Unfiltered Story #198714

, , , , | Unfiltered | June 27, 2020

I have worked in the nursery industry in the desert city of Phoenix for many years. As a youngster- I worked in retail- but eventually graduated to the wholesale end- and obviously a much more DESIRABLE aspect of the industry.

When the housing boom went bust, the wholesale jobs went away- but retail remained- and you do what ya gotta do- and my brief diversion back into retail has lasted 4 years…

So yeah. Retail customers. Dumb plant questions.

“Why is it hottest in the middle of the day?”
“What is the best way to let a plant dry out?”
“Why isn’t my plant (that I planted in coffee grounds) doing so well?”
“How can I kill my neighbor’s tree?”
“Can you come and move my (20, 30, 40 ft) saguaro cactus?”

“Mmmm, you’re plants don’t LOOK very good…”

That’s when I typically intensely look around their shoulders and and head- and behind them- until they finally ask “What are you doing?!?!” Me: ” Just looking for the guy holding the gun to your head forcing you to shop here, ma’am…”

Waiting For This Waiter To Stop Being A Cow

, , , , , | Working | June 4, 2020

I am forty-two weeks pregnant with my second child, and my family decides to go out for dinner. As I am going in for a C-section tomorrow morning, a few members of our extended family decided to come out for a nice vacation and to meet the new baby.

Our dinner party consists of nine people — seven adults over 21 and two children: an eight-year-old and a four-year-old. The table we’re sitting at is near the back of the restaurant, with the drink stand behind me along the wall and the kitchen doors along the same wall, across from our table, a couple of yards away at the most.

Our dinner party is fairly quiet. The children have a lot of papers to color, and when asked, they each indicate what they want for dinner. They are incredibly polite and are far more interested in what they are drawing than they are in making any noise.

The waiter, on the other hand, treats us as if we’re the biggest inconvenience in his entire evening. We made sure to come in early, at a time when the restaurant shouldn’t have been very busy, but I attempt to order my beverage twice, and when I am given a caffeinated beverage instead, I try changing it, to no avail.

The waiter treats my husband, parents, and uncle quite a bit better than he treats my cousin and sister. He is dismissive toward the children, and he is angry toward me. He doesn’t even indicate that he’s listened to our orders until my husband asks him to read the orders back to him, as he did with the three eldest adults at the table. He huffs and puffs and does so with attitude.

A few minutes before the entrees are served, the children are politely coloring, and the manager comes by to see how everyone’s doing. I tell him I’d like my drink order changed but the waiter couldn’t hear me over his walking away, and that I had noticed his deference to the three eldest people at the table.

A few minutes later, at the drink station in the path of the kitchen but behind me, the waiter is being asked about his serving style while the manager gets my new drink, and I overhear this gem.

Waiter: *To the manager* “Well, obviously, I serve who is paying the best, as I’ve been taught at my bartending job! The fat cow won’t pay; she’s more likely to walk out on it! The f*****’ brats are too busy running all over the place, and the cow’s too busy finding another entree to order to give a d*** about what they’re doing.”

My husband asked for a menu a little bit before he was done with his dinner because he wanted to order dessert. The kids had finished their food entirely — a first! — and they had earned desserts. As the waiter is wrapping up his remarks to the manager:

Me: *To my husband* “So, how much do cows tip?”

Husband: “Um… no, you tip the cow. But definitely not 30% like we’ve done here in the past.”

Me: *Quietly, but laughing* “Honey, he’s not… Oh, my goodness.”

My mom interjects quietly, leaning toward me, behind the youngest kiddo.

Mom: “Psst! Hey, I’m paying for this!”

Me: *Quietly, too* “Wow! Really? That’s very generous, but I’m still employed!”

Mom: “Yeah, but you’re on leave! I’ve got it.”

I tell my husband about the blueberry muffin on the menu and mention that I am so glad that my craving for those is over, as I am sick of blueberries at that point. We discuss dessert options, make sure the kids know what they want, and we both agree that we should order brownies. 

