Rich People Be Ballin’

, , , , , , | | Right | July 12, 2019

I work in a public library. A man approaches the counter to check out some movies. At the time, anyone who owes $5 or more is blocked from checking out, and this fellow owes $6. I inform him of this and tell him if he can bring his bill down to $4.99, he can check out. I’ve found this an effective way to get people to pay most or all of their fine, even our most stubborn “I shouldn’t have late fees at all” patrons.

The man is perfectly pleasant and agrees to pay. He then proceeds to not only pull the waistband of his shorts away from his body, but the waistband of his boxer shorts underneath, as well. He then rifles around in his underwear a bit and proceeds to give me six damp dollar bills.

I can’t refuse the money, so I reluctantly take it and check his items out to him. As soon as he’s gone, I get a can of disinfectant spray, hit “NO SALE” on the cash register, and take out his boxer-short money to spray down, informing a confused coworker what just happened. I also use a LOT of hand sanitizer and make sure the dollar bills are kept separate from the others.

Honestly, I’ll take boob money over ball-sack money any day! Unless she’s lactating, of course.

Making Sour Grapes By Sampling Sweet Ones

, , , , | | Right | July 11, 2019

(Working nights in a supermarket, you see a lot of strange things and strange people. There is a mother/daughter duo who comes in a couple of times a week to shop, and they always ride around in the motorized carts. They are lazy, not disabled. I am the third-shift assistant manager, and the third-shift store manager and I are headed up to the front of the store to buy food for our lunch break. We notice the mother/daughter duo popping lids off of cakes in the bakery and we go over to see what was going on. They are scraping frosting off with their fingers, eating it, and then putting the lids back on the cakes!)

Store Manager: “What the h*** do you think you’re doing?!”

(The mom looks up and says, with complete innocence:)

Mom: “We’re just sampling… you know… like when you eat a grape.”

(We kicked them out and banned them from the store.)

In Retail, It’s That Time Of The Month ALL Month

, , , | | Right | July 11, 2019

(I am working at a clothing store that sells very cheap — in quality and price — clothing geared towards young women. It’s a typical evening at the end of the week, bustling with customers in a tiny space. Suddenly, I hear a shout from my coworker.)

Coworker: “Ewwww! I am not touching that!

(This alarms the rest of the staff, and I see my manager run towards the dressing room where my coworker is, while the others look on in confusion.)

Manager: “Oh, my God! What the h***! Someone get me a plastic bag, now!

(I see my coworker dash across the store, shaking her head with her face wrinkled in disgust. Seconds later, we see our manager walk out with the plastic bag; in it is a wet, bloody tampon!)

Manager: “So freaking nasty; this is why I hate people sometimes.”

In Receipt Of A Crazy Request

, , , | | Right | July 10, 2019

(In our charity shop, if a customer wants to return something, we offer an exchange or a credit note, as long as they have their receipt. We always offer a receipt, but usually, for smaller purchases, customers don’t want one. A customer has bought something for £4.95 — about $6.50 — and declined the receipt, so I crumple it and throw it in the bin. Later that day, they return.)

Customer: “I bought this earlier.” *shows me the item in their bag*

Me: “Yes, I remember.”

Customer: “I want my receipt.”

Me: “Did you want to return it?”

Customer: “No, but I didn’t take my receipt. I need it.”

Me: “I threw it away because you didn’t want it.”

Customer: “Can you print another one?”

Me: “Sorry, no, we can only reprint the last receipt, and I’ve had other customers since you were here.”

Customer: “What did you do with my receipt, then?”

(I point at the bin, now full of receipts, price tags, dirt from when I swept behind the counter, sweet wrappers, sticky tape, and several used teabags.)

Me: “It’s in there, sorry.”

Customer: “Okay, I’ll wait. I want it.”

Me: “You seriously want it?”

Customer: “Yes.”

(I picked through that filthy bin, unfolding bits of paper, for ten minutes before I finally found her receipt. It was wet from a teabag and had tape stuck to it covered in dirt. I offered it to her. She declined.)

Not What You Expected Skinny Noodles To Be

, , , , , , | | Working | July 8, 2019

(I am at a mall and decide to get lunch at the food court. I’m not up for fries and don’t feel like eating meat, so I take some fried noodles with veggies at a place with the usual westernized Asian fare. I get a plate and pay, then start to eat. After a couple of bites, I feel something in my mouth and pull a very long, thick, black hair from my mouth. I’m not the most squeamish person, but my appetite is gone. I decide to tell the lady who served me and is currently turning over the mountain of noodles they keep on their flat stove. She is not wearing a hat or hairnet, and has, well, quite a long, thick, black ponytail.)

Me: “Hi. I ordered these noodles and found a hair in them…”

(Almost before I can finish my sentence the lady barks back at me.)

Server: “That is not my hair. That is your hair. You put it in the food to get more free food!”

(I have a braid, but my hair is brownish-blond at the outgrown roots and a faded red in the lengths. It’s obviously not mine. The black hair is so thick, you can see it coiled on top of the yellowish noodles without having to look too close.)

Me: “Well, I can’t tell you whose it is, but it’s not mine. And I don’t want…”

(“…any free food; I just wanted to let you know!” is what I intend to say, but she again loudly speaks over me.)

Server: “No! You fat Germans always just want more food! Eat half and more, complain, and get another plate free!”

(She then TOOK THE PLATE from the counter between us and CHUCKED THE REST OF THE NOODLES at me! I instinctively stepped back but got some on my shoes nonetheless. I moved awkwardly and slipped on the saucy mess, falling rather unlucky on my hand. It hurt. A lot. I started crying and felt very shaken. A couple from a nearby table came over and some others got up, as well. Somebody told me to get up and sat me on a chair. Meanwhile, the server was shouting stuff in a language I didn’t understand. A guy in a suit from mall management came over and asked if I needed an ambulance. The man from the couple helping me talked to me, told me he was some sort of sports coach, and asked to see my wrist. He gently prodded it and moved it, proclaiming that it was probably not broken but I should get it checked anyway. I declined the ambulance; the suit-guy got me an ice pack from somewhere. They stayed with me until my boyfriend could pick me up, as I was still quite queasy, to drive me to the emergency room near our home. In the end, nothing was broken. The owner of the Asian shop contacted me through the mall and apologised a lot. He said his sister was going through some rough personal stuff and just snapped. I was almost sorry for her. But I will never enjoy Asian noodles without a bad feeling in my bones.)

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