Crumbling Monstrosities

, , , , , | Related | March 6, 2019

(I have two children: a fourteen-year-old daughter and an eight-year-old son. They both love barbecue chips. My daughter is snacking at the table when my son walks up to her.)

Son: “Hey, can I have some?”

Daughter: “There are only crumbs left.”

Son: “Whatever, just give me some.”

Daughter: *looks him dead in the eyes and pours the rest into her mouth and chews*

Son: *is absolutely horrified*

Daughter: “Hold out your hand.” *puts the bag into his hands* “Be a dear and throw this out for me.”

(I’m raising little monsters.)

Doesn’t Get How Taking Messages Works

, , , , | Right | March 5, 2019

(I work at a physician’s specialty office as a new patient scheduler and I am reaching out to a patient to schedule their appointment. Unfortunately, the information the referring office sent me contained an incorrect cell phone number. This is the conversation I have with said caller:)

Me: “Hello. May I please speak to [Patient]?”

Caller: “No, you have the wrong number, but can I take a message?”

Me: “You can’t take a message if this is the wrong number.”

Caller: “Oh.”

(It was a much-needed laugh after a very long and stressful day.)

Under The Banner Of Panic

, , , , | Working | March 4, 2019

(My general manager is a very nervous woman. I can’t say that I blame her; she has a lot of unfair pressure put on her by the company to change things that nobody can control. The guy above her, the district manager, is visiting us before the store opens. He absolutely terrifies her, and she typically responds to that fear by yelling at us or micromanaging. I am helping the copy center lead with some jobs that needed to be completed by the time the store opens for customers to pick up. A few days ago, corporate sent us files with sample banners to be printed and hung up in the vestibule to push some sale on indoor and outdoor banners. Corporate stated in their email that the banners were to be hung up by this day at the latest.)

General Manager: “[Lead], where are those banners? They need to be hung up today!”

Copy Center Lead: “They’re printed. I just need to finish these orders before 8:00.”

General Manager: “Well, they need to go up before we open.”

Copy Center Lead: “We’re working as fast as we can.”

General Manager: “They’re supposed to be up today.”

Copy Center Lead: *calmly* “They will be, but I have two customers coming in first thing and they need these orders done.”

(The general manager scurries away and we continue working. A few minutes later, she returns.)

General Manager: “Are you done yet? Those banners need to be hung before 8:00!”

Copy Center Lead: *still calm, as if soothing a child* “[General Manager], we will get them up; we are almost finished with these orders.”

General Manager: *half panicked, half bossy* “You have to do them now. They have to be up before the store opens! You had days to do it; they have to be up today!”

(She’s right; they did have several days to put the banners up, but the copy center is the most understaffed and overworked department of all. All of our customers love the lead and she has personally turned the department from a slow, money-losing department to an extremely busy, always profitable one. Unfortunately, the other people in the department either cannot or will not keep up her pace, so she is often left rushing to finish orders.)

Copy Center Lead: *slowly* “What would you like me to do? Make the customers wait, or put up the banners when I’m finished?”

General Manager: *really panicking now* “The banners need to go up. I don’t understand why you are always rushing at the last minute to get these orders done. Isn’t anyone else doing anything at night? I don’t understand why this is always an issue. The banners have to be up before the store opens.”

(Little does the general manager know, the district manager is standing behind her, mocking her with a “talking hand” and a screwed-up “angry face.” She turns around and he drops the act, keeping a neutral expression on his face.)

General Manager: *sees him and scurries off again*

District Manager: “What the f*** is her problem?”

(The banners went up, the orders were finished, and the store somehow avoided bursting into flames when we hung the last banner up at 8:01. If the general manager hadn’t always been so freaked out by anyone with authority over her, she could have seen that the district manager was a really chill guy who wasn’t out to get her. Yes, he’s had to be tough on her before, but that was after his superiors were screaming down the line at him.)

Dad Needs A Credit Check

, , , , , | Related | March 4, 2019

(After two packages are stolen off of my doorstep, I start listing my parents’ house as the shipping address. Their house and neighborhood are more secure, and they are more frequently home to receive packages, anyway. I see my mom several times a week, and I just pick things up when I visit. After a few months of doing this, I get a call from Dad.)

Dad: “There’s a package here for you. A big one.”

Me: “Oh, thanks! Tell Mom I’ll grab it when I see her tomorrow.”

Dad: “You’re not grabbing anything until we talk about how much of our money you waste.”

Me: “Oh, was there some sort of postage needed or something?”

Dad: “No! You have at least one package delivered here a week. That’s hundreds of dollars you’re putting on my credit card!”

Me: *confused* “I am spending my own money, though, Dad.”

Dad: “Well, obviously, you’re not. It’s delivered here.”

Me: “Yes, it’s delivered to your house, but I put it on my credit card.”

Dad: “That’s not how things work. Things are delivered to the address on the credit card. You’re putting things on my credit card.”

Me: “Dad, that’s… literally not how anything works. I just ask them to deliver stuff to your address, but I’m paying for it.”

Dad: “Don’t lecture me! I know how these things work!”

Me: “Have you ever ordered anything online?”

Dad: “No, I leave that to your mother.”

Me: “Why don’t you ask her how this works, then?”

Dad: “Fine, but I’ll be going through my credit card bill, and you’ll be paying me back for everything you bought this month.”

(Mom apparently talked to him, and he never mentioned it again.)

This Is One Frozen You Can’t Let Go

, , , , , , | Working | March 1, 2019

Like most American teenagers, my first job was in a fast food restaurant. I went through my fair share of interesting stories, from the customer who laughed with me when his total came to $6.66 to an old woman who complained her milkshake was too cold, but the most memorable one didn’t even involve a customer.

Our walk-in freezer, naturally, didn’t lock, so as to prevent such incidents as those commonly seen on sitcoms. The outer freezer behind the first door was more like a fridge; the inner freezer behind a second door was much colder.

On an uneventful night, I go back to the inner freezer for more fries. As I go in, the heavy doors to the outer and then the inner freezer each swing shut behind me, as always. As I’m picking up the box, the lights suddenly go out, leaving me in pitch-black darkness. I then hear a commotion outside the inner door, followed by the voice of a female manager yelling.

The freezer is small and square, so, confused but not worried, I drop the box and easily fumble my way to the door, but when I push it open, I feel and hear it pushing against something on the other side. I squeeze out through the small opening I made to find a rack of salads half-blocking the door and the manager both trying to move it and screaming at a male employee my age. There was no freak power outage; he’d turned the lights off while I was inside and started barricading the door!

I barely know anything about this kid besides his name. We’ve had no significant or hostile interactions that I can remember, no arguments or anything that night. I don’t know if I did something to annoy him without realizing it, or if he just decided to play a joke on a random person. If so, none of the managers that night or the next day find it funny. I don’t even get to confront him myself; he’s sent home immediately. The manager who caught him apologizes to me profusely, makes sure I’m all right, and assures me he won’t get away with it.

Once she learns what happened, my mother calls them twice that night in outrage, but it’s unnecessary. None of the higher-ups hesitate or waste any time. He’s fired immediately, and I never see him again. Apparently, in the world of fast food, trying to barricade someone in a freezer with the lights out is a 100% indefensible action.

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