If You Treat The Cows Like Crap…

, , , , , , | Right | June 11, 2018

(I’m 18 in this story, working on a 200,000-acre grazing allotment, basically babysitting 1,200 beef cows for a ranch. The allotment is broken up into sections and we have to move the cattle from one section to the next within a given time frame to avoid fines, and while the area is really remote, there are some hiking trails, a fairly well-known lake, and other places that attract outdoorsy tourists. At this time, the other cowhand and I are moving about 300 head from one allotment to another on the dirt road. The other hand is up front, “pointing” the cows and trying to keep them from heading the wrong way, which isn’t too hard since the road is fairly narrow with a steep hill on one side and a drop-off on the other. I’m at the back on a young horse, pushing the stragglers to keep up. Note that livestock have the right of way and if you hit someone’s cow, you’re responsible. A guy in a shiny sports car comes roaring up on us, honking his horn. Once I get my colt under control I give him a crusty look. He rolls down his window.)

Tourist: “You need to move them off the road. I have places to be!”

Me: “You’re just going to have to wait. As you can see, there are 300 head and the road is narrow. When it’s wide enough up ahead, the cows will spread out and I’ll help you through.”

Tourist: “That won’t work! I need to get through. You need to get them out of the way.”

Me: “Dude, they have the right of way.”

Tourist: “I don’t care. Get them off the road.”

(I look pointedly at the steep hillside and drop-off on the sides of the road.)

Me: “Where?”

Tourist: “That’s not my problem.” *starts honking again*

(The cows ignore him, but my horse shies. While I’m settling him down, the guy revs his car and bumps into the hind legs of one of the cows. I make note of his license plate.)

Me: “If you injure a cow, you’ll be paying for it. State law.”

Tourist: “Where I come from, the cowboys will move the cows out of the way and be polite about it.”

Me: “Go back where you came from, then.”

Tourist: “B****.” *gets to close to cow and acts as if he’ll bump her again*

Cow: *takes massive crap on his hood*

Tourist: “Oh. My. GOD!”

(He finally slowed down and backed off. When the road widened out and the cattle drifted apart, he went blasting through them. The cow was fine, my horse had a good lesson, and two days later the ranch owner stopped in to tell us that the guy had complained to the rangers about us. Luckily, I’d spoken to a forest ranger first chance I got and gave him the guy’s description and plate number, so they had an idea of what happened and they advised him as to our free-range laws.)

Call Me Grand-Daddy

, , , , , | | Right | June 7, 2018

(There’s a new movie out called “Dirty Grandpa.”)

Every Single Old Customer That Walks In: “A ticket for Dirty Grandpa. Not that I am one!”

(Then they wink at me and walk away, leaving me desperate for a shower.)

The Bra Is Wiped Out

, , , , , | | Right | May 21, 2018

(I am working on the customer service desk when a very angry woman comes up and demands to speak to a manager. I radio for one, after establishing that she doesn’t want my help, and the store manager is the one who answers. This was the exchange that I witness.)

Customer: “I’ve just been to your disabled toilet and there was no toilet roll, so I would like a refund.”

Manager: “I’m sorry about that, but what do you need a refund for exactly?”

Customer: “Well, because there was no toilet paper, I was forced to use my bra to wipe myself, so I would like the cost of my bra back.”

Manager: “I’m sorry, madam, but I am able to give you any money for that, as it was your choice to use that particular item. No one forced you to use it!”

Customer: “But it was expensive!”

Manager: “Then I suggest that you don’t use it as toilet paper!”

(He then walked away, leaving me desperately trying not to laugh at this woman! I don’t understand why she didn’t use either her underwear or sock if she was that desperate?! Why choose the item that requires the most effort to remove and costs the most money?!)

What A Dump

, , , , , | | Right | May 17, 2018

(The office building I work security for has an attached parking deck with multiple driveways. Security is required to check on the deck via both foot patrol and cameras. I come on duty to find this happening:)

Me: “Where’s [Supervisor #1]?”

Coworker #1: “He’s out at the parking deck.”

Coworker #2: “Yeah, and [Supervisor #2] is helping him.”

Me: “Why?”

Them: “Take a look at the camera footage.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I pull the video up from the last few minutes. I see a guy walk up one of the ramps, clearly trespassing. Then, he looks around.)

Me: “So, they went to chase this guy off?”

Coworker #1: “It gets better. Keep watching.”

(I do, and the next thing I see is the guy lowering his pants to take a massive dump on the driveway. He then pulls his pants up and walks away.)

Coworker #2: “[My Name], you should probably radio them to see if they need backup. That happened just before you got here, and [Supervisor #1] and [Supervisor #2] are trying to see where he went, because the cops are on the way. Oh, and the cleaning crew needs a call.”

You Say Potato, I Say Disgusting

, , , , , , , | | Working | May 17, 2018

(I can’t eat gluten, which makes eating at restaurants a pain. I normally just make my own meals, but my mother-in-law wants to take me out to lunch, so I find a nearby restaurant with gluten-free options. We sit down, I ask for the gluten-free menu, and we both order. Our meals arrive, including dishes of baked apples. The service hasn’t been great, and my mother-in-law is already looking for a fight when I start to eat my baked apples and see something pale and mushy floating in the cinnamon sauce.)

Me: “Um… What is this?”

Mother-In-Law: “Let me see.” *fishes around in the bowl with a fork and grimaces* “That’s hash brown casserole. They must have reused the spoon. Does the casserole have gluten? Are you going to be okay?”

Me: “I’m not sure; I only checked things I was going to order—”

(My mother-in-law has already run off to get a manager. She returns with the manager and they’re arguing.)

Manager: *holds up the gluten-free menu and points* “It clearly states right here that we can’t take responsibility for allergies. It’s a shared kitchen, and we can’t guarantee anything. Your health is not our responsibility ,and if you can’t accept that, then you shouldn’t be eating out at all!”

(He is nearly shouting and my mother-in-law looks ready to explode. Finally, I manage to interrupt.)

Me: “What if I didn’t have an allergy?”

Manager: “What?”

Me: “What if I we’re just a regular customer who thought it was sort of disgusting that you’re using dirty spoons in the kitchen and leaving old potato in my dessert?”

Manager: “Oh… I… I’ll go talk to the kitchen.”

(He came out a few minutes later and said that he couldn’t comp my meal, but would remake my food free of charge. I politely declined. I have no interest in eating anything that comes out of that kitchen, ever again.)

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