This Will Be The Day That I Rye

, , , | Right | January 8, 2020

(I work at a bakery inside of a large grocery store, where we bake our breads from scratch every day. As a result, sometimes we don’t have all of our breads ready by the time the store opens.)

Customer: “I’m looking for some rye bread.”

Me: “I’m sorry, they haven’t been baked yet, but they’re the next breads to go in the oven. It’ll be about an hour before they’re baked and cool enough to put into a bag. If you have a lot of shopping to do, or live nearby, you’re welcome to come back then, or we can take an order for you today to make sure we have one ready for you the next time you come in.”

Customer: “I’ll be back.”

(Ten minutes later:)

Customer: “I’m back for my rye bread.”

Me: *checks the clock* “Sorry if I wasn’t clear before, ma’am. The rye bread has just gone into the oven now, so it will be almost an hour, about fifty minutes, until it’s done baking and has cooled down enough to bag or slice for you.”

Customer: *sighs and walks off*

(Finally, the customer comes back when the rye bread is ready.)

Me: “Welcome back, ma’am! All our rye bread is ready. Which kind did you want?”

Customer: “Which one is fresher?”

Me: *losing my patience* “They’re all still warm.”

Customer: “Well, what kinds do you have?”

Me: “We have it with or without caraway seeds in both regular and deli-style.”

Customer: “Deli-style with seeds.”

Me: “Great! Did you want that sliced?”

Customer: “Yes! This is an awful lot of questions for a loaf of bread!”

(I sliced her bread and was happy to send her on her way. Maybe next time, she could try not to blame the person behind the counter for her total inability to listen and get the concept that if she doesn’t know exactly what she wants, she’s going to get asked questions until we can figure it out. I won’t hold my breath.)

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Pat Down Flare-Ups

, , , , | Working | January 8, 2020

(My family always jokes with me about how I’m pulled over every single time I go through airport security. In the past, this has been for completely understandable things, usually because I am very forgetful and accidentally leave a bunch of batteries or my multitool in my carry-on. This time, however, I make absolutely sure to make my luggage as TSA-friendly as possible. As I’m going through the full-body scanner, it flags the metal clasps on the drawstring of my shorts. Naturally, this shows that the “contraband” is right next to my privates. I am pulled aside for a pat-down.)

TSA Agent #1: “Would you like a private pat-down?”

Me: “It’s four in the morning. Please just get it over with.”

(I know that was incredibly rude, but thankfully, the agent finds it funny. I am patted down and then let go, but my luggage is being searched. I don’t know what they think is in there, but after a couple of minutes of rifling through it, they hand it back to me without comment. I always get to the airport early but this delay leaves me barely enough time to get to my gate. Thankfully, I arrive at my destination and have a great trip. While I’m on vacation, I stock up on items for Christmas gifts, mostly spices that are not available in my home state. On the way through security, my bag is pulled aside.)

TSA Agent #2: “Ma’am, is this your bag?”

Me: “Yes?”

TSA Agent #2: *opening my suitcase* “Is there anything fragile or sharp that could harm me in here?”

Me: “Just a candle. And maybe those granite coasters.”

(I point out the items and he unwraps them carefully, as if handling a bomb. While he’s doing that, another agent comes over to pat me down.)

TSA Agent #3: “Would you like a private search?”

Me: “No, thank you.”

(She searches me, including reaching into the waistband of my shorts and under my breasts. I just stand there and bear it because I want this whole ordeal to be over with already. While she’s searching me, the other agent is picking through my bag. He’s picking out various handmade souvenirs and spices I bought at the local city market, which is known to be popular with tourists.)

TSA Agent #2: “Okay, ma’am, I’m going to have to do a full search. It looks like there are chemicals on the outside of this strawberry lemonade mix that correspond with chemicals commonly found in explosives.”

(I have no idea how that is possible, but it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it, so once my pat-down is finished and I’m good to go I sit down next to the desk to wait. The agent is now talking into a cell phone and describing a bag of coconut sugar I bought at a local spice store.)

TSA Agent #2: “It says sugar on the outside of the bag. The consistency is like sugar, but it has some clumps. I’m squeezing the clumps now… okay, the clumps are breaking similar to sugar. The crystals definitely bear a resemblance. The color is white… not bleach white, more like…”

Me: “Eggshell?”

TSA Agent #2: “Yeah, like eggshell white. Not like super white eggs, but not quite off-white.”

(He continues to describe the appearance of the sugar in great detail, until it is finally confirmed that it is, in fact, just sugar. Finally, he determines that I didn’t smuggle any explosives onto the plane in the form of handmade strawberry lemonade mix, and starts to put everything back in my suitcase.)

