When Will These Liars Learn?!

, , , , , , | Right | July 30, 2021

A customer has been arguing with me about an expired coupon for the past five minutes. He swears that he called just days ago and was told that he would still be able to use the coupon, but unsurprisingly, he is unable to remember what day he called, the name of the person he spoke with, or even if they sounded male or female. The coupon is over six weeks expired, so there’s no chance that I or any of my coworkers would have told him that we would still accept it. Finally, the customer plays what he obviously thinks will be his trump card.

Customer: “I know the owner of this store! I will call him right now and tell him how horribly you have treated me, and by tomorrow, you’ll be looking for a new job!”

Me: “Is that so? Have you known him for a long time?”

Customer: “I have! We went to high school together. I went to the prom with his sister!”

I turn to the owner who, unbeknownst to the customer, has been doing paperwork at the other end of the counter this entire time.

Me: “[Owner], you never told me that you have a sister. Or that you were transgender!”

Owner: “I didn’t? I guess it never came up.”

The customer stares at her for a moment, his face turning several shades of red. As he leaves in a hurry, we can’t keep from laughing any longer.

Owner: “I’m sorry about that. I should have spoken up sooner, but you seemed like you had the situation under control.”

Me: “I’m glad you didn’t. The look on his face was so worth it.”

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An Alarming Miscommunication

, , , , | Working | July 21, 2021

I’m a minor. In my state and store, minors are not supposed to work past 9:30 pm. Our store usually closes anywhere from 10:00 pm to midnight during the week, so I’m never around during closing time. It was New Year’s Eve, which meant our store was closing slightly earlier than usual, and I was working until closing time along with the store manager, the shift manager, and several other employees. Once the last customer left the store, the managers told me to clock out, grab my things, and meet them up front to leave.

Every employee is assigned a small locker in the back of the store where the official break room is, so once I clocked out, I headed back to the lockers. I grabbed my things and went to the front to leave with everyone else…

…except there was nobody there. There are two regular exits: one by the florist and one by the bakery/pharmacy. We were supposed to meet by the florist, but I checked the bakery/pharmacy as well and they weren’t there either. I went up to the time clock where all the offices are. Nobody was there. I knocked on all the closed office doors and even tried opening the doors, but no such luck. I made my way back to the lockers and restrooms — perhaps they went back to find me? Nope. I went back to the front of the store and picked up the phone to try and use the pager system to call for anyone in the store, but I had no idea how it worked, so I put the phone back down. I walked around to the bakery, dairy, meat, produce, and deli departments, but I couldn’t find a single soul. I decided to try the exit door anyway; maybe it was locked from the outside, but I could still leave through it? It’s a two-door system where you walk through the first door, walk about twenty feet, and walk through the second door outside. I walked through the first door with no problem, but the second door was locked. Luckily, I was able to turn around and grab the first door before it shut completely, trapping me inside the vestibule. Panicking, I ran around the aisles shouting for anyone to hear me, choking back the inevitable tears that were on their way.

I finally used my cell phone to call my parents, who were wondering where I was. Through tears, I explained.

Me: “I’m trapped in the store alone! And I don’t know what to do.”

Mother: “Look around for an emergency exit.”

I find one.

Me: “I’ve found one, but I’m scared to set off the alarm!”

Mother: “Suck it up and push the door open.”

I pushed it open, the alarm rang REALLY loudly, and I ran and screamed all the way around the building to the parking lot and to my car.

At the time, my father had worked for over a decade for the town, and he knew several of the police officers in town. He called the non-emergency number and told them that his daughter set off the alarm at the grocery store so they had a heads-up as to what was going on. The police then passed on the story to the store manager, who had been called back to the store by the alarm company.

The next time I worked, my mother came in, found the store manager scanning a few things at self-checkout, furiously marched up to her, and ripped her a new one.

Mother: “How dare you leave an employee alone in the store?!”

Store Manager: *Sincerely* “I’m so sorry. Even if your daughter had remained in the store, the overnight stocking crew comes in around midnight, so they would have been able to let her out. But I agree that the situation should never have happened in the first place. The shift manager and I each thought the other had let [My Name] out of the store, so it was okay to leave.”

