It’s Not About The F****** Eggs

, , , , , , | | Romantic | June 3, 2019

(I live south of an airport that spans two major metropolitan areas. Since I don’t have a car, anytime I need to travel, I’ll take a rideshare up to the airport. It helps if I can split the cost, but on this particular day I call the rideshare by myself and get in alone.)

Driver: “Oh, you’re going to the airport today. Is [Airline] the right stop? Where are you flying?”

Me: “Yeah, [Airline]’s the right one. I’m just going back home for the holidays to visit my family.”

Driver: “How horrible. My wife makes me visit her family all the time.”

Me: “I don’t really mind it, actually. I haven’t seen them in a while since we live in different states, so it’ll be nice to visit with them again.”

Driver: “Right. Whatever. I just hate when she makes me do stuff like that.”

Me: “Yeah… families can be a lot, I guess.”

(I’m uncomfortable with the turn the conversation has taken, so I pretend to be on my phone for a bit. Fortunately, the car isn’t silent, since the driver has the radio on. Unfortunately, after about five minutes he turns up the volume — way up. It’s heavy metal music, and the lyrics are both sexually explicit and profane. I’m trying my best to ignore it when the music is cut off by a shrill ringing. The driver swears, almost swerves into another lane, and then presses a button on his phone. It’s not a call; he’s FaceTiming someone with his phone volume all the way up. He doesn’t turn the music down, either, so when he starts talking he’s practically screaming.)

Driver: “Hey, honey!”

Driver’s Wife: “Where are you? I thought that was your last ride?”

Driver: “Yeah, I’m just going to the airport.”

Driver’s Wife:What?! The airport?! But you still need to get groceries!

Driver: “I THOUGHT YOU WERE GETTING THEM!”

Driver’s Wife:No, you moron. I’m picking up the f****** kids!”

Driver: “Well, you didn’t tell me not to go to the airport!”

Driver’s Wife: “I didn’t think I needed to tell you not to go all the way up to f****** Seattle. My parents are coming tonight, you f****** moron, and we’re all out of f****** eggs!

Driver: “Well, I’m already driving there, so you can’t f****** expect me to just dump my passenger by the side of the road or something, you stupid b****! You should’ve told me this morning!”

Driver’s Wife: “Told you?! Told you?! Are you a grown-a** man, or are you a f****** child?!”

(The driver is gesticulating angrily by this point, swerving all over the place, and nearly hitting several other cars. He continues arguing with his wife for another twenty minutes or so, both of their voices steadily increasing in pitch as the conversation goes on.)

Driver: WHO THE F*** DO YOU THINK GIVES YOU THE MONEY FOR YOUR F****** EGGS, YOU GREEDY B****?!”

Driver’s Wife:You?! Give me money?! You useless, unemployed son-of-a-b****! You can’t even afford–

(By coincidence, my phone dings, and the wife goes quiet… for all of two seconds.)

Driver’s Wife: “Do you have a f****** passenger in there?! Am I on speaker?!

Driver: “Uh… oh, here, um, your gate—“

(He swung across three lanes of traffic, pulling to the curb in front of a completely different airline than the one I was flying with. He pressed the button to unlock my door and waved at me to get out. I got out by myself, pulled my own bags out of the trunk, and nearly got hit when he tore away. And the whole time, from just outside the car, I could still hear both his music and his wife’s screeching in crystal-clear sound. Oh, and since the airline he’d dropped me off at was on the completely wrong side of the airport, I ended up missing my flight. But hey… at least his wife got her f****** eggs.)

We Offer Both Family And Infidelity Plans!

, , , , | Right | December 4, 2018

(A man calls in to ask why his phone bill is so high. He is on a 700-minute family plan; his phone used 650 minutes, his son’s phone used 10 minutes, and his wife’s phone used… 720 minutes. I can see the call list on her line, and it seems she’s been calling someone in another state twice each day. I attempt to explain this to him:)

Me: “I’ve found the issue, sir. Your wife’s line used 720 minutes last month, and since you have a 700-minute family plan, that’s why your bill is so high. I can upgrade you to the 1400-minute plan for [price], though that would still put you over your limit for last month.”

Caller: “My wife did not use her phone. You made a mistake.”

Me: “I have the call log here to show all the calls, and there’s one number in Houston, Texas, that comes up twice a day. I can send you the call log, if that helps.”

Caller: “I don’t believe you. The call log doesn’t prove anything. She doesn’t know anyone in Houston. You made a mistake. She never uses her phone.”

Me: “Uh, have you asked your wife about whether she has been using her phone?”

Caller: *to his wife* “Have you been using your phone?”

Caller’s Wife: “No, I haven’t.”

Caller: “She says she hasn’t been using her phone, so it’s your mistake.”

Me: “Uh, okay, well… Let me transfer you to our fraud department so they can figure out who has been using her phone to call Houston twice a day.”

(I hope she is enjoying her new life with her Texan boyfriend.)

Making A Mocha-ry Of A Mocha

, , , , , | Right | November 4, 2018

(I work in a deli, which also has a full espresso bar. I have a first-time customer come in with her husband and child. They each order a sandwich, and then she orders espresso drinks for each of them; hers is a triple-shot mocha, while his is a standard vanilla latte. A few minutes after I take their drinks out to them, this exchange happens.)

Customer: “Excuse me. Could you add more chocolate to this? All I can taste is the espresso.”

