Civility Crumbles Like A Cookie

, , , , , | Right | August 1, 2018

(I work at a restaurant that has soups, salads, and sandwiches. We are known for good service, but if we get something wrong, we promise a free pastry. This woman has come before, claiming that we got her order wrong and demanding a pastry. The last few times we have given her the pastry, but now it’s just getting old. I’m working the drive-thru one day and it’s pretty busy. She comes and orders:)

Customer: “Hi, I would like [order].”

Me: “All right, that will be [total] at the window.”

(She comes up to the drive-thru window and I give her the order.)

Me: “There you go. Have a nice day!”

Customer: “Yeah, okay.”

(She checks her bag and, of course, tells me it’s wrong.)

Customer: “When will you people ever get anything right? My order is wrong again, so I get another cookie!”

Me: “Ma’am, I remember taking your order, and that’s exactly what you ordered.”

Customer: “Really? You’re going to talk back to a customer? I demand to see the manager.”

(I get my manager and she repeats the whole thing over. I tell my manager that she is lying, and she believes me because she has dealt with her before.)

Manager: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but if [My Name] says you ordered that, then there is nothing I can do.”

Customer: “What horrible service!”

Me: “Miss, you are holding up the line.”

Customer: “You people disgust me.”

Me: “Miss, you’re fighting with me over a pastry.”

(The lady huffs and throws the bag of food at me. I step back, stunned. My manager comes to the window once more to talk to the lady, but she has already driven off.)

Manager: “Are you all right?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.”

(The lady never came back, thankfully, and the cops were called for harassment. They caught her and arrested her.)


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You Won That Throwdown

, , , , , , | Right | June 13, 2018

(I work in a small specialty mall store, and my manager is awesome. Cell phones aren’t a thing yet, so we are very eager to help anyone and otherwise find ways to amuse ourselves. One day, a super-important-type comes in looking for a blacklight for his kid. The guy is an a**hole the entire half-hour I deal with him, and then I get to ring him up for his purchase.)

Me: “That’ll be [amount].” *extends hand for payment*

Customer: *throws a couple bills at me, deliberately under my outstretched hand, not saying anything*

Me: *digging for change; looks over at manager*

Manager: *nods in the affirmative*

Me: *throws change at rude guy* “Here’s your bag! Have a great day, and thanks for shopping with us!”

Manager: *laughing, walks to the back*

Can’t Even Make A Clean Break

, , , , , | | Working | May 30, 2018

(I am moving out of an apartment for which the landlord requires professional cleaning in order to receive back the full deposit. About a month in advance, I make an appointment with a cleaning service for 2:30 pm on the day before the walkthrough with my landlord. The cleaning service is headquartered in a small town about 20 miles outside of my city, but their website clearly lists my city as within their service area. On the day of the service, I am at work in the morning, and on a break around 11 am, I check my phone to see three missed calls and a voicemail from the cleaning service. I call back.)

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name], and I missed a few calls from you.”

Cleaning Service Owner: “Hello, the maids are at your house now and need to be let in.”

Me: “My appointment is at 2:30. It’s 11:00 and I’m at work. I can’t let them in now.”

Cleaning Service Owner: “The appointment before you cancelled, but the maids had already arrived in the city. They can’t drive back here and then back to the city, so you need to let them in now.”

(There would have been more than enough time for them to drive back and forth in time for my appointment.)

Me: “They could do that, or they could find somewhere to wait. It is not my fault that the appointment before me canceled. I can’t let them in now because I’m at work. We had an appointment for 2:30, and that’s when I expect them to be there!”

Manager: “That will not be possible. Either you need to let them in now, or we can reschedule.”

Me: “I can’t reschedule! The apartment will no longer be mine after tomorrow morning, and if I don’t get it cleaned today I will lose my deposit. We had an appointment, and the cancellation is not my fault!”

Manager: “There’s nothing I can do. Either you let them in now, or we will reschedule, and that is final.”

(I was absolutely furious at this point, but I desperately didn’t want to lose my deposit, so I told my boss the situation and he graciously let me leave to let them in. On top of all of that, they refused to clean the basement because “they didn’t have the right tools,” so I ended up having to do that part of the cleaning after they left. On the bright side, I got my full deposit back, and I left the cleaning service a cathartically scathing online review.)

Giving Them Your Two Cents, Literally

, , , , , | Working | May 10, 2018

(My husband has been going to a certain restaurant with his coworkers several times a week. He says the food and service are great, so we decide to try it one night with our two teens. There is a long wait, but nothing to complain about. When we get to our table, it is a good 15 minutes before I am able to flag down a waitress and let them know that no one has taken our drink orders. I don’t think too much of it, because they are so busy. The waiter finally arrives and is pretty curt. We give him our drink orders, and he takes off. Another 15 minutes later, he finally comes with our drinks, puts them down, and starts to take off.)

Me: “Excuse me. Are you going to take our orders? We have already been seated here 30 minutes.”

Waiter: “Oh, well, if you are ready, I guess.”

(I order, and then my husband does, too. I think it is nothing complicated. My 16-year-old starts to order, when the waiter turns to me and asks what to bring the teens.)

Me: “They can order for themselves.”

(With a sigh, he takes down their order. He doesn’t bring our salads or bread until the actual meal comes out. And then, he takes off before I can get a refill on our drinks.)

Husband: “Didn’t I ask for no onions on my salad?”

Me: “Yes, and I asked for no tomatoes.”

(On top of that, some of the order is wrong; two of the meals are actually cold — there’s nothing worse than biting into cold mashed potatoes — and just all around not very good. But we do eat what we can, because we are starving. I see the waiter several times at a table a few tables away. It is full of young college girls that are all flirting with him, and he is flirting back. I notice he is there plenty of times during the meal refilling their drinks. I try to get his attention, but he takes off after talking to them. He never returns with our ticket or anything. Fed up, we get up and go to the front to pay. I put in two cents for a tip. The person signing us out asks if I meant to do that. I tell them I most certainly did. I don’t want the waiter to think I forgot him, but I want to let him know what I think of his service. A man standing by tells me he is the manager and asks what happened. I tell him everything, and point out the waiter, who is still laughing with the college girls.)

Me: “I have a feeling that if I had perkier boobs, I would have gotten some decent service. Too bad for him, because I am willing to bet we are better tippers.”

(The manager offered us a gift card. I told him no, thank you. I had no desire to ever return, because frankly, the food just wasn’t that good. My husband did take it, because he goes there for lunch. Apparently, the food at the lunch hour is much better. He tells me they’ve never seen the waiter there again.)

Curiosity In Utero

, , , , | Healthy | April 3, 2018

(I have been diagnosed with uterine cancer, and am scheduled to have a complete hysterectomy. Unfortunately, two days before the surgery, I have emergency hernia surgery. I tell the doctor performing the hernia surgery about the cancer. When I go in for my first follow-up, he says that everything is looking good.)

Doctor: “While I was in there, I reached down and felt your uterus; it really is enlarged.”

Me: “Uh… Thanks, that’s interesting.”

(As I’m leaving, the full import of what he said finally hits. My hernia incision is above my belly button, and he REACHED DOWN INSIDE ME, and felt my uterus. I later tell a nurse about this, and her response?)

Nurse: “Surgeons are a curious lot.”

(The hysterectomy went well, and I am now cancer-free.)

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