A Cents-less Amount Of Confusion

, , , , , , , | Working | March 20, 2018

(I supervise the registers at a popular home goods store. One day, two employees are running the customer service registers, where people can also check out, and I’m directing traffic and basically cleaning up the messes that are everywhere. My two coworkers are [Cashier #1], a 19-year-old who has run a register for six months or so, and [Cashier #2], a 30-something who has worked for the company longer than I have and is technically my peer, though I’m always teaching her things. I’m finishing up with one customer when I realize that both my coworkers are standing by the same register.)

Me: “What’s going on? Maybe I can help.”

Cashier #2: “I can’t figure out the change to give her. I put it in wrong.”

(I look at the receipt that’s sitting on the counter. It says that the customer bought one item, the total was $6.28, and the customer paid $6.30.)

Me: “How much money did she actually give you?”

Cashier #2: “$6.35.”

Me: *not sure I heard that right* “So, she gave you five cents more than you put in the cash register?”

Cashier #2: “Yes.”

Me: “Then you give her five cents more than the cash register tells you to give.”

Cashier #2: *blank look*

Me: “Did you give her the two cents from the receipt?”

Cashier #2: “No, because I knew it wasn’t right!”

Me: “Okay, well, she gave you five cents more than the receipt says she gave you, so you give her five cents more than the register says to give her.”

Cashier #2: *same blank look*

Me: “Seven cents.”

(In the end, I have to reach into her register to pull the change out for the poor customer. After she leaves, the other cashier drops this line.)

Cashier #1: “I couldn’t figure it out, either, so I told her just to void the transaction.”

Me: “Wait, what? Did we re-ring it?”

Cashier #1: “I don’t know.”

(We counted the cashier’s drawer and, sure enough, it was over by $6.28. We still had the receipt from the return, so we were able to re-ring the purchase to even out her drawer and our inventory. The worst part is that not only did two grown women not know how to “fix” a five-cent mistake, but the older one is actually a teacher by day!)

It’s Been A Patchy Day Until Now

, , , , | Friendly | March 14, 2018

(I decide to treat my grandparents to get a bite to eat as thanks for being my drivers. I’ve been wearing an eye-patch for about a week now due to an injury. We step into a fast food restaurant, and its play area is swarming with kids. It’s cool; we get a bit of entertainment too. As we enter, a mother and her little girl — three at the most — approach the door to leave. The girl looks up at me, looks to her mother uncertainly, then looks back to me. Then she speaks up in a quiet voice.)

Girl: “But it’s not Halloween yet!”

(Her mother looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her up. I, however, was too busy laughing at the adorableness. Thanks, cutie; I really needed that!)

No Longer Allowed To Pick Up Your Dead Weight

, , , , , , , | Working | March 7, 2018

(I work two different jobs, one through the week, the other only on the weekends. I have just had a minor surgery on my upper right arm. After the procedure, I am told that I am not allowed to lift more than ten pounds for the next two weeks, in order to fully recover. This is fine; my first job as a librarian allows me to sit at a computer and doesn’t often require me to carry heavy objects. My second job as a cashier, however, requires me to lift 24-packs of water, 30-packs of beer, etc., because customers often place these on the belt. I let both jobs know ahead of time that I would be having surgery, and made sure to get a note from my doctor saying I wasn’t allowed to lift more than ten pounds. I go into my second job early to hand them the note and see if I can work at the self-check lanes for my shift, which is only four hours long. There is one person who never works register, because they complain that it “hurts their back” to check for a long period of time, and they happen to be working at this time.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker #1], I had surgery the other day, and I have a doctor’s note here saying that I can’t lift more than 10 pounds. I see that [Coworker #2] is on the self-check; do you think they’ll let me switch them?”

Coworker #1: “Probably not, but we can go over and ask, anyway.”

(We walk over to [Coworker #2]. I have a noticeable bandage on my right arm.)

Coworker #1: “[My Name] has a doctor’s note saying she can’t lift more than ten pounds. Would it be okay if you moved over to a regular lane?”

Coworker #2: *takes a brief glance at my bandaged arm and sighs* “Well, my back’s been bothering me today, and I really don’t feel like checking right now.”

Me: “But I just had surgery the other day, and I have a note that says I am not allowed to lift a certain amount; it could tear the stitches.”

Coworker #2: “Well, I guess, but my back has been hurting.”

Me: *cuts in, slightly annoyed* “Look: I have an official doctor’s note, and I think that it’s a little more valid than you just saying that your back is hurting.”

Coworker #2: *huffs* “Fine, but if my back starts bothering me, I want to switch back.”

(They stalked away to the regular checkout lanes, and I took my place at the self-check. The entire time we worked, they apparently talked about me to our other coworkers, and occasionally they shot me dirty looks. They did ask what I had surgery for, as if the bandage wasn’t enough proof. Shockingly, they never did ask to switch, so I guess their back wasn’t hurting them as much as they thought!)

A Sizeable Problem

, , , | Right | March 7, 2018

(I am 16 and a sophomore, working my first job at a very popular fast food chain. I am working as the front-end cashier and have a short line of customers. One of the customers is a black woman in her 30s or 40s. I am white.)

Me: “Good afternoon, miss. How may I serve you today?”

Customer: “Yeah, I want a—” *gives me all the orders but forgets to tell me the size*

Me: “I’m sorry, miss; what sizes were you wanting for the meal with the drink and fries?”

Customer: “What sizes are there?”

Me: “We have small, medium, and large.”

Customer: “What sizes?”

Me: *thinking I must have said it too quietly or quickly to understand, knowing that the customer has no hearing aids and she is one of two customers in the place* “Small, medium, and large!”

Customer: *starting to get really irritated* “TELL ME THE SIZES, NOW!”

(I start getting worried and none of the managers are bothering to help me.)

Me: “I… I’m sorry, miss. I thought I had said—”

Customer: *cutting me off* “TELL ME THE SIZES NOW, YOU STUPID B****!”

(By this point I am close to tears, and I look to my coworkers for help. One coworker comes over and asks what is going on. He is the same race as the woman.)

Coworker: “What’s going on?”

Customer: *yelling at him before I can answer him* THIS C*** WON’T TELL ME YOUR CUP AND FRIES SIZES!”

Coworker: “Ma’am, the sizes are small, medium, and large.”

Customer: “Oh. Then why didn’t you say so in the first place?! No wonder you have a job at [Fast Food Restaurant], since you dropped out of school!”

Coworker: “Ma’am, she has been working here for two weeks now, and it’s Sunday. She goes to the same high school as most of the workers here. Now that’ll be [price].”

(I have never seen someone look so ashamed of themselves, and I thanked that coworker by buying him a meal. I left the restaurant after two months and found a better place to work.)

Pestering Your Siblings

, , , , , , | Related | March 6, 2018

(My sister and I both have the day off, and we’re in the living room of our apartment. I’m in the middle of an online game when there’s a knock at the door. My sister goes to answer the door and finds a pair of pest control workers.)

Sister: “Hey, how are you?”

Worker: “We’re good. We just came by to ask if you’ve had any issues with pests lately. We were told a few of the other apartments have these issues.”

Sister: “Well, we just have maybe two or three ladybugs here, but nothing major.”

Worker: “I see.”

Sister: “Actually, come to think of it, I do have one pest issue.”

Worker: “Oh, yeah? What is it?”

Sister: “It’s this giant lump on our couch.”

Me: “Screw you, [Sister].”

(The workers did a quick look around, chuckling the whole time, and left for the next apartment.)

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