Me: *inwardly face-palming but still smiling on the outside* “Sure thing, thanks for letting me know!”

(I add more chocolate and milk to it, and then give it back to her.)

Me: “Try it and let me know what you think; I don’t want you to be unhappy with your mocha!”

Customer: “Much better, thanks.”

(Two things: first, how did she not know that adding an extra shot would give it more of a coffee flavor? And second, because I don’t want to end this on a negative note, at least her husband told me that mine was one of the best lattes he’s ever had in his life.)

Attack Of The Mansplainer

, , , , , | Right | August 12, 2018

(For several years, my dad and I have been running a booth at a local annual comic book convention where we sell pieces of our comic book collections and some comic book-related artwork. My dad and I are both collectors; he’s been collecting for 60+ years and raised me on comics. This year, my dad is unable to help man the booth due to a work conflict, so I’m working the table on my own. During a lull in business, an older gentleman approaches the booth and begins looking through a box of $1 comics.)

Me: “Hi there! Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

Customer: *glancing at me briefly with a sigh* “Are these yours?”

Me: “Yup.”

(He suddenly snatches a comic book from the box and shoves it toward me.)

Customer: “This is priced incorrectly.”

Me: *thinking that he means it’s overpriced* “Oh, the comics in that box are actually only $1.”

Customer: “That’s not what I mean! It’s way under-priced. This comic is worth much more than $1.”

Me: “Well, I know it’s worth a little more, but we’ve got multiple copies of that issue, and we’ve had some trouble selling it, so we marked it down. Think of it like a clearance item. It’s a pretty good bargain.”

Customer: “You really need to charge more for it. Trust me; I know comics. It’s worth more.”

(I glance at the comic and recognize the title. I’m certain that the issue is really only worth about $5, but don’t want to embarrass him by correcting him.)

Me: “We’re really just trying to unload it. It’s hard to sell that issue for more than $1.”

Customer: “Where’s the owner of this booth? I think I should talk to him about how you’re pricing his comics.”

Me: “I’m the owner of this booth, sir.”

Customer: “These aren’t your comics.”

Me: “Actually, they are.”

Customer: “Who paid for the booth? Whose comics are these? That’s the guy I want to talk to. You obviously aren’t familiar with comic books if you think that this is worth only $1. You’re really screwing over the guy who owns it.”

Me: “I paid for the booth, and the comics in that box belong to me. I’m very familiar with comics, which is why I’m working here… at a comic book booth, at a comic book convention.”

Customer: “Then you’d know that this comic isn’t worth $1.”

Me: “That issue is worth only about $5. But if you really want to pay more for it, I can charge you more. What do you think it’s worth?”

Customer: “I don’t want to buy it; I just think you need to do more research before you try to come out here and pretend that you know anything about comic books. You’ll just end up embarrassing yourself. You know, not everyone is as polite as I am, sweetie.”

Me: *obviously insulted, but really just wanting him to leave at this point* “Noted. Is there anything else you want to buy?”

Customer: “Well, let me finish looking!”

(I shut my mouth and sat quietly as he finished rifling through the box. He finished, finding nothing else he wanted, and then walked away without a word. About thirty minutes later, I spotted him at a booth a few yards away, giving grief to another young vendor and lecturing her about how much he knew about comic books and how “annoying” it was to have to deal with so many “fake” female comic book vendors who under-priced their comics. I had never seen anyone so angry about being asked to pay LESS for a product!)

A Wait Doesn’t Carry Much Weight

, , , , , , , | Right | August 11, 2018

(I work in a small deli. One particularly busy Saturday, I am running the front of the store by myself, trying to keep up with the rush, while my coworker is busy baking our bread product in the back. About ten people all arrive at the same time, approximately half of whom order sandwiches that take the longest to make. I rush through everything, but I’m sure they still wait in line for close to ten minutes, plus another ten for their food. A customer and her husband both order breakfast sandwiches. I take their food out to them with a smile and while I am there, the wife — who, I happen to notice, is on a website putting up a review — asks me if I am a manager. I am not, I answer, but I tell them my manager’s name and when she’ll be in next. Fast forward a couple days later. I go into work, where my manager ambushes me as soon as I come in the door to tell me about this phone call she got yesterday, on my day off, from the very same customer:)

Customer: “Is this the manager?”

Manager: “Yes.”

Customer: “I want to make a complaint.”

Manager: “Okay.”

Customer: “I was in on Saturday, and it looked like you only had one employee here, and we had to wait for a long time!”

Manager: “So?”

Customer: *huffing* “Well, that’s just ridiculous! We had to wait in line, and then we had to wait for our food!”

Manager: “Was it busy?”

Customer: “Well, yes, but—”

Manager: “And what was my employee doing while it was busy? Was she outside having a smoke?”

Customer: “Well, no, she was helping other people, and making food.”

Manager: “So, what are you complaining about, then?”

Customer: “Well, I had to wait!”

Manager: “And?”

Customer: “You need to hire more people!”

Manager: “Maybe. But we’d rather have ten good ones than twenty mediocre ones. Was your food good?”

Customer: “Yes, but—”

Manager: “So, you have nothing to complain about. The food was good, and you got good service; you just had to wait. This isn’t a fast food place. If you want fast food, there’s a burger place down the street. Next time, go there, so you won’t have to worry about waiting. Now quit wasting my time. I have work to do.”

(And then she hung up. I only wish I’d been there to see it.)

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