The waiter finally meanders back to our table from the drink station to take our dessert orders. He immediately makes it clear that he had heard my tipping comment and knows that he’d been heard as well, but… still. Hmm…

Waiter: *Looks at me* “And ma’am? What will you have?”

Me: “Hmm.” *Closes menu* “I’ll have the chocolate—”

Waiter: “Good!” *Turns to my husband* “And for you, sir?”

Husband: *Sternly* “Wait until she’s finished.”

I look the waiter in the eye.

Me: “I will have a chocolate brownie.”

Husband: “And I will have the same.”

Yes, that is an exact quote.

The waiter takes the entire table’s orders, including the children’s sundaes, and scurries off to the kitchen. He comes out less than five minutes later with six of the nine desserts. I notice that my brownie, as well as the children’s sundaes, are missing. I try to get his attention to ask about the three remaining desserts, but he ignores me and doesn’t say a single word to any of us while serving the desserts. No “the rest will be out in a minute” or “I don’t have room on my tray and I’ll be right back.” Nada.

After the waiter sets my husband’s brownie in front of him, he ends up loitering near the kitchen door, a couple yards away from the table, watching us, but apparently blind to my husband’s and my attempts to get his attention.

The manager comes out of the kitchen, as the rest of the table is finishing with their desserts, with two sundaes and a mountain-shaped blob with a pad of butter melting all over the top that has an X cut into it. It could have been a blueberry muffin last year.

Manager: *To me* “Sorry for the wait, ma’am.”

The manager attempts to set the suspected “blueberry muffin” down.

Me: “No! No. Really. I did not order this. There is no way. I did, however, order the chocolate brownie, but your waiter once again tried to ignore my request. Maybe he thinks I was speaking cow? But, my husband literally said, ‘I’ll have the same thing,’ so how did he end up with a brownie if y’all think I ordered this monstrosity?”

Manager: *Immediately embarrassed* “Uh, um… Er, oh, yeah. I’m so sorry about everything. I’ll have that brownie right out to you.”

The manager hands the kids their sundaes.

Manager: “I must say, you guys are so well-behaved, thank you! My kids would be running amok by now, but you’ve been very courteous all evening! The table next to you guys has had nothing but great things to say about you, too.”

Eldest Kid: “Thank you!”

Youngest Kid: “I have a coloring book! See? I’m painting a Spongebob!”

They hold up the crayon-covered pages.

Manager: “Wonderful! That’s just… great. Great, yeah.” *To me* “I’ll be right out with your dessert.”

Five minutes later, the waiter flounced over and dropped the check in front of my uncle, narrowly missing his dessert plate. My mom took the check from him after a brief argument, and my husband distracted me with a cute magic trick he was showing the kids as the check was paid.

The brownie never showed up. And I still have no idea how much my mom tipped on the order. I hope it was still over ten percent. No waiter, no matter how awful their day is going, deserves to be stiffed — and by that, I mean given less than a ten-percent tip. Even if the waiter ignores one person at the table like what happened in my situation, the other eight people there were given adequate service. We all compared our experiences that evening after the fact, but my mom would only confirm that she was charged correctly.

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That’s News To Him!

, , , , | Right | May 28, 2020

I work for a local independent television station. We don’t have a news broadcast and never have.

Me: “[Station], how may I direct your call?”

Caller: “Assignment desk, please.”

Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t have an assignment desk.”

Caller: “Oh, then connect me to your news department.”

Me: “We don’t have a news department. We don’t have a news telecast.”

Caller: “Let me speak to your news director, I have a story that needs to be on the news.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we don’t have any news programming at all. Perhaps you could call one of the other local stations; most of them have news, but we don’t.”

Caller: “You’re wrong. A TV station has to have news. It’s required with your FCC license.”

