Dark Skin Means Having To Be Thick-Skinned

, , , , | Right | January 17, 2020

(It’s my very first day on the job at a big office supply store. I am trailing the team leader of my department around, watching him assist customers. It’s relevant to this story that he has very dark skin, but speaks with the standard accent of this city; it would be safe to bet he was born and raised here. A customer approaches and addresses me.)

Customer: “Excuse me. Could you please help me find [product]?”

Coworker: “Certainly, sir, I’ll help you with that! Please follow me.”

(The customer gives me a confused look.)

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, first-day training, just learning the ropes! [Coworker] will be able to assist you.”

(My coworker leads us to the product, and then spends a good few minutes answering questions about the product, helping the customer decide which is the right one to buy, and generally being an excellent help with exceptional product knowledge. The customer picks his product off the shelf, and then, as he is about to walk away, he turns to me.)

Customer: “I’m very impressed. He did a very good job for his first day; you must be an excellent trainer!” *turns to my coworker, and in a slow voice someone would use to address someone who can’t speak English* “Gooood jobbb! You did VE-RY WELL! Good luck at NEW JOB!”

(The customer walked away happily, leaving my coworker and I speechless and shaking our heads in disbelief, especially since he had just carried on an intelligent, lengthy conversation with the customer.)

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Getting Their Guitar Strings Crossed

, , , , , , | Legal | December 6, 2019

My father told me this story from when he worked in a pawnshop in the 1980s.

The pawnshop specialises in musical instruments and equipment and is the largest second-hand dealer of those goods in the city. One day, a friend of Dad’s wants to pawn a 1970s Ibanez Les Paul-type guitar with a sunburst finish. It doesn’t have a serial number — not unusual for Ibanez at the time — but it has some identifying marks: belt buckle scratches on the back and a small Brazilian flag sticker on the back of the neck. The deal is made and his friend walks away with the money.

As the months go on, Dad’s friend doesn’t come back for the guitar, so Dad calls up and tells him that it will have to go to auction. It fails to meet the reserve price at auction, so Dad calls him up again and says it will go on the shop floor for sale but that if he wants it back he can come in and pay for it — at a discount — before it’s sold.

One day, a man walks in and sees the guitar on display. The man claims it is his and describes it to dad in detail — the scratches, the sticker — without touching it. Dad calls the police and a detective from the theft division is sent out. The guitar is taken as evidence and Dad’s friend is subsequently charged with dealing in stolen goods.

Some months later, another man walks in wanting to sell a guitar. It is a 1970s Ibanez Les Paul-type guitar with a sunburst finish, belt buckle wear on the back, a Brazilian flag sticker on the back of the headstock, and with the same case and accessories as the other guitar.

Dad stalls the second man and is able to convince him to get a coffee across the street while they do additional ID checks. Then, he calls the police and speaks to the detective, who confirms that the original guitar is still in evidence.

The detective comes to the shop with the original guitar. It is confirmed that there are two nearly identical guitars.

Then, the customer who claimed the original guitar was his walks in!

Dad suggests to the detective that the customer plays both guitars and tells them which is actually his. The customer confirms that the second guitar is his, because he had adjusted the string height to be lower than the other guitar.

The man trying to sell the second guitar is charged and Dad’s friend is cleared.

We’re not sure why the two guitars were identical, but we suspect that there was one owner who bought them new and sold them separately. This would explain the similar belt buckle scratches and the Brazilian flag stickers.

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Unfiltered Story #177073

, , , | Unfiltered | November 6, 2019

I tend to work the overnight shift on Saturday nights at McDonald’s and I get a lot of weird (and mostly drunk) customers come through. We’re only open through the drive-thru but a lot of people come through on foot. This one tops them all.
One night I am down at the cashier window and I hear yelling from the other window where we hand out the food. The customer I am serving is laughing because some drunk guy is ranting to my manager that he is a constable police officer looking for a white car and needs to interview “witnesses” coming through drive-thru. After a lot of talking my manager sorts it out to giving the guy two cups of water (because that is apparently what he was really after). I then go down to the window later to see the drunk man leaning through the window stealing ketchup packets. While we give them out free of charge I tell him to back away telling him it’s stealing just to get him to move. He tells me that he needs the packets because he’s eating brains from cows and sheep and that he is the spawn of Satan. He then disappears after making weird roaring/gargling noises.
I continue to server other customers while he stumbles around like a zombie along the pathway next to our drive-thru until we’re quiet and no other customers are around. He then comes up to the cashier window and bangs on it and yells incoherently. I notice he has now spread the ketchup across his forehead and decide I don’t want to deal with this lunatic and call for the manager not before the man throws the cups of water he still has at the window.
I don’t know what my manager said to him but he cleared off for a bit until a car came through and I found him scaring a couple of poor girls by trying to climb through their window while they waited for their food.
That’s when I finally lost it and yelled at him to leave the premises before the cops come for harassing the customers. He tells me to go ahead, reverting back to his police officer story and that the girls are witnesses before he disappears for the night and I demanded my manager to call the cops.

