Cycling The Recycling Signs

, , , , , , | Right | December 2, 2019

I was at a food court in a mall, sitting fairly close to the trash cans. Next to the trash cans, there were a couple of recycling bins, one for bottles and one for cans. As I was watching, a woman walked up and dropped her bottle into the bin marked for cans. There was a clinking as the bottle hit metal, and I could see her realize that she’d just dropped the bottle into the wrong bin.

After pausing for a moment, she then reached down and pulled the lids off both bins. I thought maybe she was planning to pull out her bottle and put it in the right container, but instead, she swapped the two lids, placing the lid marked for bottles on the container for cans, and vice versa. She then turned around and spotted me watching. She quickly looked away and hurried off.

I ended up walking over and switching the lids back, but I really have to wonder how you can get so stubborn that you feel the need to swap the lids on recycling bins to pretend that you are “retroactively right” in which bin you dropped your trash into.


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These Online Filters Have Seeped Through To Real Life!

, , , , , , | Working | October 2, 2019

(I work at a company that requires you to use an ID badge to get through the front doors. However, rather than having an automatic reader you scan, there is instead a manual, hand-held scanner that the person behind the reception desk will use to scan the ID. If they get the green light, they’ll then hit a button behind the desk to open the doors. On this particular day, I get to the desk while I am still trying to pull my ID out of my pocket. The lady behind the desk is someone who I’ve never seen before.)

Receptionist: “You need to present your ID.”

Me: *cheerfully* “Yep, sorry. It got stuck in my pocket.”

Receptionist: *rolls her eyes* “If you don’t have an ID, you aren’t getting in.”

(At that moment, I manage to pull it free of the fold it was stuck on, and hold it out.)

Me: “Right, sorry. There you go.”

Receptionist: *not even looking at my card* “You need a card to get in.”

Me: *slowly wiggling it back and forth* “Yes, it’s right here.”

Receptionist: *turns away and starts fiddling with her computer* “I can’t just let you in without an ID.”

Me: *frustrated at this point* “I know, which is why I have my ID right here.”

(She doesn’t respond, leaving me standing there with my ID out. After a moment, one of the security officers for the building comes over.)

Officer: “Is there a problem?”

Receptionist: *wheeling around* “He’s trying to get in without an ID.”

(The officer looked between the card in my hand and the receptionist, before reaching over and picking up the hand scanner. He didn’t say a word as he scanned my card, the light flashed green, and he then reached around and hit the door-open button behind the desk. Throughout all this, the receptionist kept looking at him, continuing to not even acknowledge that my card existed. I left at that point, and I haven’t seen that woman at the desk since then. I’m still not sure if this was some sort of weird power play on her part, or if her brain really was filtering out the existence of my ID card.)

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If Only They Could All Talk That Way

, , , , , , | Right | September 19, 2019

(A woman is shouting at the worker behind the service desk at my local grocery store. I come up partway through her rant, but from what I gather, her ice cream and other groceries melted when she left them in her car while running errands. It being a hot summer day, it seems that her groceries getting warm came as a complete shock to this poor woman, and that she is incensed at the grocery store not somehow keeping them cold until she got home. The man behind the counter is an older gentleman who has been trying to console her, but as she continues shouting over him, his face slowly loses expression. After a bit, he lifts one hand in the air, and then slowly begins lowering it in quick, jerky increments. This startles the woman out of her diatribe.)

Customer: “What the h*** are you doing?!”

Worker: *glancing over at his hand and faking shock* “Oh, this? This is my ‘caring about your bulls***’ meter. As you can see, it’s getting rather low.”

(The woman gapes at him for a bit.)

Customer: “You… That… You can’t…”

Worker: “Can’t what? Put up with any more of your bulls***? Yeah, I can’t.” *shrugs* “I’m gonna retire at the end of the year, so I just can’t give a d*** about you being an idiot.”

Customer: “I- I- I’m gonna call your bosses. You can’t talk to customers this way!”

Worker: “Mmhmm. You go do that. Tell them my name’s [Worker]. Did you get that? [Worker].” *continues to shout after her as she storms out* “That’s [Worker] with a [letter]. You want me to spell it for you?”

