Unfiltered Story #123385

, , , | Unfiltered | October 9, 2018

(I worked as a night cashier in a gas station convenience store for a while when I was in college. This happened while I was ringing up a customer’s purchase.)
Me: And will you be paying with credit or debit today?
Customer: Yes.
Me: ….Credit? Or Debit?
Customer: (Impatiently) Yes!
Me: Alright, we’ll run it as credit. (Hits the register key for ‘credit’)
Customer: (Visibly annoyed now) I said I wanted debit!

(Quitting that job was the best day of my life.)

Spoon-Fed Corn-Fed

, , , , | Right | July 16, 2018

(I work at a fast food restaurant where customers walk through a line and select ingredients for their meals. Business is extremely fast-paced, and employees are expected to push customers through quickly, while making the options as clear as possible. Every time I list an option, I make sure to point to it, so the customer knows what I’m asking them about quickly.)

Me: “Next up we have our salsas. Would you like mild, medium, or hot?”

(Our mild salsa has chunky tomatoes and is often mistaken for pico de gallo. I don’t bother clarifying the distinction unless I can’t figure out what the customer actually wants.)

Customer: “No salsa.”

Me: “All right, would you like some corn, or some sour cream?”

Customer: “Give me some of that pico.”

(I scoop on some mild salsa.)

Me: “Sure. Did you want some corn or sour cream? Maybe some cheese?”

Customer: “I want some mild, too.”

Me: “Just to be sure, you want this one? The medium one?”

(I point to the medium salsa, which is green. The hot salsa is red.)

Customer: “No, no, the red one.”

Me: “That one’s the spiciest one, is that okay?”

Customer: “Okay.”

Me: “Sure. How about some corn or some sour cream?”

Customer: “No. I want some of the medium sauce.”

Me: “All right, how about some corn, or sour cream?”

Customer: “No. Cheese.”

Me: “Sure, how about some guacamole or lettuce?”

Customer: “I want some of that sour cream.”

Me: “Anything else for you today?”

Customer: “Can I have some corn stuff?”

(The customer has now declined five different things when I offered them, and then asked for each one themselves afterwards, making it take at least twice as long to get them through the line. I have this conversation multiple times a day.)

Unfiltered Story #107365

, , | Unfiltered | March 15, 2018

I’m crossing the street when I get hit on my left side by a car. I fall at an old angle onto the road, and the impact causes the brunt of my injuries. Thankfully, the car stops immediately, and the injuries are minor — a small cut above my right eye, a black eye and other minor bruising, and scar tissue in my right shoulder. I go to physical therapy for the scar-tissue damage. During my initial consultation, the therapist and a nurse maneuver my arm into different positions to gauge the pain each position causes me. He asks me to rate the pain on a 1 to 10 scale.

Me: That’s a 1…that’s a 2…that’s more like a 3 or maybe a 2.5…

He’s got my arm pointed at four o’clock when white-hot pain explodes in my shoulder. I go speechless as black spots press in on my vision. When my vision clears and the pain recedes, I stare at the therapist and the nurse, and they stare back, alarmed.

Therapist: Are you okay?

Me: …Uh, yeah, I’m okay. That really, really hurt.

The rest of the session goes much better, and my subsequent visits go fine, too. The staff there are nothing but professional. I think I scared the therapist with my reaction that first day, because no member of staff ever tried to move my arm into that position again. With the help of the stretches they should me how to do, I recover full mobility in my arm after a couple months.

Who’s Keeping County?

, , , , , | Learning | December 15, 2017

(There are a few minutes left before class starts, and people are slowly entering the room.)

Classmate: “Hey, [My Name], you’re from Louisiana, right?”

Me: “Yeah?”

Classmate: “You guys call counties ‘parishes,’ right?”

Me: “Nope.”

Classmate: “No?”

Me: “No, everyone else calls parishes ‘counties.’”

Classmate: *rolls eyes*

(The professor, who’d been listening, cracked an evil grin. I felt very proud of myself.)

Roommate And Chemicals Don’t Mix

, , , , , , , , , | Friendly | October 17, 2017

(I have been attending college and just moved into my first apartment. I am a slightly older student, and so I asked for an older roommate. I am there for one month, and my roommate proceeds to give me the cold shoulder the entire time. Finally, after three and a half weeks, he starts to warm up to me. One Thursday night, I invite my friends over to hang out. My roommate decides to join us, and they begin playing a drinking game. I do not drink, so I am drinking water. Everyone gets drunk pretty quickly.)

Friend #1: “I’m hungry. Do you have any snacks? Anything sweet?”

Me: “Yeah, there’s some ice cream in the fridge; help yourself!”

Friend #2: “I want some ice cream!”

Roommate: “You can’t have any ice cream; you’ll throw up. Don’t make me take care of you tonight.”

Friend #2: “I’ll be fine!”

Friend #1: “Yeah, she didn’t drink that much.”

Roommate: “Whatever, man…”

Me: *to my friend* “Hey, I might have something for your stomach…”

(As I try and ask if [Antacid] or [Motion Sickness Medicine] would work, my roommate loses his cool. He stands up in his seat and begins screaming at me at the top of his lungs from across the table.)

Roommate:What?! What are you talking about!? Chemicals?! She needs water!

(He jabs his finger in my face to emphasize his point. I am staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights. I really don’t handle people screaming at me very well, especially drunk people, and tend to panic or cry.)

Friend #1 & #2: “Woah, you need to calm down.”

Roommate: “NO! SHE’S OFFERING YOU CHEMICALS! What was it you said!?” *I hadn’t named anything yet.* “SHE NEEDS TO DRINK WATER! YOU GOT THAT!? WHAT THE F*** IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”

(He storms off to his room, still screaming at the top of his lungs. As my friends try to talk him down, I shakily stand up and head off to my room. However, doing this seems to irritate my roommate more, and he becomes much louder.)

Friend #2: “You need to stop!”

Roommate: “NO! IF SHE WANTS TO BE IMMATURE, LET HER! I’M THE ONE BEING AN ADULT HERE!”

Me: *turns to look at my roommate* “Can I say something? I’m not leaving because you were wrong. I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking.” *at this point I really just want him to stop screaming* “I left because you’re screaming at me and it’s very rude.”

Roommate: “YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT RUDE!? I KNOW YOU WENT IN MY ROOM!”

Me: “What? I’ve never been in your room.”

Roommate: “WHY IS YOUR VOICE SHAKING?! IF YOU DIDN’T DO IT, WHY THE F*** IS YOUR VOICE SHAKING?!”

Me: “I—”

Roommate: “WHY IS YOUR VOICE SHAKING?!”

Me: “B-because my heart is pounding? You’re screaming at me.”

Roommate: “I’M TRYING TO BE AN ADULT HERE. THIS IS TOO IMMATURE FOR ME. ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR!? I DON’T DEAL WITH LIARS!”

(Then he stormed out of the apartment, stomping so loudly that the floor to our third-floor apartment shook. After this, I was scared of this man and proceeded to go home. I spent the next week quickly moving my stuff out of the apartment and commuting to school, which took two whole hours, one way. I came to find out that he submitted a complaint to the front office within the first day of me living there. It made things very ironic and incredibly creepy when I returned to the apartment at the end of the week and found that not only had he stolen some of my personal belongings from the common area, he had also dug through my personal trash for things to keep. I will be filing a police report tomorrow morning. Guilty conscious much?)

Page 1/212