That Mom Must Be Dog Tired

, , , , , , , | Friendly | September 18, 2020

It is a pleasant day and my mothers group and I have taken our kids to the park. We’re on our way back to the house for lunch when we come across a stray dog which is determined to rumble with my dog.

With no owner in sight, we manage to separate the dogs, get back to my house, calm the dog down, and put him in the garage with some water.

I start messaging the number on the dog’s collar.

Me: “Hi! My name’s [My Name]. I found your dog on [Road] in [Town]. He’s okay. We just have him in the garage having a drink of water.”

Reply: “Which one?”

I express to my friends that that was not quite the kind of response I was expecting, having found their family pet, but I continue.

Me: “His collar says his name is Jesse. He’s black and white.”

Reply: “Okay.”

I talk again with my friends about the weird reply and they all egg me on to just call the pound and tell the owner to go there. I think about it but I’m kind of intrigued now, and I want the best for the dog, so I keep going.

Me: “When do you think you can come and collect him?”

Reply: “I’m not sure.”

Again, my friends think this was a ridiculous response and start looking up the numbers for animal control when my phone rings from an unknown number.

Me: “Hello?”

Woman: “Hi! I am so, so sorry. I’m the owner of the dog you found. I left my phone at home today and my twelve-year-old was answering the messages. She just called me and read the conversation out. I’m so sorry; you must think us very rude. I’m just leaving work at [Location] now to come and collect the dog. Is that okay? Thank you so much for looking after him!”

She arrived soon after and collected her dog and gave me a box of chocolates. She had a sulky looking pre-teen in the car with her who looked like she had just gotten a bollocking. Poor kid.

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Happens All The Time When People See The Prices Of The Textbooks

, , , , , , , , | Working | September 15, 2020

I am waiting in line at the university bookshop. I just gave blood an hour ago and, despite never having had any previous problems donating blood, and having had ample to eat and drink today, I start to feel a little woozy.

And then, I wake up on the floor.

The other customer who was in line is standing over me, while the staff member behind the desk calls out, “Are you okay?”

As I wake up a bit more, I can explain that I gave blood earlier.

The staff member finishes serving the customer, who leaves. Then, the staff member calls out to me, “You can go and sit on the stairs outside if you want to rest a bit.”

The staff member then turns away and continues their work at the desk. I am still lying on the floor, but, having never fainted in public before, and seeing that neither the staff member or the other customer seem remotely concerned, I just feel embarrassed and silly lying on the floor in a public place. As quickly as physically able, I get up, pick up my bag, leave the purchase I was going to make on a shelf, and go and sit on the stairs outside for about thirty minutes until my head stops spinning and my legs will hold me up, before I — slowly, with several stops — head home.

Once at home, I call the blood bank — they tell you to contact them if you have any adverse reactions — and the nurse on the end goes berko.

Oh, my God! Did you bang anything when you landed? How are you feeling now? I need you to see a doctor in the next twenty-four hours for a review. Don’t do any strenuous activity for the rest of the day. Drink something. Eat something. Have you got a family member or friend with you?” And so on.

I am only a young, inexperienced, not very world-wise person when this all happens, and I really don’t know what the correct reaction is when someone loses consciousness in the middle of a store, but I know that it is not to just ignore them and go about your work.

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For Some People, It Really Is About The Journey

, , , , , | Friendly | September 6, 2020

My mother and I are going to a craft show. Mum is driving but we have to divert from the regular route to pick up her friend from a house she recently moved to. Mum doesn’t have a Sat Nav so she is relying on me to navigate from a road map that I put beside me; I know the way as I have driven to the venue myself on other occasions.

It’s a twenty-five- or thirty-minute drive, basically on just four roads. I have no problems on three of those roads, and then we get to a fork in the road.

Me: “We need to take the right fork.”

Mum’s friend does not drive and has a very grating voice that turns high-pitched when she gets upset; it borders on screeching.

Friend: “No, we need to go left.”

Me: “No, it’s right.”

Friend: “No, left.

Mum: “Which way do I go?”

Me: “Just go right.”

We take the right fork.

Friend: *High-pitched* “This isn’t the way my daughter goes! She always goes through [Town #1] and the sign back there said it was to the left.”

Me: “We don’t need to go to [Town #1]; we are going to [Town #2], which is to the right.”

Friend: “We have to go through [Town #1] to get to [Town #2]; that’s the way my daughter always goes.”

