The Number One Problem Here Is The Manager

, , , , | Working | June 21, 2017

(We’ve had a little accident with a five-year-old who has wet himself. He’s crying quite a bit as his mum tries to sort him out. We have a cleaner sorting out the mess. After he is tended to, he and his mum come out and see our manager glaring at them. He speaks to the boy first.)

Manager: “You should be ASHAMED OF YOURSELF! HAVE YOU NO SELF CONTROL, YOU ANIMAL?!”

Mother: “Excuse me; that’s my son. He’s only five!”

Manager: “AND HAVE YOU ANY PRIDE, WOMAN?! BRINGING AN UNDISCIPLINED MAGGOT INTO MY SHOP, PISSING EVERYWHERE. GET OUT NOW, BEFORE I HAVE BOTH OF YOU ARRESTED!”

(The mother looks horrified as she rushes her son out of the store, while our manager follows her out, screaming louder with every sentence. After they leave, he addresses us.)

Manager: “That is how you handle white trash. The lowest most despicable vermin of our society. In future, if you ever see people like that again, you have my permission to drag them out.”

(I’m too petrified to speak, but am eyeing the door and considering just leaving and never coming back. The feeling seems to be hanging on everyone’s head, but a head supervisor is the first to speak.)

Supervisor: “I may as well pack my bags now then.”

Manager: “What? But you’re my best!”

Supervisor: “I also have a maggot who also wets himself. Yes, I said it. WETS HIMSELF! I hope your mother wasn’t too harsh on you to think it is all right to scream at a five-year-old for an accident. I’m off!”

(This is what broke the silence and we all voiced our disapproval before leaving. The manager sputtered out an attempt at back-pedaling, but it fell on deaf ears. He had to call HR and explain why he needed replacement staff, and according to the other management, got a stern talking to from his manager, who just so happened to have a son around the same age as the boy.)

Going To College And Having A Gay Old Time

, , , , | Hopeless | June 20, 2017

Customer: “Can you help me, please?”

Me: “Of course. What do you need?”

Customer: “My son is gay and he needs more acceptable attire for an interview at his university. He is wearing what HE wants to go in, and well…”

(She motions to a very embarrassed boy a few metres away from us. He is quite well presented and I can’t see a problem.)

Me: “It looks fine to me. Very respectable.”

(The mother looks at me like I’ve spat at her.)

Customer: “HE LOOKS GAY!”

Me: “I don’t see it. Maybe it’s because you know he’s gay already?”

Customer: “You’re no help at all!”

Me: “Look, I can go around with him and see if there’s anything else he likes, and work around that. But seriously, I can’t see why a university would have a problem with him.”

Customer: *exasperated* “Fine, fine. Just do whatever you can. My son needs to look straight. Universities don’t accept [slurs].”

(She leaves the store altogether. I walk up to the son.)

Me: “Do you have a problem with what you’re wearing?”

Son: “Not really…”

(I finished ten minutes later and offered to get him something to eat. We actually spent most of the day talking about life and school. He seemed a lot more comfortable without his mother there. We exchanged numbers in case he needed help, and I promised to introduce him to my brother, who’s also gay, in case there’s anything he’s not comfortable talking about with me. He got accepted at university, much to his mother’s astonishment.)

They Were Asking For It With Comic Sans

, , , , , | Working | June 20, 2017

(I work in a small print and design shop inside of an office supply store. For whatever reason, from the day I was hired, the supervisor of the shop immediately hated me. No one else at the location has a problem, and I even built a customer base of folks that will specifically request me when they come in. One such client is employed at the church down the street, and needs help setting up a basic newsletter design for weekly printing. After a week of work and numerous proofs, the client is happy with how things are progressing. I have two days off, and when I come back in, I see the newsletter is changed around entirely. Since none of the other shop employees would have touched a customer’s file without the customer’s permission, I assume the customer requested these changes while I was gone. I review the changes, send an updated proof to the client, and make my recommendations, as usual. Some of the recommendations include advising AGAINST some of the changes, like switching random blocks of text to Comic Sans, among others. Later that day…)

Supervisor: “Would you care to explain to me what’s going on here?!”

(She angrily shoves a sheet of paper at me, which I see is a printed copy of the email I sent to the client.)

Me: “Uh, it’s my recommendation to [Client] for the most recent version of her newsletter.”

Supervisor: “I’M the one who made those changes and I don’t appreciate you trash talking me to other customers! Those were just ideas I had for the newsletter and you didn’t need to send them to her!”

(She storms off and interrupts the store manager in her office, to show her the printed email and complain about me. The two spend some time in the office, and then the supervisor storms out. She won’t look at me or talk to me for the rest of the day. I go find the store manager when I have a spare moment.)

Me: “So… what on earth is up with [Supervisor]?”

