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How Hard Is It To SHUT UP In The Theater?!

, , , | Right | May 14, 2022

I worked for a theater that sold beer and wine. A customer came down all upset.

Customer: “A few folks in the theater were being loud, and when I asked them to shut up, they yelled that they had a gun!”

We asked the two guys and the girl that were being loud to come down to the lobby so as not to disturb others. At first, I offered them a refund, just to get them to leave. The girl seemed drunk, and we have no tolerance for threats or bad behavior. They refused to leave, and it escalated.

Me: “If you don’t leave, I will call the police.”

Not until I actually called did the one guy drag his two friends away. But a colleague overheard them threatening me and my life. It took so long for the cops to come, but that worked out as, by then, the girl had come back to start s***.

She was arrested. I ended up banning them. They begged the owner to remove the ban, and he almost did until I threatened to quit if he did. They did try to come back a few times, but since I worked five days a week, I was there every time they tried. I’m just glad the gun threat was a bluff.

On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 29

, , , | Legal | May 13, 2022

When I was a teenager, I delivered pizzas. I was relatively affluent for a teenager; I had my own car, my own cellphone, and a GPS device. 

I don’t know if all pizza places do it this way, but for the one I worked for, we were required to deliver in our own car. They had their own GPS devices, but mine was nicer and not crusted in gunk. Still, I was required to take the work GPS with me when working.

Generally, the way it went was that I would load up the back of my car with pizzas, make sure that the lighted topper was secure, and I’d take off.

One day, I got into an accident. I was driving through an intersection when a beast of a car — dark and black with a chrome grill — slammed into the passenger side of mine.

Thankfully, it was turning, so instead of simply ending me then and there, it tore along the side of mine, pushing my car onto two tires. Then, it sped off in the direction I had been going, taking my passenger side door with it.

Honestly, I don’t remember if I had the green or if I had accelerated into a yellow; the impact shook me up pretty badly. It might have been partly my fault.

Regardless, after the accident, I sat in my car shaking for a while. I had the presence of mind, barely, to write the licence plate number on one of the receipts with me with the pen I had.

Then, I called my boss, got his answering machine, and left a message.

Me: “Hey, I just got into a car accident. I don’t think I can get these pizzas to their destinations in a timely fashion; in fact, I think that they’re all unsaleable. You’re going to have to remake them and get [Other Driver] to deliver them. I’ll try to take the bus back to work. Thanks, bye.”

Then, I unbuckled myself, climbed into the wreckage of the back of my car, and opened the pizza boxes. The pizzas were a mess. I was shaken up.

I started eating them. I also started sucking coke out of a two-litre that was leaking in the back. I’m not sure if I wanted to hydrate or if I somehow thought that this would stop it from ruining the backseat of my car.

Well, it turns out that my boss was rather worried by my dazed-sounding phone message. He got my location from the work GPS and sent an ambulance and police car to me.

They found me in the back of my car covered in pizza gunk and sticky soda. The EMS initially thought that the mix of cheese and tomato sauce was gore. Then, the police thought that I was stealing the pizzas and that the driver of the car was trying to take the bus back to work.

The police wound up calling my boss to confirm my identity. He tore them a new one. We’re both black, and he thought that the police were being racist. He even got their badge numbers and made an official complaint.

Anyway, EMS eventually took me to the hospital to get looked at, and at some point during the ambulance ride, I passed out. When I woke up, I was being transferred to a hospital gurney. I tried to tell them I didn’t need it, but they wouldn’t let me stand up to prove I could walk.

Eventually, the whole crew from work arrived at the hospital to check up on me. The boss had said, “No more orders,” delivered the ones left, closed shop (though he was still paying everyone) and, between him and [Other Driver], drove everyone to the hospital to see me.

[Other Driver] told me a funny thing. There was a badly damaged car in the parking lot of the apartment he had delivered one of my pizzas to. Black with chrome grill. He’d thought, haha, wouldn’t it be a funny coincidence if it was the same one that hit me?

He had written down the licence plate number. I had him get my pants out of the cubby and we pulled the pizza- and soda-stained receipt from my pocket. We stared at the barely-legible numbers I had scribbled onto the receipt.

