Not A High Chance Of Getting The Job

, , , , , , , , | Working | January 18, 2018

I am 17. I see a “Help Wanted” sign across the street from my high school. The shop is also across the street from a large university campus. I go in and ask for an application. This all proceeds as normal; the barista gives me an application and offers me a free drink.

The next day, I return to the coffee shop to turn in my completed application. The barista directs me to the manager and I turn my application in to him. While busy, he seems friendly enough, and offers to give me an interview at 4:00 pm the next day.

I show up the following day about ten minutes early. The manager is nowhere in sight, so I inform the barista that I am ready for him, and once again, I am offered a free drink. I sit in the coffee shop and wait for the manager to come.

And wait.

After an hour with no sign of the manager, I ask the barista if my interview has been cancelled. The barista, who seems to have forgotten I was there, yelps in surprise and tells me that the manager isn’t in. She then goes to the back and calls him. She returns and tells me that he stepped out to run some errands and should be back in about 20 minutes.

The manager finally arrives, and after getting directions from the barista, comes over to me with a stack of applications. He shuffles through the papers, finds my application, and skims over it. He looks up at me and says, “You’re in high school?”

I answer, “Yes.”

“Sorry, we’re actually only looking for college students right now, because they have more availability.” The manager then dismisses me before I even have the chance to explain that I only take classes in the morning.

Oh, Brother!

, , , , , , | Working | January 17, 2018

I am job hunting and end up waiting tables at a new, fancy, family-owned Italian restaurant run by two brothers. For the first week or so, everything is perfect; friendly coworkers, good food, fast service, nice pay, etc.

However, about a month into the job, the two owners start bickering with each other. At first it’s just snips and snipes, but over the next week it gets into full-blown screaming. Coming from an Italian family, I can safely say there isn’t a more volatile argument than two Italians from the same family going at it. They go all out, complete with swears and threats, right in earshot of our diners, several of whom have children. Predictably, we get swamped with complaints and demands for refunds, and unfortunately, I even catch a few people recording the outburst on phones. When a coworker goes to tell the brothers that their fighting is ruining the night, the argument gets even louder as they start accusing each other of sabotaging their business. By the time it’s passed, the dining room is basically empty, with a handful of bemused people sitting around, enjoying the “dinner and a show.”

This continues for another week, and unfortunately, the restaurant gets a reputation for the brothers fighting to the point that guests start showing up just hoping to watch. The wait staff and chefs run themselves ragged trying to keep the business afloat, as the owners are now more concerned with their feuding. Eventually, they do make up, but only by reaching the conclusion that the business is failing, not because of them, but because of the staff.

We have all dealt with their crap long enough when it wasn’t directed at us. The first night they try to pick fights with us, the majority of the wait staff walks out without a word, myself included. Before long, the rest of the staff quits as well, either out of defiance, or out of a desire to avoid being the only target left.

I drive by the next week on the way to get groceries and see the restaurant with a “Help Needed” sign on it, and the week after that, it is shut down. I feel bad for them, but if you’re going to start a family business, you should probably do it with a relative you don’t absolutely despise.

Bus Stops Are An Amber Alert

, , , , | Working | January 16, 2018

I am riding the bus back to my apartment after my classes one day. There is a stop light near my stop, so I end up pulling the signal while we are waiting at the light.

The bus driver then opens the doors for a few seconds while the light is still yellow. I’m a little confused by why this happens, but I don’t really think anything of it.

Then, we approach the bus stop and a few of us realize the bus driver is not slowing down. We start pulling the signal again, but the driver passes our stop.

When people start to complain, she tells us that she had already stopped and nobody got off, so it was our fault. She ended up letting us off at the next stop, and I had to walk 20 minutes back to my apartment, all because I didn’t want to exit the bus in the middle of a stop light!

The Needling Issue Doesn’t Have To Be

, , , , | Healthy | January 16, 2018

Due to a chronic condition, I needed to have a series of blood tests done, some of which required larger gauge needles than normal. I headed to the hospital closest to my apartment in Tokyo, waited to see the specialist, and got my notes to take to the blood draw lab reception.

The intake nurses were a bit flustered to be treating me, but my Japanese was good enough that I got through the first steps just fine. Then, I headed into the blood test room and the nurse there started telling me that the tests would hurt, the needles are pretty big, etc., and that in Japan, they don’t use skin-numbing cream. I assured her that I’d be fine, but she didn’t believe me and stomped out of the room to find a nurse that spoke English, despite the fact that we had been conversing in Japanese just fine.

I took off my cardigan, and my heavily-tattooed arms were now visible, right when the nurse came back, dragging a young doctor behind her. He looked at me and said to the nurse, “I think she’s okay with needles,” then burst out laughing as the nurse just gawked at me. Turns out I was the first foreign patient she’d ever taken blood from and she was terrified I’d flip out or faint because of the needles.

Unfiltered Story #103712

, , , | Unfiltered | January 16, 2018

A new hire, who was a total brown-noser quickly got promoted to supervisor and developed a god-complex with the younger staff. One of them was around 6’3″ and 235lbs who was an amateur boxer and myself at 6’2″ and 205lbs and was a former amateur kick-boxer and wrestler, I also have Epilepsy and Asperger’s.

Both the boxer and myself worked well together, though the supervisor actually used to go out of her way to make things difficult for us on several occasions even going so far as to have her friends come in and make up fake complaints about us or verbally abuse us.

One such friend came in and called me over from a till (which I’m not supposed to leave) and she told me loudly to go over to their friend who then proceeded to verbally abuse me.

I just stood there and let the “big man” rant and rave (the guy can’t have been more than about 5’8″ and 130lbs), as he finished I apologised for whatever he’d made up and attempted to go back to my till at which point he tripped me up and I fell towards a shelf though managed to grab it so I didn’t fall. The guy then proceeded to push me again at which point I hit him with a right hook and knocked him out as he fell into a floor display.

I proceeded to call the paramedics and police as well as the manageress whose “pet” had instigated the situation.

The guy was tended to by the paramedics whilst I was called into the office with the police and the supervisor present who was smiling smugly at me as the manageress was saying I’m being fired and arrested. I told her to check the CCTV which the police agreed to which showed the restraint I had before defending myself. She then said I’d still be written up and put on disciplinary action.

Having had enough I said: “you know of my disabilities and can see that I was assaulted first. You’re responsible for providing me with a safe working environment. In the space of an hour I’ve been assaulted and discriminated against because of my disabilities. The police could be making some arrests now and it wouldn’t be me they’re arresting. If you so much as write me up I’ll contact both my union and corporate and let them know what happened here; and they’d fire you just to keep me happy.

The police walked out and I followed them a few minutes after because it was the end of my shift. The following day I noticed that not only had the CCTV tape from the day before conveniently gone “missing” but there was a write-up on the notice board. I took the sheet down, wrote “I quit” on the back, flipped off the manageress and supervisor as my colleague smiled and walked across the road into a rival convenience store where I was offered a promotion and raise and got a job there. They both got transferred when the shop got bought out and the customers boycotted the store when they found out what they’d put me through. I later found out that the friend was the supervisor’s dealer.

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