Unfiltered Story #97374

, , | Unfiltered | October 11, 2017

(So my number is very close to Safeway Pharmacy. Becuase of that, I get a lot of wrong numbers for people wanting to get their prescriptions filled, check in on some info, etc. Unlike most people, I do answer the phone because I know that making sure you know about your medication is important (I have multiple family members who need to take meds and if they felt like they were being ignored by the pharmacy, they’d either be incredibly stressed or incredibly annoyed). I Normally when I tell people they have a wrong number, they either apologize and hang up or just hang up. This time, I have someone who is obviously foreign with an accent I can’t really identify)
Me: *Answering the phone* Hello?
Man: *Immediately starts to give me a list of medications that he needs and his information*
Me: *Kindly interrupting him* Sir, I’m sorry but you have the wrong number.
Man: This isn’t Safeway Pharmacy?
Me: No, sir. It isn’t
Man: Why not?
Me: … Because it’s not…
Man: Well transfer me to them!
Me: I can’t.
Man: Why?!
Me: Because this is my personal cell phone.
Man: Just transfer me! I just moved from overseas and I need my medication filled here! I’m almost out!
Me: Sir, if I could, I would, but I can’t.
Man: I want your manager!
Me: That’s not possible.
Man: Why not?!
Me: Because I don’t work.
Man: Now you’re making excuses! I’m going to complain about you! You’re being incredibly rude! Give me your manager or I’ll report you!
Me: Sir, I’m trying to be nice. This is my own personal cell phone. You have the wrong number.
Man: I do not! (He hangs up)
(Yes, I know, most people who just hang up after saying that they have the wrong number if they even pick up in the first place but I’m a nice person. I just wonder what the pharmacy got an earful of when he actually called the right number because I never got a call from him again)

Unfiltered Story #96663

, , | Unfiltered | October 6, 2017

This happened eight years ago, back in 2010. I was 9 1/2 months (yes, you read that right – 42 weeks!) pregnant with my second child, and my family decided to go out for dinner. As I was going in for a c-section the following 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 8 year old, and a 4 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 yards away at the most.

Our dinner party was fairly quiet, the children had a lot of papers to color, and when asked, they each indicated what they wanted for dinner. They were incredibly polite, and were far more interested in what they were drawing than they were in making any noise.

The waiter, on the other hand, treated 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 attempted to order my beverage twice, and when I was given a caffeinated beverage instead, I tried changing it, to no avail. The waiter treated my husband, parents and uncle quite a bit better than he treated my cousin, and sister. He was dismissive towards the children, and he was angry towards me. He didn’t even indicate that he’s listened to our orders, until my husband asked him to read the orders back to him, as he had with the three eldest adults at the table. He huffed and puffed, and did 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 was being asked about his serving style while the manager got my new drink, and I overheard this gem:

Waiter: *to 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 fuckin’ brats are too busy running all over the place, and the cow’s too busy finding another entree to order to give a damn about what they’re doing.

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

Me: *to husband* So how much do cows tip?
Husband: Uhm… no, YOU tip the COW. But definitely not 30% like we’ve done here in the past.
Me: *quietly, but while laughing* Honey, he’s not…oh my goodness.

(At this point, my mom interjects:)

Mom: *quietly, leaning towards me, behind the youngest kiddo* 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 was so glad that my craving for those was over, I was 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.
Me: *looks the waiter in the eye* 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 had an X cut into it, that could have been a blueberry muffin the previous year…)

Manager: *to me* Sorry for the wait, ma’am. *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, uhm. Er, oh yeah. I’m so sorry about everything. I’ll have that brownie right out to you. *hands the kids their sundaes* 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! *holds up 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 flounces over and drops the check in front of my uncle, narrowly missing his dessert plate. My mom takes the check from him after a brief argument, and my husband distracts me with a cute magic trick he’s showing the kids, as the check is 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.)

Unfiltered Story #96653

, , | Unfiltered | October 5, 2017

One day, after work, I decided to reward myself for surpassing my weekly weight gain goal by splurging on a pizza and ice cream from a couple shops near my workplace. I eat my pizza in the pizza shop without incident, and walk through the parking lot to the ice cream shop, where the following occurs (Note, that I’m 7 1/2 months pregnant at the time. Also, I’m actually underweight for someone of my height and my doctor has threatened bed rest if I don’t gain weight):

Cashier: Hi! What can I get for you today!?
Me: Hi, I’d like two scoops of pumpkin ice cream in a waffle cone, please.
Cashier: Sure, coming right up!

The cashier gets my order, and I notice a somewhat angry man sitting in a booth behind me, with two kids:

Kid1: *whines* But Da-aaaddy, I want ice cream! She got some!
Kid2: *goes from whine to screechy in his request* Yeah, daddy, why can’t we have ice cream? Why do we have to eat this? I want ice cream now too, like her! *points at his small kid’s meal, and then looks at me and pouts*
Man: *angrily, and loudly* Because SOME FAT BITCHES ARE FUCKING CUNTS WHO CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO EAT LUNCH TO GET THEIR DESSERT, OKAY? NOW EAT YOUR DAMN LUNCH. Because if you only ate desserts, you’d be that fat too!