They matched.

Related:
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 28
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 27
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 26
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 25
On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 24

No Use Calling The Cops Over Spilled Milk… Or Something Like That

, , , , , , , | Right | CREDIT: Electronic-Pie-6645 | May 13, 2022

About fifteen years ago, I am working the cash register at a pharmacy with a corner store attached.

A customer comes up with a gallon of milk. I ring him up and inform him his total is something along the lines of three dollars. He goes from “normal human person” to “incensed screaming ape” in the span of a breath.

Customer: *Screaming* “You’re ripping me off! You must have changed the price!”

Now, fifteen years ago, I am a “novice” retail person at best. All I really know how to do is say, “But the register…”

After a moment to get over this person going demonic on me, I realise what is going on.

Me: “Oh! Sir, I see. The milk is on sale. Two for $5.00 — or one for $2.80.”

He then thrusts his finger into my face.

Customer: “That’s illegal! You have to sell me the one for $2.50!”

Me: “No, sir, I’m sorry, but the sign clearly says—”

He then screeches at me and pulls out his cell.

Customer: “I am calling the police.”

Hearing these magic words, my manager arrived and escorted the man aside — to await his removal from our store by the very police he called.

Moral of the story: don’t call the police over a matter of thirty cents. You will get hauled off.

Hold Up… What Did I Say?!

, , , , , | Right | May 11, 2022

I was working for a county office at the time, and we would get a one-hour lunch break. I decided to stop and fill my car up with gas before I went to go get something to eat. The gas station was on the corner of two streets down the road from where I worked.

The pumps were at an angle, and you could access them from either street. I was the only customer there at the time. You could not pay at the pump at this store. I went inside and paid for $20.00, went back out, took the gas cap off, removed the gas nozzle, pressed the button for gas, inserted the nozzle, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

I went back inside the store to let the cashier know that the pump hadn’t been turned on.

Cashier: “I’m sorry, we have been having problems with that pump.”

She walked back out with me and reset the pump and it started working. Since I was the only customer and she wasn’t busy, we start chatting for maybe a minute. A car pulled up in front of the store and a lady got out and went inside. She came back out and looked in our direction.

Cashier: “I’m over here.”

Being all chatty and trying to be funny, I meant to say: “Oh, it’s my fault, because she is helping me.” Instead, what came out of my mouth was:

Me: “Oh, it’s my fault; I’m holding her up.”

The cashier and I chatted for a few seconds more and I thanked her. I looked over at the other lady and she was on her cell phone. The cashier and I said goodbye and she walked back into the store. Before I finished pumping my gas, a police car pulled up and parked by the other car.

Then, it dawned on me what I had just said.

The officer was sitting in his car looking at me and I was having a “Holy Crap!” moment and about to have a panic attack, waiting to be surrounded by cops. I finished pumping my gas and got back in the car, and I had to drive right past the cop to exit the parking lot. He was still looking at me as I pulled out, and when I looked in my rear-view mirror, he was getting out of his car to go into the store. I booked it out of there and went to a restaurant for food and a glass of wine.

And that is my story of telling someone that I was holding up a gas station.

You Don’t Buy Hotel Rooms, You RENT

, , , | Right | May 11, 2022

I work in a big hotel outside Dallas. I had a state trooper call me one morning.

Trooper: “Have you been to room [number] yet?”

Me: “No, we don’t enter until after checkout time at 11:00 am.”

Trooper: “I just pulled over a speeding car near Louisiana. In the back of their SUV, they had a bunch of stuff with your company’s logo on it — two lamps, every piece of bed linen including mattress protectors, pillow, and towels. They had metal towel racks and a toilet paper holder and everything, all rolled up together. These guys said they thought that since they had paid for a room, they could take the stuff.”

No. No, you can’t. Soap and shampoo, okay. But lamps?

We got our stuff back and the manager didn’t want to press charges.

The funny thing was that rolled up, the stuff looked like a dead body. When he pulled them over, the state trooper drew his gun on the guys and demanded they get out of the car.