Me: “Our FCC license requires us to act in the best public interest. Most stations satisfy this requirement through a local news broadcast. We satisfy this requirement through a series of locally-based programs.”

Caller: “No, no, no, you’re wrong. You’re a TV station, so you have to have news. I’m right and you need to connect me to your news department right now.”

I was stunned into silence.

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You Can Tow A Horse To Water…

, , , , | Working | May 26, 2020

I work for a towing company that starts up in October 2016. This is exactly one day after it opens up, and all we offer right now is roadside assistance like jumpstarts and tire changes. We don’t have any tow trucks to drive quite yet, though we do have “Towing” in our company name. 

We’re also contracted with a large insurance company, and apparently this customer got a card from her insurance company that had our number on it for her roadside assistance program.

Me: “[Towing Company], how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. I’m calling ’cause I got into an accident. What do I do?”

Me: “Have you called your local police to report it?”

Customer: “Yes, but I need a tow.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but all we provide is roadside assistance services like jumpstarts and lockouts. We aren’t capable of providing towing service. When the police arrive on scene, they can call you a tow truck.”

Customer: “Isn’t this [Towing Company]?”

Me: “Yes, but we don’t offer towing services yet. We still don’t have the permits or trucks to do so.”

Customer: “But my insurance gave me your number. It’s on my card. Are you calling [Insurance Provider] liars?”

Me: “No, but that number is probably there for more minor roadside inconveniences. If you had a flat tire, I could help you, but all I can suggest is that you wait for the police to arrive or to call your insurance provider and have them call you a tow truck.”

Customer: “I’m going to report you to [Insurance Provider] and make sure they never use your towing service again!” *Hangs up*

Me: “But we don’t even do towing.”

Towing started up a month later. We’ve never had that person on our records since as far as I could tell.

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Customers Versus The Glorious Age Of Cell Phone Cameras

, , , , , , | Right | May 16, 2020

I am looking for good deals on beef in the weekly ad for this grocery store. I head to the checkout lane. The cashier has two people ahead of me: an average-looking gent and then a twenty-something woman who also seems nondescript. I am hoping to get home and get these in the fridge. The gent finishes, and then the woman is up. The cashier scans her stuff, then gets to the total.

Cashier: “Do you have your rewards card?”

Customer: “No, don’t you have one of those you can use for customers?”

Cashier: “No, sorry. How about your phone number?”

I get ready to offer my card for her use. I can relate to not having the card. The woman gives her phone number and nothing comes up.

Cashier: “Sorry, I don’t have anything on that number. Do you have another number?”

Customer: “No! Just punch in the code so I can get my discount.”

I look at her face and kick myself for not having my phone ready to watch this pending collision happen. I put my rewards card back in my pocket and grab my phone.

Cashier: “I’m afraid I need a card to scan to do that.”

Customer:Listen. Either you punch that code in and give me my discount, or I’m going to send a complaint to your manager, bury this place in bad reviews with your name on them, and call corporate.”

I pull up a search on my phone as the cashier tries to tell her that there is no code to punch in.

Customer: “If you don’t—”

Me: “Sir, is she threatening you physically?”

The customer turns to look at me.

Customer: “What?!”

Me: “Wait, I found it.”

I read from my phone.

Me: “‘Blackmail, the use of threats or the manipulation of someone’s feelings to force them to do something.’”

The customer GLARES at me.

Me: “Trust me, anything you say or post will be promptly followed by my account of how things went.”

Customer: *Getting red* “F*** you.”

Me: “They may be able to call you out, but I definitely will.”

She angrily swipes her card and gets her stuff. She calls me a few more choice profanities as she stomps away, but I’m already holding up MY rewards card so she can see it.

Me: *To the cashier* “I was even going to offer the use of my card.”

The cashier thanked me with a smile. I offered my number so he could text me if anything happened and I could respond, but nothing ever did. Maybe she got smart enough to realize the kind of backlash she could get.

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