Only Rings She Will Be Making Are Pasta Rings

, , , , | Right | January 19, 2020

(The gym where I work offers summer camps for kids ages three and up with activities geared towards fun rather than improving skills, not to be confused with competitive team camps where the focus is on conditioning and improving skills. The phone rings one day and I answer.)

Me: “[Gym], how can I help you?”

Caller: “Hi. I want to sign my daughter up for a week of camp during [dates that include a holiday]. She is a level-four gymnast.”

(I try to save this woman some money as our camps are not what she will want based on experience with other parents.)

Me: “Yes, ma’am, I’d be happy to help. Just so you know, though, our camps are for ages three and up and focus more on fun, so they do activities like arts and crafts and—”

Caller: “Did I ask? What days do you have camp that week?”

(I instantly put on my overly cheerful customer service voice because if she wants to waste her money, that’s fine. I’m the one working at pickup time and I would love to hear her try to complain when her competitive gymnast gives her macaroni art.)

Me: “Sorry about that, ma’am! We have camp on [dates] that week. Should I go ahead and sign you up?”

Caller: “But not [date of holiday]?”

Me: “Unfortunately not, ma’am. The gym will be closed that day, but she can still come the other days.”

Caller: “Never mind.” *click*

(She remains one of the rudest people I have ever had to deal with at that job. I can’t quite capture her tone through text, but every word that came out of her mouth was with an attitude.)

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Unfiltered Story #182921

, , | Unfiltered | January 19, 2020

(Our site is owned and operated by the state government, so we can’t buy things without going through certain channels. People don’t realize this, so we often get phone calls like this…)

Me: (Location name), this is (Name), how can I help you?
Caller: Hello, can I talk to the owner?
Me: We’re owned by the state, but I can put you through to my manager.
Caller: Oh… never mind then… goodbye.

Unfiltered Story #182909

, , | Unfiltered | January 18, 2020

(My parents have decided to try a new steakburger restaurant in town. However, my mom is having trouble figuring out the menu.)

Mom: I just want a single cheeseburger!

Me: Well, they sell single steakburgers with cheese.

Mom: But I don’t want a steakburger!

Me: Then why did you want to come to a steakburger restaurant?!

Mom (to cashier): Do you sell just a single steakburger with cheese? I don’t want all the fancy stuff on it.

Cashier: …Yes?

Work In Retail, Lose The Will To React

, , , | Right | January 12, 2020

(My friend and I are driving from Florida to New York when we stop for gas and snacks. We gather our goodies and wait for our turn. The woman in front of us walks up to the register and dumps an armful of candy, soda, and chips on the counter. The cashier scans her items.)

Cashier: “Okay, your total comes to [total].”

Customer: “You didn’t ask if that was all I wanted.”

Cashier: “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like anything else?”

Customer: “I want cigarettes. [Brand].”

Cashier: “Sure thing. I just need to see your ID.”

Customer: “No.”

Cashier: *momentarily confused* “Uh, I’m sorry?”

Customer: “You don’t need my ID.”

Cashier: *gestures to a sign* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I do. You see, the system is set up so we have to ID for all tobacco sales. There’s no way around it.”

Customer: “Don’t I look eighteen?! Are you seriously going to say I can’t have my cigarettes?”

Cashier: “I’m just following protocol, ma’am.”

Customer: “F*** your protocol, you ugly-a** b****. Do I look like I’m under eighteen?”

Cashier: *calmly* “Clearly not.”

Customer: “So? Give me my f****** cigarettes before I really get mad.”

Cashier: “I need to see your ID before giving you these cigarettes. I apologize for the inconvenience but that’s how the system is set up.”

Customer: “Well, I don’t have it, so now what?”

Cashier: “If you don’t have it, I can’t sell them to you. Your total is [total]. Will that be cash or card?”

Customer: “I’m not buying s*** from this f****** store. You can go f*** yourself!”

(The cashier picks up the woman’s purchases and puts them behind the register. The two stare at each other in silence for what seems like forever — probably only about ten seconds — before the woman leans over the register and screams right in the cashier’s face. She barely reacts, only sighs and waves us forward. The woman storms out.)

Me: “How did you not smack that woman stupid?”

Cashier: “It would seem someone else has already done it for me.”

Me: “You do not get paid enough for that.”

Cashier: “Nope. I stopped getting mad a long time ago.” *shrugs* “It’s not worth the stress.”

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The Dogs Aren’t So Hot After All  

, , , , , | Working | January 3, 2020

In an effort to reduce costs, the cafeteria at my workplace has switched to a self-serve buffet-style serving model. As is typical with these kinds of serving stations, you enter at one end of a particular serving area, grab a plate, and walk down the line adding the foods you want. It seems simple, right?

Recently, one of the serving stations was set up as a “hotdog bar.” The only problem is that the order of items when entering the station the normal way was: plates, fries, pickles/onions/relish, cheese sauce, hotdogs, and finally, buns.

After the first few people through the line had to keep moving back and forth across each other in order to get ingredients in a sensible order, a few of us pushed aside the ornamental display at the “end” of the line and moved a stack of plates there so that we could all just go through the station “backward” and have things in a more logical progression, though admittedly not the most logical as people who wanted to make cheese fries still had things a bit backward. We didn’t want to try moving hot pans of food to fix that, though.

This worked reasonably well, but as I was weighing my food to pay and leave, the head chef walked over and started having a meltdown about someone moving his display of stuff that wasn’t even for sale and moved the plates back to the fries end of the assembly line. People that went to lunch later than I did reported back that the station quickly devolved back to people reaching over, under, and around each other to assemble their hotdogs in the proper order and that food ended up spilled everywhere.

According to the calendar, we were supposed to have a repeat of the hotdog bar today. For some reason, they decided on chicken wings, instead.

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