Worf Has His Priorities Straight

, , , , | Right | September 11, 2019

(I work at a large chain grocery store. I’m currently stocking an aisle when a customer approaches me, seeing my work apron.)

Customer: “Hello, ma’am!”

Me: “How can I help you, sir?”

Customer: “I have two things for you today. First, where is your prune juice located?”

Me: “Right over here, sir.” *walks him to the juice aisle* “And what was the second thing, sir?”

Customer: *looks uncomfortable* “If you could let your manager know that one of the toilets in the men’s room is… overflowing.”

Me: “…”

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Your Number Two Is Not Our Number One Priority

, , , | Right | September 11, 2019

(I am in a local chain drug store. This store has no public bathroom, something I am very aware of since I have a small child. More than once we have had to go to the grocery store on the other end of this small strip mall for a potty break. As I am shopping, I become aware of a woman talking to the store employees. This conversation happens over several minutes as she follows employees who are stocking shelves.)

Customer: “Where is your bathroom?”

Employee: “We do not have a public bathroom, sorry.”

Customer: “But you must have a restroom you use. Where is it? I need it.”

Employee: “It’s not for customer use. I’m sorry.”

(After about the third employee tells her the same thing, the customer suddenly becomes irate and screams:)

Customer: “You need to let me use your bathroom!”

(I go to the pharmacy line and think she is gone. Then I hear:)


(She storms out down the aisle where people are waiting for the pharmacy. She seems to be walking just fine, but I am really hoping that she was lying and I get out of the store before anything further is “revealed.” I turn to an employee I like and say:)

Me: “You know, if she’d left right away, she’d have had plenty of time to get to the grocery store.”

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Some People Shouldn’t Be Out Among Other People

, , , , , | Right | September 9, 2019

(At the restaurant where I work, there is a server who used to work at a different restaurant chain. He had regulars there who were really strange, and he tells me about them when he first starts working at my restaurant. I guess I don’t fully believe him until a group of three people — I assume a husband, wife, and maybe adult son — comes in. They request the aforementioned server. They’re very quiet people, and the woman has a dopey smile on her face. Her clothes have stuff all over them, which I can only assume is a mixture of food and bodily fluids. Her husband only responds to any questions I ask in grunts and groans, though he will use words when speaking to his wife and son. The son is obviously mentally handicapped, so I have nothing bad to say about him, because I don’t discriminate against the mentally disabled. However, his parents are honestly just weird.)

Me: “Hey, [Server], I sat you at table 72. These people are kind of weird, though.”

Server: *his face completely falls* “Oh, God, no.”

(It turns out they were his regulars at his old job. I worked there for about two years, and until the server left to work in a state penitentiary, this group came in every Wednesday wanting to sit with him. Some things I caught them doing were chewing up their food and spitting it into napkins as if that was all they wanted, farting loudly with no excuses or apologies, asking other hosts if they would be willing to change their son’s diaper, bringing cans of soda into the restaurant — we have soda! — but not drinking them and instead pouring them into our live plants outside, and worst of all, the woman would walk to the bathroom and on her way there she would take food off of dirty tables. Yes, this was food that another customer had bought and was sometimes half-eaten. She just walked by, grabbed half a steak with her bare hands, and ate it on the way to the bathroom. Apparently, when they came in to the server’s old job, they were told he’d moved to this new restaurant, so they followed him. And since my restaurant is much more expensive than the previous one, they yelled at the server until he gave them his employee discount. Not even the right one! Employee’s family and friends discount is 50% off two meals, 33% off three, 25% off four or more. They should have gotten 33% off, but they yelled until all three of them were crying so he would give them the full 50%, which almost got him fired. Luckily, he worked there for a year before he left. They’d come in and ask for him and I had the satisfaction to tell them he no longer worked there. They’d just get quiet and shuffle out but still try again the next week, as if he might suddenly work there again.)

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A Sample Of The Local Community

, , , , , | Healthy | September 9, 2019

My doctor wrote up an order for some blood work. On my way in, I passed a mailbox mounted to the wall outside.

It can’t be confused with anything but a mailbox. It even has a little red flag to raise for outgoing mail.

The nurse who drew my blood told me that the mail carrier just walked inside and delivered the mail. The box was unused. Then, one day someone suspected that things were being put in the box. There was no key. It had to be forced open. 


People were using it for a specimen dropbox. Blood, urine, and stool samples in whatever jar someone felt like putting them in had been put in a black metal box in full Oklahoma summer heat — normally over 100F. Anyone besides me thinking, “How many people tried to tear off the sign and rip away the tape to insert some new sample?”

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You’re In Deep S*** Now

, , , , , | Working | September 6, 2019

(I work at an amusement park over the summer. I have recently been trained on an eight-ball-themed spinning ride, like an adult version of the children’s teacup ride.)

Me: *starting my shift* “Hey, [Coworker #1]!”

Coworker #1: “Hey. You have to clean up ball number twelve; I think someone s*** in it.”

(My coworker leaves me to investigate the ball in question. I walk over and get hit by the stench. It’s awful. I end up having to plug my nose to keep from gagging. I spray the ball down, put some kitty litter in it to clean, then leave the ball to let the litter do its magic. It begins raining, and I end up not being able to finish cleaning, as my break is early. Another coworker comes to take my shift.)

Me: “Hey, the rain’s letting up, but don’t let people use ball twelve. There’s feces on the seat.”

Coworker #2: “Gotcha.”

(I go on break, and return an hour later.)

Me: “Have any trouble with ball twelve?”

Coworker #2: “No, although someone said they threw up in it.”

Me: “Did you let people ride it?!”

Coworker #2: “Yeah, was there a problem with it?”

(We go over to investigate. Lo and behold, there is both puke and feces all over the ball. It’s mixed with rainwater now, making the whole thing a sloshy mess.)

Coworker #2: “I’m going on break. Have fun!”

(I quit a month later.)

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