Maybe He Should Move To America

, , , , | Right | October 11, 2019

(This took place nearly a decade ago. I’ve already voted and am just waiting for my wife to finish. I see an old man being wheeled in by three ladies, who I assume to be his wife, daughter and granddaughter. After entering, the old man takes a good look around before loudly asking a question:)

Old Man: “Where the f*** do I vote for the Nazis?!”

(Most of the voters freeze, and several stare at the old man. The ladies with him all look either shocked or embarrassed.)

Daughter: *sounding shocked* “Dad, you can’t f****** vote for them anymore.”

(They left quickly, and I never saw the old man ever again.)

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Unfiltered Story #168386

, , | Unfiltered | September 26, 2019

Thanks to some odd wiring notes on our power meter, we commonly get bills for the usage of another house on our street, and they bills for ours. When chasing it up with the company, we were both told to both send in letters or emails to explain the scenario so that the company could sort it.

This mistake has happened multiple times, so our neighbour refuses to pay anything on his bill (even his own usage) until the invoice is correct, which can then lead to pending disconnections, which because of the company’s masterful handling of utility maps, intermittently dispatch to our property.

So, it was not as much of a surprise as it could have been when the meter box made a ‘ping’ noise as it opened at my house one evening. I scooted through the garage to the meter, and caught the worker with the box still open. After explaining the situation, and demonstrating the bizarre meter notes, he followed his procedure to call the company on cellphone and ask them for further instruction. They spoke a few moments, then he put the phone on speaker so we could both follow the outcome – I didn’t complain, as it was quite cold.

Nothing too strange happened through the beginning of the call; I identified myself so that the record could be accessed, ran through the case history, and then the customer rep went quiet for about thirty seconds without saying anything.

Me: “Hello? Are you still there, or has the phone-?”
Rep: “Yes, I’m still here, just shut up.”
Me: “What!?”
Rep: “Just shut up! I’ve had a long afternoon, do you identify as Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander?”

This is a voluntary statistical question pretty common in most interactions with government or corporate services here, allowing the various bureaus to track number, interests, and needs of the various indigenous peoples.

Me: “Negative.”
Rep: “**** off.”
Me, intelligently: “Uh- What?”
Rep: “**** off! I’ve had a bad day and I don’t need you going off at me just because you don’t want to pay your bills.”
Me: “I apologise if I sounded hostile somehow, but I’m not looking to avoid paying my charges; I have paid my usage, but the invoices have been sent to the incorrect-”
Rep: “You s are all alike, getting drunk on OUR tax dollar, ****ing it up with your friends and hundreds of fat children. Go back to the ****ing bush!”
Me: “Madam! How dare you! Get your supervisor on the call.”
Rep, continuing as though I hadn’t spoken: “- stinking up the train and ****ing breaking **** wherever social security sends you. Dole begging human trash, the lot of you!”
Me: “Supervisor. Get me your supervisor now.”

Unfortunately, my request was not adhered to, as the rep then terminated the call. The worker, aghast, just closed the box without disconnecting our power.

Me: “What the **** was that about?”
Worker: “Sir, I’m just a contractor, but I’m really sorry that you had to deal with that. I’ll be filing an official complaint when I get back to base. Have a great night.”

The rep had on the file that it was myself who had been verbally abusive, aggressive, and bigoted (against ‘good white folk’), but it got put aside quickly enough when the worker’s official complaint came through. Thankfully as well, the day after that, the company apologetically contacted me to make amends for having messed up the billing once more; though it hasn’t prevented the mistake from occurring again, I thankfully have not had to deal with the same call rep who decided that I must be of Aboriginal descent from a partial conversation on the phone.