Family Reactions Can Be Fluid

, , , , , , , | Related | July 26, 2019

(I am a transgender teen and have just started living openly as a male. My mother’s side of the family is very open and accepting. My father’s side is full of very conservative, hyper-religious types who are a lot less positive. While he supports me, extended family gatherings can be painful. At this particular family dinner, I’m sitting with [Cousin #1], who I’ve always liked. Although she’s using my preferred name, she hasn’t directly mentioned my transition. [Cousin #2] walks over to talk to me.)

Cousin #2: “My husband says what you’re doing is evil. Don’t you dare talk to my kids about it! They are good Christians!”

Cousin #1: “That’s enough, [Cousin #2]!” *to me* “Are you okay?”

Me: *shrugs*

Cousin #1: *to [Cousin #2]* “I think your baby is crying. You should go check on him.” *to me, after she leaves* “I have to go do something. I’ll be back, okay?”

(I watch her leave, disappointed that she seems uncomfortable talking to me, but figuring she must be more like the rest of the family than I thought. She comes back a while later, holding something.)

Cousin #1: “Sorry, I’m still new at this stuff. I needed to talk to my husband and get his permission before I could talk to you. See, he’s not public about it and I don’t think I should tell anyone without checking with him first, but he sometimes lives as [Female Name]. I think it’s called being gender fluid? Anyway, I love her, and I love him, and I just want you to know that all that matters to me is that you keep your awesome personality. Also… I had to swap your Christmas gift. I got you a necklace, but this seems more appropriate.” *hands me a necktie* “Merry Christmas!”

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Unfiltered Story #156871

, , , | Unfiltered | July 7, 2019

I work in a call center that processes payments. Usually customers receive email notification when one of their customers makes a payment.

Customer: why didn’t I receive a email about the payment my customer made on Saturday? I called him because I hadn’t received his payment and then he said he had so now I look like an idiot because your system didn’t send me an email.

Me: Well looking at your account I see [email]. Is that the right one?

Customer: No it’s [other email]. We changed emails on Friday because we are switching servers and that email isn’t active anymore.

Me: Did you log in to change that email in our system?

Customer: No. You know, I bet $50 that is the reason I didn’t get that email!

Me: …..

Unfiltered Story #140393

, , , | Unfiltered | February 16, 2019

(I work at a  clothing store that puts plastic sensor tags on many of our items in order to deter theft. They’re taken off by a special magnetic machine at the cash registers, and beep cause the alarms at the door to beep loudly if they cross the doors. I’m ringing at the registers when a woman approaches my till. I greet her and she throws a bagged item at me and glares at me with a look of utmost hatred.)

Customer: The damn sensor tag got left on.

Me: Oh, I’m so sorry about that! Let me just take a look at your receipt and we’ll get that take off right away.

(I pull the item out and see that it’s a denim jacket, then quickly go over the receipt and spot the item. I then go to remove the sensor tag and apologize again.)

Customer: Every f****ing time! I don’t understand why it’s so hard.

Me: Sorry, ma’am. We try really hard to take sensor tags off, but sometimes they get missed. But here, the sensor tag is off now! It’s all yours.

Customer: I need to check for holes! Last time this happened the sensor tag left a big hole in the clothes.

(She then snatches the jacket and goes over it carefully. She  finally spots a tiny scuff in the denim fabric and throws the jacket back at me.)

Customer: See! It’s ruined. I want another one.

Me: Okay… sorry about that. I don’t think that scuff was caused by the sensor tag, but let me see if we can find out another one.

(I have a coworker check the floor and, sure enough, we’re out of the denim jacket she has. I apologize and offer to check another store for her, but she cuts me off.)

Customer: Just give me my damn money back! I want to return it, is that such a hard concept to understand?

Me: I’m sorry, ma’am. You haven’t said anything until now about wanting to return it. But sure, I’ll return it for you.

(I finish up the return, and the woman finally leaves in a huff, much to my relief. I later talked to my manager about it, and it turns out the customer comes in every few weeks, always with a snotty attitude and some huge problem, and nobody is every able to do anything to please her. Glad I’m not the only one!)

Fries Are Too Fresh And Other Ridiculous Complaints

, , , , , , , | Right | November 21, 2018

I work in a popular fast food restaurant that is especially famous for its curly fries, which we try to keep as fresh as possible. We only let the unsold fries sit under a warmer for seven minutes before we throw them out and cook new ones. Needless to say, not many people can complain about getting old fries.

One day, this old lady comes up to the counter and slams her tray down while glaring at me. I ask her what the problem is, and she responds with, “These fries are too fresh! They are too crunchy for me to eat, so now I’m going to have to wait at least an hour so they are soft enough to eat! This is all your fault!”

I just stand there speechless as she walks away with her tray. True to her word, she proceeds to sit in the restaurant for over an hour before asking for a to-go bag and smugly taking her cold fries home to eat.

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Making A Veal Out Of It

, , , , , , , | Working | May 11, 2018

The manager of the cafeteria for the dorms I lived in was notorious for picking the cheapest food he could get, regardless of whether students wanted to eat it.

One such food was breaded veal cutlets, which few students wanted. His “solution” to this problem was to not allow students to take other foods unless they took the veal, as well. Of course, this meant most of it went straight to the trash. To add insult to injury, the cafeteria was full of posters with quotes about how students should not waste food and how people in other countries were starving.

One day, when veal was served for the fourth time in a month, I went around and asked everyone for their veal. I ended up with a tray with a two-foot high mountain of veal that must have weighed about 20 pounds. I then wrote, “No More Veal,” on a napkin, pinned it to the top of the pile of meat with a knife, and sent it through the dishwashing line.

Apparently, the message was received, as we did not have veal again for about three months.

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