Totally Estúpido! Part 6

, , , | Friendly | January 19, 2019

(My mom and I are sitting while we wait to send a package of documents. There are two people before us, a man and a woman.)

Man: *to service representative* “Do you speak English?”

Sales Rep: *in Spanish* “No, sir, I’m sorry.”


(The woman ended up serving as an interpreter and they left.)

Mom: *to me* “I wonder if this is the kind of man that insists that foreigners in the US must learn English?”

Totally Estupido, Part 5
Totally Estupido, Part 4
Totally Estupido, Part 3

Why Do Rude People Think Everyone Else Is?

, , , | Working | January 11, 2019

(I live in the Republic of Ireland, and my husband and I have planned a holiday in Northern Ireland for my birthday and our wedding anniversary. A few family members give me Sterling cash for my birthday to use while we’re away. Unfortunately, we have to cancel the holiday at the last minute, so I go to the post office to change the Sterling to Euro, as that’s where I’ve always changed my currency before.)

Me: “Hi. I just want to change this Sterling to Euro, please.”

Staff: “No.”

Me: “Uh… no?”

Staff: *rolling her eyes* “That’s what I said. No.”

Me: “Okay. Is there a reason why you can’t?”

Staff: *muttering under her breath* “For God’s sake.” *louder* “We don’t exchange Sterling to Euro anymore. We only change Euro to Sterling.”

Me: “Oh, right. Sorry, I didn’t know. Do you know of anywhere else that exchanges Sterling?”

Staff: *rolling her eyes and cursing under her breath* “No!”

(I see red and snap at this point. She’s being needlessly rude.)

Me: “Wow. Thank you so much for the excellent customer service. You really bent over backward to help me. Thank you for being so accommodating.”

Staff: “There’s no need to be rude. It’s not my fault we don’t exchange Sterling anymore. If you didn’t want it you shouldn’t have bought it in the first place.”

Me: “You’ve had an attitude since the minute I walked in here. Not that’s it any of your business, but I was given this Sterling to use on a holiday I was taking for my birthday and wedding anniversary. I’ve had to cancel at the last minute because my dad died. You are an ignorant f****** b****, and I don’t know why you work in customer service.”

Thankfully, No One Smelled A Rat

, , , | Working | January 10, 2019

(I work in a post office. A registered parcel lays unclaimed in the office for a long time, and for some reason, it cannot be returned to the sender, so after the mandatory four weeks, the office staff sets about to destroy it. They open it and find it is full of sweets — marzipan, chocolate, torrone, etc. So, for the next few days, they help themselves to the sweets whenever the mood takes them. Bear in mind that the office is on the ground floor of a rather old building. One day the parcel’s recipient shows up to claim her parcel. Frantically, they tape it together again, claim it fell apart in transit, give it to the recipient, and pat themselves on the back for having averted a well-deserved complaint.)

Coworker: “The weight wasn’t even that much off; I put the parcel on the scale before giving it away and it was nearly the same weight as stated on the label!”

(An hour passed, and everyone had forgotten about the incident when the recipient stormed into the office again. She had opened the parcel at her house and a huge, angry rat had jumped out and attacked her! Postal workers weren’t the only ones helping themselves to the freebies. Luckily, the inspectors assumed that the rat had torn open and entered the parcel all by itself, and the office was eventually moved to a newer building.)

Jesus Only Pays For Your Sins

, , , , , , , | Working | December 31, 2018

(While the mail itself isn’t delivered on Sundays, there’s still work that needs doing in the post office. Among my managerial duties is writing and posting the schedule for the week, including Sundays. I’m quick enough to have a schedule posted by Thursday, which is about mid-week given that the union contract specifies that the week starts on Monday. Normally, the worst we have is the occasional groan about Sundays. This time, however, one of my recent transfers takes offense.)

Transfer: “[My Name]? You have me working next Sunday?”

Me: “That’s right.”

Transfer: “I never work Sundays!”

Me: “You do in 11 days.”

Transfer: “I don’t work Sundays!”

Me: “[Transfer], no one likes working Sundays. I try to be fair and only schedule those who volunteer. If I’m still short, I rotate who fills in based on who hasn’t worked Sundays. Since you got here, everyone else has worked at least one Sunday. I don’t have enough volunteers, so it’s your turn.”

Transfer: “But… are we allowed to trade shifts?”

Me: “Certainly. If you can find someone to trade shifts with you, and both of you submit a form requesting the shift trade, I’ll approve a trade.”

Transfer: “Thanks!”

(I say this knowing with confidence no one is going to trade with her. And I get confirmation the following Monday in my office.)

Transfer: “[My Name]? I’m feeling a little feverish. Just in case I need to see a doctor, can you tell me how much paid sick leave I have left?”

(One read of her file later:)

Me: “You have nothing until next month.”

Transfer: “Thanks.”

