Staying Past Closing Is A Severe Demerit

, , , , , | Right | January 18, 2019

(I work in a fast food restaurant. I am scheduled to work closing the night before school starts. Because I have an 8:00 am class, I am rushing to finish all of the closing procedures so I can leave at my scheduled time — 10:00 pm — when a group of young men comes in. Unfortunately for me, they all decide to sit in the dining room. The owner has installed cameras with audio, and listens to make sure we don’t tell customers to leave. He has had employees fired before for even hinting as such.)

Manager: “I know you need to be home soon, but don’t rush them.”

Me: “I hope they finish quickly; they’re wearing [University I attend] shirts.”

Manager: “Then maybe they’ll leave soon.”

(The young men eat quickly, but then they sit and watch videos on their phones. I wipe down tables around them, hearing that they are dorm students. After a half-hour, the manager checks on the dining room.)

Manager: “They’re still here?”

Me: *grudgingly* “Yesssss.”

Manager: “You’ve done everything else to close, right?”

Me: “Of course.”

Manager: “Just wait. Policy says we can’t tell them to leave.”

(Another two hours go by. It is now two and a half hours after our dining room is closed and two hours after I am supposed to get off. I still have to stay a half-hour after these customers leave to vacuum, so I am nearly in tears.)

Manager: “[My Name] what are you– They’re still here?!”

Me: “Yes. [Manager], I’m sorry, but I need to get home!”

Manager: “You’ve left the vacuum out to give them a hint, right?”

Me: “Of course! They even asked about it when they came up for a refill.”

Manager: “I’m sorry, I can’t tell them to leave. You know what [Owner] will say.”

Me: *gets a realization* “Actually, I know what to do.”

(My manager agrees to the plan, so she walks out to the dining room.)

Manager: “Hello, gentlemen. Still out celebrating your move in?”

Customer #1: “Yeah. School starts tomorrow, so it sucks.”

Manager: “Aw, that’s a shame. I was just talking to my employee; she also attends [University].”

(The customers start to look a little sheepish.)

Customer #2: “That’s cool.”

Customer #3: “Shame she’s out here still.”

Manager: “Don’t sweat it. Although, I have to confirm something she told me in the past, if you guys don’t mind. Is it true that [University] places severe demerits on your student profile if you’re not in your dorm before midnight?”

(The men all went wide-eyed and bolted out. Since it was past midnight and almost time for the drive-thru to close, as well, the manager made everyone help me vacuum the dining room. I got home only a few minutes before one in the morning. The store has since been bought by another company and that policy has been changed.)

Making A Mammoth-Sized Mistake

, , , , , | Right | January 17, 2019

(I manage the children’s section of a bookstore, where we also sell stuffed animals. I am putting some books away when a little boy of about four or five excitedly grabs a stuffed woolly mammoth from the display.)

Boy: “Elephant!”

Me: *cheerfully* “Actually, that’s a woolly mammoth!”

(He pauses and side-eyes me, looking between me and the toy like he’s not sure he believes me.)

Boy: “Elephant?”

Me: “Mammoth. See? It has fur.”

(Still skeptical, the boy goes to where his mom is browsing and tugs on her sleeve.)

Boy: “Mommy, is this an elephant or a mammoth?”

Mother: *glances down* “Elephant.”

(I hope that kid gets sent to a good school.)

Plain Pasta Is Plainly Too Much

, , , , | Right | January 15, 2019

(My coworker told me this story. He works in the prepared foods department inside our grocery store. They deal with cooked foods and specialty salads. This woman comes up to him to order some pasta salad that contains pasta, tomatoes, cheese, and a light sauce.)

Customer: “I want the pasta salad, but I don’t want the tomatoes and the cheese.”

Coworker: “Being as that would just leave the pasta, it probably would be cheaper for you to buy some pasta and cook it.”

Customer: *snootily* “I don’t cook! Now, hurry up!”

(My coworker complies and the woman leaves with her pasta salad. Five minutes later, she comes back.)

Customer: *still snootily* “Does this pasta have sauce on it?!”

Coworker: “Yes?”

Customer: *gives it back to him* “I don’t want it!”

Coworker: “Okay.”

(My coworker then goes to scan it out and throw it away, as is store policy for anything that leaves his department’s counters. The woman notices and scoffs.)

Customer: “You’re throwing it away?!”

Coworker: “Ma’am, I have to.”

Customer: “Why can’t you just put it back with the rest of the pasta salad?!”

Coworker: “Ma’am, that is cross contamination—“

Customer: “That’s just a fancy word for throwing it away.”

Coworker: *exasperated* “No, ma’am, it’s our store policy. We can’t put it back in case someone tampered with it and then returned it. How would you like it if someone got some pasta salad, returned it to us, we put it back, and it turns out the customer who brought it back had eaten part of it?”

Customer: *ignoring what he said* “Well, you shouldn’t waste food! People are starving out there!”

(The woman huffed and left the store.)

Unfiltered Story #136399

, , , | Unfiltered | January 14, 2019

(After a long eight hours of travel, I am trying to log in to my hotel’s Wi-Fi. I need an access code to log in, which my hotel’s internet login instructions card do not provide. I plug in my phone (which is nearly dead) and dial the tech support number. After a few minutes of waiting, I am finally answered by a technician.)

Technician: “[Hotel service call center], how can I help you?”

Me: “I’m trying to log in to the Internet. I need an access code to log in. The instructions card claims I don’t need one, but I do.”

(The technician begins providing instructions, but my dad shows me a separate card I completely failed to notice that has the access code on it.)

Me: “Uh… Never mind, I appear to have failed a spot check. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” *hangs up*

Cheese Is Beautiful As It Comes In All Colors

, , , , , | Right | January 13, 2019

(It was my first week working in the deli of a local grocery store. Things were going fine with no retail horror story occurrences, until the day I met the man I call the Cheese Nazi.)

Customer: “I want a pound of American cheese, sliced thin.”

Me: “Sure thing! Do you want that white or yellow?”

Customer: *looking at me with disgust* “The only color an American SHOULD be… WHITE!”

Me: “Ohh… kay. White it is.”

(I slice his racially pure cheese, weigh it, and bag it.)

Customer: “A half-pound of the mustard potato salad, too.”

Me: “Sure thing. I can’t do anything about the color of this one, though.”

Customer: *grunts* “Whatever.”

(I dish up his potato salad, weigh it, label it, and almost put the lid on when he stops me.)

Customer: “Stop!”

(He picks out a larger chunk of potato that still had a bit of the dark brown peel on one side, and flicks it at me, bouncing it off my neck.)

Customer: “That one was the n*****.”

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