(My friend is traveling to New York on business. While he usually gets his own room, his boss warns him that due to cutbacks, he may be sharing a room with a coworker this trip. The hotel desk clerk is a very attractive woman.)
Friend: “Reservation for [Name].”
Clerk: “And will you be staying alone, sir?”
Friend: “Yes.” *remembers that the room may have been reserved for two* “Unless you have other plans.”
Clerk: *icily hands him his key card* “Good day, sir.”
(I’m a university student looking for a part time job to help with my tuition fees. This year I’m rooming with someone who works at one of the delis around the city, and they tell me their place of work is in need of additional staff. I call them up, do a short phone interview, and initially the job sounds ideal. I will be able to work hours when I don’t have class, the pay is decent, and the commute is manageable. I ask about training, having never done food service before, and they assure me it’ll be provided. Fast-forward to my first day. I turn up, greet the manager on duty, get handed my hat, apron, and name-tag, and am asked to put on gloves. Upon doing so, my manager gives me a nod.)
Manager: “All right, you look good. Now start serving; the lunch rush is about to begin.”
(He walks into the back, leaving me alone at the front store with no idea of what to do. After a moment’s hesitation, I head into the back.)
Me: “Um, sir?”
Manager: “Yes? What are you doing back here? You can’t leave the food counter unattended!”
Me: “Well… it’s just… I was told I’d get training. This is my first day after all.”
(The manager just shrugs.)
Manager: “You cut meat and put ingredients between slices of bread. It’s not that hard. Now get back out there. I’ll be out shortly to man the register.”
(He shoos me out of the back. I am thus left by myself to try and figure out how to make the menu items. There are dozens of ingredients to deal with, and as the customers start pouring in for lunch, I start panicking, as each time someone orders something, I have to repeatedly check the menu behind me for what is used to make what. Of course, it doesn’t list the amounts I’m supposed to use, so that’s a different problem. When the manager does come out to ring up folks’ food, he ignores any questions I try to ask, and just shoots the breeze with the customers. The only saving grace is that most of the lunch rush people are regulars, who are kind enough to help me along with how to make their sandwiches, which bread to use, which spreads, and so on. Even so, the line keeps growing and growing as I keep making mistakes and having to redo orders, until finally the manager notices the hold up and sends me to sit in the back while he finishes the lunch rush. After the store quiets down, he walks back, sifting through a small wad of bills.)
Manager: “Here, that’s for the hours you worked today. This clearly isn’t a good fit for you, so you can go now.”
Me: “What? It didn’t work because I had no idea what to do! As I said on the phone, I’ve never worked in a deli before! I was told you’d provide training!”
(The manager shrugs again.)
Manager: “The training was to see if you can sink or swim. You sank, and made the lunch rush a total mess. I need someone who can come in and get straight to helping out. Leave your apron and hat on the desk please. I need to start cleaning up now.”
(Not wanting to argue further, I head back to my dorms, chalking this up as just a harsh learning experience. That is, until my roommate storms in later that evening looking utterly enraged.)
Me: “[Roommate], what are you doing back? I thought you had your shift at the deli right after your classes were over.”
Roommate: “So did I, until I showed up. [Manage] told me what happened during your first day, and said he didn’t feel comfortable having me work for him, since we’re rooming together. He claimed ‘conflict of interest’ or some crap like that and told me I was fired.”
Me: “Wait, what!?”
Roommate: “Yeah, seriously a**-hole move.”
Me: “I… I am so sorry!”
Roommate: “It’s not your fault. Honestly, I guess I should’ve paid more attention to how often he let me run the food counter solo, and only came out when his regular customers came in to chat. Kind of a red flag now that I think about it.”
Me: “So… what do we do now?”
Roommate: “Well, he said my apron was dirty and that I had to launder it before returning it.” *He pulls his work clothes from his bag.* “Want to vent some anger by running over this with my bike a few times?”
(Sadly, to this day, four years later, that deli remains in business, though it apparently has a ridiculous staff turnover rate, and every time I’ve passed it by, there’s an ad for new employees in the window.)
(Every once in a while, we get an item that has the incorrect price tag on it. It’s store policy to honor it, but we still need to check with our managers.)
Me: “Hey, [Manager], this is ringing up at $12 but has a $5 tag.”
Manager: “Okay, you can just honor it.”
Customer: “Well, why don’t you do it?”
Manager: “Ma’am, I just said to honor it.”
Customer: “Yeah, but why wouldn’t you?”
Manager: “We’re giving it to you at the discounted price.”
Customer: “Okay, but why would it be an issue?”
Manager: “Ma’am, just…” *at this point my manager just turns away and ignores the customer*
(After the customer leaves:)
Me: “Well, she was a bit rude.”
Manager: “I hate people like that. Why does it matter that you have to ask if I’m giving her the discount anyway? She just wanted to start an argument.”
(It is back in the days when gas station attendants pump gas for you, and gas is only 40¢ per gallon. It’s a hot summer day. The station is on a superhighway, so we get customers from all over the world, and our orders can vary widely. A customer drives up to the pump, but will not roll down his window. He wildly gesticulates, waving five fingers at me.)
Me: *speaking loudly at the window* “Five dollars or five gallons, sir?”
Customer: *continues to wave his hand at me*
Me: “Five dollars or five gallons, sir?”
Customer: *continues to wave his hand at me*
Me: “Five dollars or five gallons, sir?”
(The customer finally rolls down the window:)
Customer: “Five dollars.”
(He then quickly rolls the window back up.)
Me: *smugly* “Regular or high-test, sir?”
(We have to work a late night, so we decide to have some food delivered to our office for our staff.)
Me: *grabbing my purse* “How much do you need towards the food?”
Manager: “No, you paid last time; this time it’s my treat.”
(The next morning, it’s my manager’s day off, and I am supposed to be in charge, but the manager comes in to finish up some projects. I do the daily safe check and find it’s short by $100. I usually do this at the end of the day, but have decided to do it at the beginning.)
Me: “Ah, there’s a problem. I just counted the safe three times and it’s $100 short.”
Manager: *sly grin* “Oh. yeah, I used it to pay for the food last night… is that all right?”
Me: “Uh… no. You know [Security] is coming in today and will probably do an audit.”
Manager: “Well, I don’t have it; I’ll go to the bank after I leave.”
(Another manager and I had to empty our wallets to make up the missing money. If I hadn’t caught it, there would have been a chance of the other manager and I being fired and charged with theft. We made the first manager pay us back.)
