they left [Bar #7] in quite a hurry and bought drinks elsewhere.)

Unfiltered Story #93223

, , | Unfiltered | September 5, 2017

(I work in Customer Services for a well known UK Department Store)

Me: Good morning, thank you for calling **** *****, my name is (my name), how can I help you today?

Customer: I want to check if you have a laptop in stock today.

Me: Thats not a problem, please can I take the make and model of the laptop and I will be happy to check for you.

Customer: Its 8gb RAM, 1tb storage, and it has a processor…

Me: …. Ok, so that’s the specification of the model you are looking for, but I will also need the make and model to be able to help you.

Customer: Oh yeah, it’s purple too!

Me: I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that I still need to know the brand at least..

Customer: I. JUST. TOLD. YOU.

Me: Do you happen to have any other information about the laptop, where have you seen it advertised…

Customer: PUT ME THROUGH TO THE ELECTRICAL DEPARTMENT NOW, YOU CLEARLY DONT KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT!

Me: Miss, I assure you that an employee in the department would ask the same questions as I am, the information you’re proving could relate to any laptop that we sell.

Customer: MANAGER! NOW!

Me: I will be happy to get a Manager for you, but could I ask what I have done incorrectly today?

Customer: I don’t want to speak to you anymore. GET. ME. A. MANAGER

Me: Okay, please hold.

*I put the customer on hold while pretending to get a Manager, my colleagues are able to hear the customer screaming and trying not to laugh*

Me: Thanks for waiting there, my Manager is fine for me to keep speaking with you as I have not done anything incorrectly. Now could we start again?

Customer: *SCREAMS* THIS IS TERRIBLE CUSTOMER SERVICE! I WILL NEVER SHOP WITH **** ***** AGAIN! * *click*

Colleague: What a b****!

Treat Others They Way You’re Mistreated

, , , | Right | August 27, 2017

(Our new manager has changed the format of our day rotas, adding space for a ‘thought for the day.’ However, he accidentally printed off about a hundred with the thought ‘treat others as you would like to be treated’ instead of with different thoughts. A supervisor has suggested we cross that out and add another one.)

Coworker #1: “Because we should do that one anyway.”

Coworker #2: “So it can’t be ‘do your job, get paid’?”

Me: “We should be doing that, too.”

Coworker #3: “It’s not a bad thought, though.”

Me: “It’s a terrible thought. If I acted the way some of these customers act towards us in a shop I would feel totally fine if the retail people smacked me across the face. I’d deserve it.”

Coworker #1: “So [My Name] should treat people the way they would like to be treated, not the way she expects to be treated?”

(We stop talking immediately as a customer passes our desk, as we’re supposed to do, and I ask if they need any help with anything today. The customer outright blanks me until they are almost at the door when I say, as I always do.)

Me: “All right then, guys, enjoy the rest of your day.”

(The customer heel-turns and looks like I did just slap them across the face, though I said it with a well-practiced genuine tone.)

Customer: “What did you just say?”

Me: “I said enjoy the rest of you day. Safe journey home, now.”

(As soon as the customer leaves, I add.)

Me: “Hell is a terrible commute.”

Can’t Dress It Up As Anything Other Than A Bridezilla

, , , | Friendly | August 21, 2017

(This is two weeks after a popular bridal chain has closed its doors, sending brides into a panic. I myself am a bride-to-be, and have been lucky enough to have gotten my gown before the chain closed. I am at the seamstress’s shop for my final fitting and pick-up. Just after my mother has taken the obligatory “bride with her gown bag” photo in front of the shop, another car pulls up and a woman comes running over.)

Woman: “Excuse me!”

Me: “Yes?”

Woman: “Your dress is a [Brand Name]!” *she points to the logo on the bag*

Me: “Yes, it is. I suppose I was lucky it came before they closed.”

(I start to put the dress in my car.)

Woman: “Wait!”

(I stop, thinking she may want to peek at it.)

Me: “Yes?”

Woman: “Let me have your dress!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Woman: “Let me have your dress. I’m getting married in a couple of weeks and I want a [Brand Name]!”

Me: “No.”

Woman: “What do you mean ‘no’?”

Me: “I mean no, I won’t give this to you.” (I hang up the dress and shut the door, which automatically locks my car.)

Woman: “You don’t need it, you already got married! You just had it cleaned!”

Me: “No, I’m not married yet. I am picking up my gown after alterations to store it until my wedding in two months. Have you looked online to see if someone is selling what you want?”

(She ignores me.)

Woman: “I’ll borrow it!”

Me: “No.”

Woman: “You HAVE to let me borrow it!”

