Let’s Hash This Out

, , , , , | Friendly | March 1, 2021

I am shopping at a local grocery store and I’m in the canned food aisle grabbing a couple of cans of corned beef hash. A woman who appears to be in her mid-seventies stops and stares at me as I put the cans in my basket.

Woman: “Ugh. How can you eat that stuff?”

I look her right in the eye.

Me: “Usually with a fork, but if all my forks are in the dishwasher, a spoon works just fine.”

She goes from disgusted to offended in a split second and starts to sputter out something, but I interrupt her.

Me: “Ask a stupid question, get a smarta** answer.”

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Okay, But Were They Any Good?

, , , , , , | Right | February 22, 2021

I work the overnight shift for a hotel. Usually, it is super quiet because everyone is sleeping. The walls are not soundproof so, occasionally, we get a noise complaint about a TV too loud, people being loud in the hallway, etc.

One night, I received four noise complaints for the same room in five minutes around 1:00 am. I went upstairs with security and knocked on the door. It took ten minutes, but when the guests finally opened the door, I found a live band in the room performing. Needless to say, they all got kicked out of the hotel for the night and banned from coming back.

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Racism: The T-Shirt

, , , , , | Right | January 22, 2021

My coworker pages me to the front to answer a question pertaining to my department, so I walk over and ask what’s up. The T-shirts in my department range in price, starting from about $4 and going up to closer to $12. It depends on style, brand, etc.

Coworker: “These T-shirts have a $3.99 sticker, but they look like the more expensive ones. Is that price right?”

The customer looks annoyed at my coworker asking for help, and I take one look at the T-shirt and decide:

Me: “Yeah, that should be right.”

I go to fix the mess of carts in the front corrals that always seems to happen when we’re busy, so I’m nearby when the customer finishes her transaction and walks out the door.

Customer: *Talking about my coworker* “Like I’d switch price tags or something. White b****.”

I give the customer an annoyed, shocked look as I walk back over to my coworker and we talk about the transaction for a minute.

Coworker: “I just wanted to make sure! All I said was, ‘I want to double-check one thing quick.’ And she thought I was being racist or something, but I’d do that for anybody. Those shirts seemed like the more expensive ones. The price tags are different!”

Me: “I really didn’t want to deal with her. But just in case, I’ll go check the T-shirt section.”

Sometimes I hate people. We’re not saying you’re the one who switched the price tags, if they got switched, but when you make a giant deal out of it like that, it looks strange. We’d question it if a white person came up with those shirts, too. Sigh.

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You Met The Scissor Sisters

, , , | Right | January 22, 2021

It’s our truck day, which is usually interesting, and the coworker who usually covers fabric has gone on lunch. I answer a customer service page at the fabric desk where two ladies have fabric already measured out. I greet them cheerfully and ask what I can help them with.

Customer: “I’ve got a hundred inches. I just need a scissor.”

There’s a pair of scissors on the opposite side of the desk from her, but she’s made no move to come get it.

Me: “Oh, I actually have to cut the fabric for you.”

I stay where I am, because that’s how I typically cut fabric: on the opposite side of the desk from the customer.

Customer: “Well, can’t you just come on this side?”

I ignore that and choose to reach for her fabric, which is a plaid-like one that I’ll have to cut in a particular way. I re-measure it, unfolding it in the process because my brain isn’t processing the math how it should be today, and the lady makes another annoyed comment that I ignore for the moment.

Her friend consults her about the amount of fabric they need for their projects. The customer slides over the other bolt she wants cut after she figures the measurements and then says:

Customer: “I guess I’ll let you re-measure it since I don’t know what I’m doing.”

That irks me, but I reply as politely as possible.

Me: “It’s not that I doubt that you know what you’re doing; I just prefer to measure and cut the way I’ve been taught. We’re kind of finicky about how we cut these patterns. I’d rather give you more fabric than you need than not enough.”

Sure enough, I re-measured and it was a bit more than they needed, but I’d rather be over than under. The rest of my interaction with them went okay, but I was annoyed by the time I finished and went to vent to a coworker.

The first woman had apparently worked at another fabric store years ago. I’m pretty sure ANY fabric store has to have an employee cut fabric for the customer, which she should have known. Why she thought I’d give her my scissor, I’ll never know. Truck days seem to bring out the weird in people.

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We Think We May Actually Be Speechless

, , , , | Healthy | January 18, 2021

I’m having my first eye test in a few years and the doctor gives me the colorblind test to flip through. I surprisingly stumble on a few of them, and my wife comments that she’s noticed I tend to confuse certain colors.

Doctor: “You’re not fully colorblind, but you do have something there. Probably a muted form inherited from your father. Does he have trouble with colors?”

Me: “Not that I know of, but he doesn’t really—”

Doctor: *Interrupting me* “Oh, then he’s not your father because you’re definitely a little colorblind. Women have to inherit the gene from both parents. I wonder who your real father is.”

Me: “Did you really just say that to me?”

It turned out that I have tritanomaly, which can come from a blow to the head — and I was bucked off a few horses in my life — OR can be inherited if both your parents at least carry the gene as it’s a mutation. So, it turns out that it IS possible for a non-colorblind man to father a colorblind(ish) daughter!

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