(Come Tuesday, among the forms on my desk are several requests for overtime work from [Transfer]. While it’s not unusual for her to request overtime, it is unusual for her to request so much. I do a little math, and I figure out why she wants so much overtime. Among the conditions in the union contract is a listing for the maximum number of hours the union workers are allowed per week. The maximum is calculated with both regular hours and overtime. And as I said earlier, the week starts on Monday. If I grant all of these requests for overtime, I’d have to give her Sunday off, as well, or else she’d be over the maximum and the union would be coming after me. I handle it probably the best way possible, if my meeting with her on Friday is any indication.)

Transfer: “[My Name]? You denied my overtime request for today?”

Me: “I did.”

Transfer: “But I need the money.”

Me: “Well, we only have so much. Someone else put in for overtime tonight, so that’s where it went.”

(This is completely true.)

Transfer: “I put in on Tuesday with the rest of the requests! The ones you approved and I worked!”

Me: “And this request came in Monday, asking only for today. I approved the rest of your requests because you put in for them first.”

(This is half true. The request for Friday actually came in Thursday. And I got to a few requests for overtime the rest of the week before I got to [Transfer]’s, but I chose to give those hours to her instead to ensure she works the maximum this week, as she had intended.)

Transfer: “B-But…”

Me: “But now you won’t be over your maximum hours by Sunday and I can schedule you to work the whole Sunday shift?”

Transfer: “It’s Sunday! The Lord’s Day! The day of rest!”

Me: “And you’ll spend it here working. Just like the rest of us.”

Transfer: “It’s the Sabbath! That day goes to Jesus! Not you!”

Me: “And?”

Transfer: “‘The Bible says we don’t work on Sundays!”

(For the record, I was raised Catholic and could very easily resolve this with Bible verses. However, it’s no secret to that I’m now an atheist. Experience has taught me Christians don’t like hearing Bible verses from atheists, particularly if they work in my favor. Instead, I handle this on my own.)

Me: “Then don’t come in. Go with Jesus.”

Transfer: “Really?”

Me: “Absolutely. We have free will and laws that protect it. I can’t force you to be here.”

Transfer: “Thanks!”

Me: “Before you go back to work, just remember something: I asked you to be here. I asked for your day. But you’re choosing to give it to Jesus, instead. So, when you get your next paycheck and notice you’re missing a day’s pay, take it up with Jesus. Jesus got your Sunday, so Jesus is responsible for your Sunday pay.”

(Unsurprisingly, she showed up Sunday. And she’s been grumbling at me ever since.)

Hats Off To Their Patience

, , , , , , | Right | December 30, 2018

(I am in the post office this morning, behind a woman at the counter who wants stamps.)

Customer: “Do you have any with reindeers on them?”

Clerk: *rooting around in box under counter* “Got some somewhere. Let me see…”

(The clerk pulls a box out from under counter, continues rooting, and eventually pulls out a sheet of stamps and shows them to the customer.)

Clerk: “There you go.”

Customer: *picks sheet up and holds it about an inch from her nose* “Do you have any with antlers?”

Clerk: “Not antlers, no. But you asked for reindeer; I thought you wanted reindeer.”

Customer: “Not just antlers, reindeer with antlers. These don’t have antlers.”

Clerk: *pointing to stamps* “Yes, they do, there, see? Antlers.”

Customer: “Those are antlers? I thought they were hats. They’re very small.”

Clerk: “Reindeer don’t wear hats. Those are antlers, normal size.”

Customer: “They seem very small to me. Sure they’re not hats?”

Clerk: “Definitely antlers.” *holds up a sheet of stamps up for the customer to see them*

Customer: “Let me put my glasses on.” *digs glasses out of her purse and puts them on* “No, those are no good. I want bigger antlers. Do you have any with bigger antlers?”

Clerk: “Sorry, those are the only stamps we have with reindeer with antlers.”

Customer: “Even with my glasses on, they still look like hats. Do you think they might be hats?”

(I am mumbling to myself, “Do NOT make the mistake of turning round and asking me if they look like hats! Don’t do it. Just DON’T!”)

Clerk: “I think they look like antlers.”

Customer: “Okay, well, I don’t want those. Do you have any with elves?”

(How the clerk resists asking if the customer wants elves with antlers is beyond me.)

Clerk: “Yes, we have elf stamps.” *puts reindeer “with hats” stamps back in the box, pulls out a sheet of elf stamps* “Are these okay?”

Customer: *looks closely at elf stamps* “Yes, that’s better. I really wanted elves, anyway; they’re much cuter than reindeer.”

(I shake my head slowly. If she really wanted elves, why have I just listened to a five-minute conversation about antlers?)

Clerk: “How many do you need?”

Customer: *pulling letter from her purse* “Just one, for this, please. Could you put it on for me? I don’t see too well.”

(She pushed the letter across the counter, and the clerk affixed the stamp and tossed the letter into a box behind her. Seven minutes of reindeer, antlers, hats, and elves, and the customer never even TOUCHED the stamp!)

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