Me: “No, I don’t. My property is my property.”

Woman: “You’re a greedy b****!”

Me: “To you, maybe. I’m not lending out my dress before my wedding. There’s too much risk that it will be ruined or not come back, which would leave me stuck. After the wedding, I may, if it’s someone I know who is local. I’m not sure yet. I’d love to keep it for any daughter I may have who wants to wear it. Have you tried looking online?”

Woman: “Then I’ll just take it!”

(The woman walks over to my car and starts pulling on the handle, and falls when it doesn’t open and the force causes her to lose balance.)

Woman: “Open this door. I want that dress.”

Me: “No.”

Woman: “Open it.”

Me: “No. Lady, get away from my car. If you want one so badly, look online in buy/trade/borrow groups. There are so many brides willing to help those who lost their dresses in the closure. I also don’t think you’ve taken one look at me, because I’m a solid foot shorter than you with much larger boobs. My dress wouldn’t fit you!”

Woman: “Oh look, the cops came pretty quick!”

(The woman got up and tried to tell the cops I was stealing her dress. They checked my receipts, ID, and registration, and confirmed that it was mine. They kept the woman back so that we could leave unhindered, but the seamstress told me later that they ticketed her for disturbing the peace and ended up having to escort her home so she wouldn’t try to follow me.)

Managers, Fridges, And Cats, Oh My!

, , , , , | Working | June 16, 2017

(I work for the Manager-from-Hell, in a service department for a firm that sells and maintained industrial fridges/freezers, cooker ranges, massive toasters, etc. The service department is arranged so that the three administrators (I and two others) divide up the customers between us. Some of our customers only have the one walk-in freezer or industrial toaster, so their livelihood is affected if we don’t get out there and fix the problems. Our manager loves himself so much, always sees himself as ‘in’ with the directors, and is always a bit too fast to jump at you for mistakes.)

Manager: “[My Name]! You know what you’ve done? We’re going to lose this customer because of you! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH CRAP THE MANAGING DIRECTOR JUST GAVE ME BECAUSE OF YOU? WELL, DO YOU?!”

Me: *getting flustered, because I haven’t been there long and it is hot in that office* “What’s the customer’s name? I’ll get the paperwork out and see what’s—”

Manager: “Never MIND what the customer’s called! You know D*** WELL know what they’re called! You spoke to them twice today, so don’t give me that!”

(This ‘conversation’ is taking place in full view and hearing of my colleagues, and the other offices go strangely quiet; they can hear him, too.)

Me: “[Manager], unless you tell me who it is, I can’t do anything about it, so—”

Manager: “GOD ALMIGHTY, [My Name], you’re just so d***ed useless! I don’t know why we took you on! Bloody useless!” *storms off to the MD’s office*

Me: *to the office in general* “Does anyone know who he’s talking about?”

(My colleagues just shrug, so we get back to work. But now I’m getting angry, and wondering if I’ve taken a problem job. Ten minutes later, the manager asks me to come into the kitchen; he even asks in a nice, polite way. When we get there, he closes the door after us, smiles and says:)

Manager: “[My Name], I’m really sorry for shouting at you like that. The mistake wasn’t yours; it was actually [Other Department]’s fault. It was them who’d talked to the client. I’m sorry for blaming you.”

Me: “Wow, thanks for the apology! But I won’t accept it until you come with me.” *takes him back to our office* “[Manager], would you mind repeating what you said in the kitchen, please?”

Manager: “Really, [My Name]? You’re going to make me embarrass myself?” *gives a jolly hahaho – an obviously fake laugh*

Me: “Yes, [Manager]. I think it’s only right, seeing as you ripped a piece off me without any idea what was going on. ‘New girl gets the blame.’ Is that your style? Anyway, who was the customer?”

Manager: “It was one of [Coworker]’s accounts. Sorry.”

(So, he did apologise — mechanically and monotonously, but he did. That was the first run-in I had with him, and I had many more in the three years I was there. The only reason I was there so long is that I promised myself I’d see him gone before I did. We absolutely hated each other’s guts. When he left, I handed in my notice. I got a better revenge, though. He insisted on giving me a lift home one night in his new car, to show off. I accepted, seeing as it was pouring down. When we got there, he asked if my husband was in (for more bragging), so I took him into the flat. Our little cat was having a bit of a bad tummy reaction to a cat food I’d given her, and she also liked to sit on strangers’ laps. She bounced up onto my manager’s lap, curled up, fell asleep and then farted the smelliest fart I’d ever smelled her do. It was gross, and I loved it a lot. The manager’s face was a picture. Perfect timing, Fuzzball!)

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