(At this point, I’m thinking “is he seriously talking about me? Like I’m fat? I’m literally skin, bones, and growing new human, so… what the hell.” I get my ice cream, and decide to speak up:)

Me: *whirls around to the man, with my ice cream in hand.* You, sir, are quite rude, and ignorant! I’m not fat, I’m pregnant! *I turned towards the children, and make sure I speak more calmly* I had a pizza at the place down the street. I should have eaten here, it looks like the food’s pretty good, but my son *pats belly* wanted more carbs with his pineapple and ham today. Now, how about y’all eat the few bites of lunch you have left, and THEN ask your father nicely for desserts. Also, just a little tip? *I lean down to the eldest child, my eyes dart towards the front, as I stage-whisper and point* the clerks are always happy to give as many samples as you want, of whatever flavor you want! And they really do have all the flavors on the menu, so if you don’t see it in the case, ask for it!
Kid2: *quickly eats his remaining lunch as I walk away* Daddy? I’m done, can I have ice cream?
Man: Sure, kiddo! *passing my table on the way to the register, looks at me* I… yeah, sorry,
Me: …
Kid1: *from table* Yo, Dad! I finished my food! Can I have ice cream?
Man: Totally! Yeah!

The kids walked up to the ice cream counter, and settled in for the long haul –
asking for as many samples as they could think of, and going through the entire menu of flavors at least twice, as the man becomes more and more impatient. It took them ten full minutes to find their favorite flavors, which they both got two scoops of, “because SHE DID!”

I laughed. I laughed out loud when I heard that, and he said “You know what? Fuck you, fat fuckin’ pig. Fuck. You.” and I laughed even more at his ignorance. On my way out a few minutes later, I got myself a half gallon of pumpkin ice cream to take back to my workplace. I ended up walking past his table, to the exit facing the street, as I left the store.

Kid2: WHOA! They DO sell those? Dad, but you said -!

I exited the store at that point, but I wish I had thought enough to “have problems opening the door” long enough to hear what he said the man said!

Impossible To Get A Handle On This

, , , , , | Right | October 3, 2017

(I work in a showroom for kitchen and bath fixtures and faucets.)

Customer: “I need a handle for a faucet. Mine is broken.”

Me: “Okay, we can probably get you a replacement. What faucet is it?”

Customer: “A kitchen one.”

Me: “Okay… what brand?”

Customer: “A kitchen one.”

Me: “Uhm… okay… is it—” *lists popular brands*

Customer: “I don’t know. It’s my kitchen faucet.”

Me: “How many handles does it have? One? Two?”

Customer: “A broken one.”

Me: “So… one handle?”

Customer: “And a not broken one.”

Me: “Okay… So, two handles?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Do any of the ones on our wall look like it?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Do you have the handle with you?”

Customer: “No, I threw it away.”

Me: “I have no idea how to help you. I need a brand to start with, or the handle, or even a picture. Do you have a picture?”

Customer: “No. Can you get me a handle?”

Me: *internally screaming*

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An Open Faucet Of Incompetence

, , , , , | Right | October 1, 2017

(I work in a kitchen and bath showroom. A middle-aged couple walks in.)

Me: “Hello! How can I help you guys today?”

Customer: “I want a kitchen faucet!”

Me: “Okay, most of them are going to be on this wall here. What size or style are you considering?”

(The customer is walking around, yanking on the display models on the wall. Display models are not set up to be used. She wants a faucet that has a nozzle that can pull out of the faucet itself.)

Me: “Oh, ma’am, be careful! Those faucets are supposed to have hoses so that you can pull out the spout, but these are display models. Pulling on them will just break them.”

Customer: “Then how I am supposed to know if they work?!”

Me: “All of the faucets on the actual counter are functional. You can pull those out and see how they work. The wall, however, just has display models.”

Customer: *reaches up and tries to yank on another faucet*

Me: “Ma’am, really. I am going to have to ask you to stop doing that.”

(I grab the spout of a faucet that is on the counter and pull on it.)

Me: “See? These ones are hooked up.”

(The customer walks over to another faucet on the wall and violently pulls on it. She breaks the spout off and rips the display off the wall, breaking the wood that holds the displays up.)

Me: “Ma’am! I informed you that those are not hooked up! You have now damaged property that belongs to this store!”

Customer: “Well, you should hook them all up!”

Me: “Ma’am, these faucets have two-foot long hoses in them. The display ledge is only two inches thick. The maker of these faucets sent them to us for the express purpose of display. You also managed to break my wall, as well. These walls are specially made to hang these displays on!”

Customer: “Whatever; that is Velcro!”

Me: “Are you serious? What about this looks like Velcro to you?”

(I point to the wood on the wall that she splintered, and then to the metal brackets that had been holding the faucet stand to the wall.)

Customer’s Husband: “Honey, come on. You broke it and didn’t listen.”

Customer: “I don’t want to shop in a store with such rude employees, anyway!”

(My boss told me that if she had not had left, I should have run her out.)

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