After a few more complaints from my mom, the store manager finished scanning her items — an “I’m sorry” card, a gift card, and a couple of movie tickets — and came to my register to apologize again and give me the gifts. My mom felt a little bad after that.

Looking back at it a decade later, I think the whole thing is somewhat humorous, but I really wish I’d taken the chance to explore more of the store; I’d always wanted to see what the bakery looked like. My mom still remembers hearing the alarm go off and me screaming through the phone and laughs about it to this day. That was probably my most memorable New Year’s Eve.

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If I Was Their Parent, I’d Have Ripped That Teacher A New One

, , , , , | Learning | July 20, 2021

I attended a Catholic school my entire primary school life, kindergarten to twelfth grade. Due to the mandatory cutoff date for when you can start school, I’m one of the youngest in my class; I was four when I started kindergarten.

In 1979, when I was five years old and in the first grade, I had a nun for a teacher. Our school required us to get book covers for all our textbooks. So, being young and not very neat, I pulled out one of my books for class, and the book cover was torn. Keep in mind this was a paper cover and the book was a hardcover, so there was no damage to the book itself.

The teacher looked at my book cover and then at me.

Teacher: “You’re going to Hell for having a ripped book cover.”

She walked away, and I was left terrified, a five-year-old told by my teacher that I was going to Hell. I couldn’t even tell my parents because they would take the teacher’s side.

And some people wonder why I stopped going to church when I was eighteen. This wasn’t the only reason, but it was probably the first.

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, , , , | Related | July 19, 2021

When my brother is five and I am three, my mother attempts to go to the bathroom by herself. When she comes out, she finds me holding an apple that has been impaled on two knives, eating it like corn on the cob. She promptly takes it away.

Mom: “[Brother], why did you do that?!”

Brother: “She wanted an apple, but I couldn’t reach the apples, but I could reach the knives!”

Mom: “You could have hurt yourself!”

Brother: *Suddenly sobbing* “I did hurt myself!”

He brought his hands out from behind his back to reveal that he had cut himself on the web of one hand. Mom cleaned him up and brought us to the hospital. Because she was so concerned about getting him seen, she didn’t change us out of our pajamas, and my brother was wearing Superman pajamas, cape and all. By the time we were ready to go home, several doctors had stopped by to say hi to “Superman” and compliment him for being so brave while he got his stitches.

It was a while before Mom trusted us to behave ourselves enough to go to the bathroom alone again.

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We’re Infuriated On Your Behalf

, , , , , | Working | July 12, 2021

In the late 1970s, I worked in a copy center. Each week on Thursday, the schedule for the following week would be posted. A friend of mine worked the overnight shift during the week, so he’d give me my schedule each week when I saw him.

I only worked part-time, on Mondays and Tuesdays. I started working in September and worked sixteen hours each week, planning to go full-time in January; they needed more full-time workers. Everything went fine for the first two months.

The last week in October, my friend told me that I was not listed on the schedule for the following week. On Friday morning, I called my manager and told him.

Manager: “Don’t worry. Whoever made the schedule must’ve just forgotten to add you.”

The following week, the same thing happened; I was not listed on the schedule. Again, I spoke to the manager.

Manager: *A little upset* “I’ll speak to the idiot who makes the schedule and tell him to be sure to add you on the next one.”

The next week, guess what? I was still not on the schedule. However, this time, I was told a different story.

Me: “[Manager], I’m not on the schedule again.”

Manager: “Yeah, I found out that the company’s revenues are way down so they had to cut back on staff and hours. The manager of the main store was demoted to a regular employee, and they laid off five other people, as well. My advice is to look for another job elsewhere. I have no idea how long this is going to go on for.”

Me: “So, you’re telling me that I was laid-off three weeks ago, and the company is only getting around to telling me now?”

Manager: “Ah, yeah, I guess so. I’m really sorry. They didn’t tell me any of this until just this morning. Honestly, I’m looking around for a job myself. I really don’t like what’s going on here. They’re not being upfront with anyone. I wish there was more I could do for you, but there’s just nothing I can do.”

Me: “Well, okay, bye.”

And that, folks, is how I got laid off from a job and wasn’t told I was laid off until three weeks after the fact.

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