Manager: “She brought me a copy of that email you sent and accused you of talking s*** about her to customers. I pointed out that you never once mentioned her name in that email, AND that I have a degree in graphic design and everything you recommended to the customer is legitimate. Mostly, I think she is pissed off that we both disagreed with her choices. I told her you handled the whole situation in a very professional way and that I didn’t see anything wrong with it.”

Me: “Wow.”

Manager: “You know, when [Other Employee] said he thought [Supervisor] was jealous of you, I didn’t really believe him. But now? Now I see it.”

Unfiltered Story #90053

, , , | Unfiltered | June 20, 2017

*Phone rings*.

Me: “[store], [my name] speaking.”

Customer: “Sorry, I wanted [competitor].” *Hangs up*

About a minute later. *Phone rings*

Me: “[store], [my name] speaking.”

Customer: “Aargh, I wanted [competitor]!” *Hangs up*

Less than a minute later *Phone rings*

Me: Sigh “[store], [my name] speaking.”

Customer: “[expletive deleted], why can’t I get [competitor]?”

Me: “Well, if you keep calling the same number, you’re going to keep getting the same store.”

Customer: “But this is the number I was given!” *Hangs up*

Seconds later *Phone rings*

Me: “[store] -”

Customer: *Cuts me off* “[expletive deleted] if you say you’re [store] again, I’m going to come down there and kill you.”

Me: “…yeah, I still work for [store], and I should tell you that as soon as we are done here, I will be forwarding your phone number to the police. Have a nice day.”

*Hangs up*

I called the police immediately after. It turns out he has a long history of making threats, and was currently out on bail for a similar charge. I’m guessing it was revoked.

A Boost For Good Parenting

, , , , , | Right | June 19, 2017

(It’s a remarkably slow Thursday at our store. I’m working the counter when a kid and his dad walk in. His dad doesn’t speak great English, and he doesn’t know exactly what his kid wants, but he knows he doesn’t want to spend TOO much!)

Kid: “Hi, I’m looking for [Product]? Do you have it?”

Me: “Of course! It’s right over here.”

Kid: “Dad! I told you they had them! How much?”

Me: “Well, because this is a booster box, it’s going to be [price over a hundred dollars].”

Kid: “Dad, where’s your wallet?” *goes for his dad’s pocket*

Dad: “Hold on, hold on; it’s over a hundred? Really? What’s in this box? I don’t know.”

Kid: “Never mind. Where’s your wallet?” *goes for his dad’s pocket; his dad waves him off*

(Because the box is smaller than a lot of our other boxes of the same product, it looks like you’re getting less. The thing is, the bigger boxes have less — they just have other stuff in them. For instance, a booster box has thirty-six booster packs of cards, but it’s all contained in a small box; a bundle/elite trainer box is a bigger box, but it only has eight to ten booster packs of cards, a card box, and some other things, but the box containing it all is so much bigge r it looks like you’re getting more. I explain this to the dad, and show him the difference between the products. Yes, the bundle/elite trainer boxes are cheaper by a VERY large amount.)

Me: “So this is a booster. It has ten cards. This is a booster box, it has 36 boosters. This is an Elite Trainer box. It only has eight booster packs, a card box, some dice, and sleeves for the cards to keep them safer if your son is playing the game.”

Dad: “Ugh, I’m too old for this!” *to his son* “Are you sure you don’t want the Elite Trainer box? It’s only [price]!”

Kid: “No, Dad, I want a booster box! I already have the Elite Trainer box! Where’s your wallet?” *goes for his dad’s pocket again; his dad waves him off again*

Dad: “But what’s the difference again? I’m too old for this.”

(I patiently explain it again. The kid is getting annoyed. Please note, I’m not getting frustrated at all. I actually find it kind of funny when the kids just tell their parents to get something, especially when the parents don’t speak English very well. I’m trying to help the parent but I’m also trying to play devil’s advocate.)

Me: “If you weren’t looking for the entire box, you could always get packs. The thing is, the booster box is the cheapest way to get a lot of packs; they go down to about $3 apiece.”

Dad: “Hmm… I think I’m just too old for this… What is this again?”

Kid: “Where’s your wallet!” *goes for his dad’s pocket AGAIN*

Me: “Okay, okay, look. Hon, put your hands up here on the counter.” *Kid does so* “Now you’ve got to promise me: you’re going to do your chores. You’re going to make your bed. You’re going to eat ALL your vegetables. For the NEXT. WEEK. You got that? And THEN you can MAYBE buy the box, IF your dad lets you! AND you’re going to explain this ENTIRE GAME to your dad. You got that?”

(The dad is cracking up and the kid just looks frustrated. It’s adorable.)

Dad: “How much was it again?”

Me: “It’s [price over a hundred dollars].”

Dad: “All right, we’ll get the booster box.”

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