Me: “Yes, when she picked you up from your old house that’s the way she would go, but we are coming from the opposite direction.”

Friend: “We’re never going to get there; we’re lost. Turn around, [Mum], so we can go the right way.”

Mum pulls over and puts her blinker on to turn around.

Me: “Just stick to this road; it’s only five minutes up the road”

Mum pulls back onto the road and we keep going. All the way, her friend is ranting about how we are going the wrong way; her voice is rising to screech level. I just want to tell her to shut up. After what seems like an eternity with my ears almost bleeding, but is actually less than five minutes, we see the sign for the venue.

Me: “There it is, on the left-hand side.”

Friend: “But it should be on the right. Why isn’t it on the right? I didn’t know it moved.”

Me: “It hasn’t moved; we came from the opposite direction of what you usually take.”

Friend: “Well, how was I to know? I don’t drive; my daughter does and she goes the way we should have gone.”

Me: “It would have taken us twenty minutes longer.”

She was still ranting how we had gone the wrong way as Mum parked.

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Sell, Sell, SELL!

, , , , , | Working | September 3, 2020

As a teen, I had a great job at a cinema that gave me great customer service training and experience.

However, when working in the candy bar, it was mandatory that we upsell — “Would you like to make that a large Coke for an extra fifty cents?” — and suggestive sell — “Would you like some popcorn to go with your drink?” — to every. Single. Customer.

Here are a few situations in which I did not upsell or suggestive sell and got in trouble for it.

A group visited consisted of several people with significant intellectual disabilities and their carers. I watched each person discuss with the carers what they wanted and what they could afford before coming to my register. Even verbalizing the order was a challenge to some of them. I started to suggestive sell to the first customer, realised it was not appropriate to continue with the rest of the group, served the rest accordingly, and then had my supervisor pull me aside to have a “chat.” Her argument was, “Yeah, but you still have to.”

A group of young kids from a vacation care centre came to visit and had, obviously, been advised beforehand to bring $5.70 for the small drink and popcorn combo we had going at that time. Many of them had the exact change in an envelope or sticky-taped to their wallet. I started doing the up/suggestive selling with them before realising what was going on and that my asking them was confusing them and making the line move three times slower and stopped. Once again, I pulled over by the supervisor.

A family of four visited and were the most, um, horizontally gifted family I have ever seen. And they bought one of everything, each, including each a full bag of lollies from the pick n’ mix, which equates to well over 1 kg of lollies. Now, obviously, their body, their choice, not remotely my business, but I couldn’t upsell as they already had large sizes of everything, and I couldn’t think of anything to suggestive sell without it sounding really weird. “Would you like a bag of honey-baked ham chips to go with your salt and vinegar flavour?” So, I processed the sale and sent them off to their movie.

That day, I was secretly being assessed for my monthly review. I failed with that family, hence failing the whole thing, and I got an informal warning. I didn’t even bother arguing.

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So Not Cute-cumber

, , , , , , | Related | August 31, 2020

My sisters and I notice that we all have a reaction whenever we eat cucumbers. We develop facial swellings and sores when we eat anything that contains cucumbers. I have the least of the reactions, developing what look like large pimples to the sides of my chin. My younger sister will have a much larger ulcer on her cheek, while our eldest sister has both reactions and also has thyroid swellings. We all decline dishes that include cucumbers when offered, even though we all like the flavour.

Our grandmother is plating up some salads for our dinner.

Me: “Please don’t put cucumber on [Younger Sister]’s, [Elder Sister]’s, or my plates. We have an allergy to it.”

Grandmother: *Scoffs* “Hmph, there’s no such thing as allergies. I had four children and none of them ever had allergies. No one in our family ever had allergies. You can’t have allergies to cucumber; you just don’t like it.”

Mother: “Just don’t put it on their plates.”

Grandmother: “They have to eat it; it’s good for them.”

Mother: “Well, why haven’t you put any on [Brother]’s plate?”

Grandmother: “He doesn’t like it.”

Mother: *Gesturing to my grandfather’s plate* “Well, what about Dad’s? You haven’t put any on his plate, either.”

Grandmother: “He likes cucumber but can’t eat it because it doesn’t agree with him.”

That means he has some sort of reaction when he eats it.  

Mother: “So, he has an allergic reaction to it?”

Grandmother: “No, it’s different; it just doesn’t agree with him.”

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