I Don’t Work Here: The Schooling Edition

, , , , , , , , | Friendly | January 4, 2018

(I’m 17 and I’ve just moved in with my grandparents so I can attend the college of my choice with a lot shorter commute than if I stayed living in London, where I was born. It’s 7:15 am, and I’m in the local supermarket to buy lunch for the day. I’m wearing black jeans and a purple polo neck shirt with my college name and course embroidered on it. I’m also wearing a black hoodie decorated with the logo of a Morris group I side with, I have a bright yellow cartoon bag on my shoulder, and I’m using my phone as I walk along the aisle. The shop employees wear smart trousers, and a blue shirt in a different material and style. I also grew up in South London, so I learned pretty quickly as a kid that I needed to be verbally aggressive to make up for my small size of 5’2″.)

Random Lady: *taps me on the shoulder* “Excuse me! Excuse me, boy!”

Me: “Hey, what are you doing? Get off me!”

Random Lady: “Don’t be so rude! Get off your phone and help me find the fresh vegetables.”

Me: “They’re right at the front of the shop; you had to walk past them to come here and attack me. Now, p*** off.”

Random Lady: “EXCUSE ME?! Where’s your manager? You’re so rude! How dare you be so rude?!”

Me: *turning properly so she can see my shirt* “What colour is my shirt?”

Random Lady: *stutters and blinks* “Uh, purple. Why? What’s that got to do with anything?”

Me: “Can you read, or are you illiterate as well as rude? What does my shirt say?”

Random Lady: “I— What? It says [College, Course].”

Me: “I don’t know what the f*** you think you’re doing, but I clearly don’t work here. I’ve been up all night working on coursework so I’ve had three hours sleep. I recently moved house, I’m trying to make new friends as all mine live two hours away, and it’s seven fifteen in the f****** morning. Don’t touch me again, and don’t ever treat an actual employee as rudely as you just treated me. Got it?”

Random Lady: *stares at me with her mouth open, looking like an oversized salmon, then nods*

Me: “Good. Now, f*** off.” *I go and pay for my food and massive energy drink*

(After paying, I headed to the bus station to wait for my bus, and as I got on, who should I see walking past but our dear [Random Lady]? She caught sight of me as I was standing in the door paying for my ticket, then scurried away, avoiding looking in my direction.)

A Bit Of “Friendly” Advice

, , , | Right | January 3, 2018

(I work as a cashier in a popular grocery store chain. I’m on the express checkout, which is a limited-items register. Since we are so busy most people are way above the limit. An older gentleman who is a frequent customer of mine comes to my line.)

Customer: “Hey, [My Name]! Glad you’re here today! I could really use your help.”

Me: “No problem! Between you and me, that’s why I’m here. What can I do for you today?”

Customer: *whips out two different types of condoms* “I have a friend coming over, and it’s been so long since I’ve had to buy these. And now there’s so many varieties it’s unreal. Which would you recommend?”

Me: “Uhm… well… I’m not quite sure. Don’t they all have the same effect really? I mean, and I don’t mean to be rude if I am but, aren’t you too old to have kids?” *he’s in his mid 60s*

Customer: “You know, I questioned that myself. BUT you can never be too safe. Now come on, which ones are best?”

Me: ” Mr. [Customer], I really couldn’t tell you. Go with the purple box; it’s pretty.”

Customer: “Are you serious? I How could you not know?! Are you some sort of lesbian or something?!”

Me: “Actually—” *pulls out my phone and shows him my lock-screen, which is in fact a picture of my girlfriend of three years* “I am, Mr. [Customer].”

Customer: “Oh! Well, congratulations. I had no idea. I’ll go with the purple box!”

(I finally finished checking him out, all the while him talking about his “friend.”)

Must Have Really Needed That Coffee Milk

, , | Right | January 3, 2018

(I work in a fairly large, upscale supermarket and am currently stocking potato chips at the far end of the store, where they’re located right next to the (refrigerated) dairy section. Anything related to homogenised milk, however, is relatively close to the entrance at the opposite side. Note that a. the store is located in a small and rather posh, southwest German city, infamous for being a bit full of itself, and b. the obviously well-off customer is fitting the stereotype of a 60-something 1%er, fur coat and all. She’s not getting abusive, but increasingly snotty and impolite.)

Customer: *from behind me, without saying “excuse me” or anything* “I’m looking for ‘coffee milk.’ Where can I find it?”

Me: “Do you perchance mean condensed milk or coffee cream?”

Customer: “No! I said ‘coffee milk.’ Didn’t you listen?”

Me: “Well, however you wanna call it, the condensed milk and coffee cream is located at the front together with the homogenised milk. None of them are called ‘coffee milk,’ though, since…”

Customer: *interrupts* “I asked for ‘coffee milk,’ not coffee cream! And why is it up front? A colleague of yours just send me here! Are you saying I have to walk back to the front?!”

Me: “I’m sorry for my colleague’s misunderstanding. I can come with you and personally show you where it is. But as I was trying to say, depending on fat content, it’s either called condensed milk or coffee cream, just so you know. I’m pretty sure those terms are even regulated by the EU.”

(I don’t suffer fools lightly. They go ignorant, I go stubborn.)

Customer: *getting irate* “I don’t care what those lazy bureaucrats call it. I’ve always called it coffee milk and never had a ‘misunderstanding’ because of it. You know what, forget it. I’m sick of this incompetence! This place is going to the dogs! I’ll never shop here again and I will tell all my friends to do the same. Do you have any idea how many customers you are going to lose, young man?!”

(I hate it when someone calls me that. She hands me her shopping basket, containing veggies and deli meat, meaning she must’ve passed the milk aisle, and turns to leave.)

Me: “Going by your lack of common decency, won’t be that many.”

Customer: *gasps, huffs, and f***s off*

(I never got written up. The customer made good on her “promise” and never came back, but our numbers are still good.)

Unfiltered Story #102282

, , , | Unfiltered | January 1, 2018

(It is just a few days before Christmas and I am fresh out of training as a cashier. The store is filled to the brim with customers hastily preparing for their last-minute plans. Around half-way through my shift, a middle-aged woman comes through my register, buying an assortment of items: a kiwi fruit here, some chicken there.)

Me: “So do you have many plans for Christmas this year?”

Customer: “Well, my husband died three days ago.”

(That’s when my stream of thought went blank. On the inside, I screamed to myself, “I’m not you’re psychologist; please, I’m only fifteen!”)

Me: *turning back to her groceries* “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Opening A Whole New World To Them

, , , , | Right | December 30, 2017

(I work for a supermarket filling shelves when a male customer, roughly mid-forties, approaches me.)

Customer: “Excuse me.”

Me: “Yes, sir?”

Customer: “This can of tuna doesn’t have a pull ring.”

Me: “Yes, some of the larger ones don’t.”

Customer: “Then how the hell am I supposed to open it?”

Me: “With a can opener?”

Customer: “A what?”

Me: “A can opener.”

Customer: “What the hell’s a can opener?”

Me: “Umm… It’s a metal kitchen tool used to open cans.”

Customer: “I’ve never heard of such a thing in all my life!”

(I took him to the kitchen section and showed him the can opener and exactly how to use it. He thanked me and walked away, looking baffled.)

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