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Tech Support Retort

, , , , , | Working | June 17, 2019

(A minor note before I go into this story. I work in tech support. We’re not talking the “have you rebooted it,” outsourced type, but serious tech support — the kind that deals with digging through code to fix issues, patching, and some hardware support. Recently, I found myself thinking about upgrading my graphics card, not because I really needed one, but I thought it’d be just a nice change compared to what I had. So, with that in mind, I head down to the local big-box tech store on my way home after work. I head inside, wander back to the parts department, and start looking through the shelves for the specific card I’ve had my eye on. It’s about this time that one of the salesmen approaches.)

Sales: “Finding everything you need?”

Me: “Not entirely sure.”

Sales: “Well, what do you need help with?”

Me: “I’m looking at getting a new graphics card, but…”

Sales: *cutting me off* “Well, it depends what you’re doing with it. Take this—“ *grabs a cheap card* “—It’s good for most things, but you don’t want that. Nah, you need this.” *grabs the most expensive card*

Me: “You think so, huh?”

Sales: “Oh, yeah. I’m an expert!”

Me: *muttering* “Sure, you are.” *aloud* “I get that you’re trained in these things to some degree, but you didn’t let me finish explaining the issue.”

Sales: *rolling his eyes* “Oh, go on, then.”

Me: “As I was about to say, I’m looking for a graphics card, but I’m not sure what kind of connector this type has, or if it’s for a laptop or tower. It doesn’t say it on the box, and I need a specific type to fit my system.”

Sales: “They’re all the same thing! I don’t know what gives you the idea they’re different.”

Me: “Education, training, experience…”

Sales: “What?”

Me: “Ever hear of [Well-Known Tech Support Company]?”

Sales: “Yes. And?”

Me: *producing badge* “I’m a technical support agent for them. So, yeah, the connections are different. I don’t need the upsell into something more expensive than what I want, and I don’t need the condescending ‘I know everything’ attitude. I just need to know what kind of connection this is, or if it’s for a laptop or tower.”

Sales: “Whatever. They’re the same [censored] thing! Here.” *grabbing a box off the shelf* “That’s the one you want.”

(With that he left. I ended up having to go back a second time, returning the one he picked up when I found out that yes, it was a laptop card. I also had a long talk with the department’s manager and the store manager about my experience. They ended up trading me the PC version — which was fifty bucks more — even for the laptop card I’d picked up, and assured me that they were going to have a long sitdown with that employee. I got the impression that this wasn’t the first time something like that had happened.)

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Shunting That Entitlement Away

, , , , , | Healthy | April 5, 2019

(My mom is an x-ray tech at a world-renowned children’s hospital. She helped pioneer a number of techniques now commonly used today, but the hospital’s main focus is on the patient’s overall welfare. This involves things like minimizing the number of x-ray frames taken to cut down on radiation exposure, cropping x-rays as tightly as they can to cut down on radiation scatter, etc. Most doctors treat the techs well and make sure they have all the necessary information, but one new doctor doesn’t seem to get how things work at this hospital.)

Doctor: “I need a head x-ray on this patient. Forward facing.”

Mom: “Great. What am I looking for?”

Doctor: “You don’t get to ask questions. I tell you what frames to take, and you take them. Me: doctor! You: tech! You don’t talk to me!”

Mom: *doesn’t say a word, just smiles politely and goes to take the x-ray*

(As per the hospital’s policy, she narrows the field as small as she possibly can, so literally only the skull itself is in the path of the radiation. The kid has a full head of curly hair, by the way. After the films are developed and sent up, the doctor comes storming down, furious.)

Doctor: “How could you not get a picture of his shunt?!”

Mom: “What shunt?”

Doctor: “The one in his skull! The whole reason for wanting to x-ray him in the first place!”

Mom: “Well, maybe, if you’d told me why you needed the x-ray, I would have focused on that area. Instead, you just told me to shut up and take the x-ray, which I did exactly according to hospital policy. The kid has a ton of hair; there’s no way to see the shunt, and no one told me he had one, nor was it included in the written orders. If you want an x-ray of something specific, you need to specify!”

Doctor: *glares, and then stomps off to tattle to the head of Radiology, who reads him the riot act for being so rude to a tech*

(Mom did retake the film, this time focusing strictly on the shunt and its surrounding area. She felt very bad that the kid was being exposed to a second dose of radiation, however small, though.)

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