TSA Agent #2: “Coming from a wedding?”

Me: “What? No, they’re Christmas gifts.”

TSA Agent #2: “Oh. Because a lot of people give these things out as wedding favors.”

(Now I’m wondering 1.) what kind of couple can afford to give out a dozen bags of spices, coasters, a candle, and a flamingo made out of copper wire as favors, and 2.) if these are such common items, why go through all of the trouble to search my bag? I know they were just doing their job, and they were perfectly polite the whole time, but I found it ridiculous how much time and resources were wasted on this search, considering there are places where people have managed to smuggle actual firearms through airport security with no issue.)

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Not Always Right, But Sometimes

, , , , | Right | January 5, 2020

(A coworker is running the counter where we sample our products for the first time. My boss tells me to help her when she needs it, which I have no problem with. I’m friendly with the coworker, and she understands my sarcastic humor, so I joke with her as soon as the boss walks away.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker]. You’re on your own.”

Customer: “NO, SHE’S NOT! YOU’RE GONNA HELP HER!” *glares*

Me: *laughs* “Yes, I absolutely am.”

(My coworker and I had a laugh at how the customer thought I was serious. I couldn’t even be angry at getting yelled at, since it was actually nice to see a customer try to stand up for the right thing.)

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The Difference Between Them Is Theatrically Large

, , , , , , | Working | December 26, 2019

I work as a stagehand in a theater that tends to have high turnover. A few months after getting hired, the technical director — my boss — leaves, and a new one is brought in. We get on right away, and as I am new to the industry he quickly becomes a mentor figure for me.

On one of our first shifts together, we have to stay late after a show to put up the orchestra shell. This is basically two side walls that we have to assemble piece by piece. To put it together, we need to screw the top layer together, hook it to the motors, lift it in the air, assemble the next row down, screw that to the top row, lift it in the air, and so on. I’ve only done it twice before, but the new technical director hasn’t done it at all, so he trusts my judgement on it.

There are two other guys he brought with him from his last theater. They’re not technically employed with us yet, but no one else can work tonight. These two men decide that my method is inadequate, despite never having done it themselves; they would rather lay all the pieces of the shell on the floor, screw them together, then attach the motors to the top of the shell and lift it up like a drawbridge. I have my doubts about this method, but they’re insistent, so we leave them to do their method while the technical director and I put our section together properly.

Lo and behold, we finish faster than the other guys, and the wall is safely constructed and secured. When the two men finish screwing the pieces together, they find that the motors don’t reach far enough to get to the top of the shell — which is lying flat on the stage — so we have to shove the assembled shell close enough to get the motors hooked up. Once they start to raise the shell, it looks at first like it will work… and then we hear the cracking. They don’t stop, though, and by the time the wall is up, there are significant cracks in the wood — thankfully not visible from the audience.

My boss commends me for sticking to my guns and doing things the right way, but it still bothers me that he allowed those men to do something he knew wouldn’t work and which ended up permanently damaging the shell. A few months later, one of the men leaves to go on tour and the other is fired for stealing equipment. The boss is fired less than a year after he starts for inappropriate use of budget funds, which severely sets the theater back financially after he leaves.

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Unfiltered Story #181139

, , | Unfiltered | December 26, 2019

I used to work third shift. An older (70 looking) white (you will understand why I reference color later) man came through the drive thru around 11 pm.

He actually is a semi-regular customer of ours (though never that late). I knew because I recognized his face. And I usually don’t recognize many of the customers. I work in an extremely busy restaurant. He is always pleasant, very quiet, orders his coffee then leaves. Dresses like a 70 year old man should.

Around 4 am, he and a very young black woman (20 something), who looked half drunk, and half high come through the drive thru they order. As they are getting their food, he’s driving, and she’s in the passenger seat, he never looks up to me, she gives the money, and she reaches across him to get the food.

She orders a large Drink, no ice, a sandwich and two large fries. I don’t remember what was wrong with her order. But she got out the car to come to the window to fuss and yell about the wrong order. So upset that she threw the bag, at us (me and my co worker) and it hits my co worker in the arm.

Clearly she was pleased with herself, because she sneered, got back in the car and decided that throwing the bag wasn’t good enough. She took the large drink and attempted to throw it also. The attempt was unsuccessful, as top of the cup hit something in the car and the soda spilled all over the older man and her.

She screamed and told the man to drive off. He being a 70 year old man, with cold soda all over him, drove off slowly. Leaving about 5 dollars or so in change.

I haven’t seen the man since.
Or the woman now that I think about it.

And the chicken sandwich my coworker and I shared from the change was very delicious.