Can’t Demolish The Business Model

, , , , | Right | August 19, 2019

(I have a demolition business, and I get the following call.)

Me: “Hello, this is [Business].”

Customer: “I see you do demolition and I was wondering how it worked.”

Me: “What do you have that needs to be demolished?”

Customer: “A mobile home.”

Me: “Well, we come out and take a look at it, and then let you know how much it would be to do the work and haul off the debris. If you want to proceed with the work, then we would do it.”

Customer: “What, you mean I would have to pay you to get rid of it for me?”

Me: “Yes, that is our business. We do the work for money.”

Customer: “Well, I’m not going to pay to get it done when I can just give it to someone and they can tear it down for free.”

Me: “We are a business that gets paid for our services, but good luck with your project and thanks for calling.”

Customer: “Yeah, not going to pay you to do it, so thanks for nothing.” *click*

(Just wondering why he was calling a professional business in the first place when he had no intention of paying.)

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The Earth Will Be Saved By This Generation

, , , , , | Related | August 18, 2019

When I was about three, my aunt and her then-boyfriend had just started dating. He was a notorious litterer and was always dropping garbage everywhere. My aunt would get onto him about it, but he wouldn’t stop.

One day, they took me to a local aquarium which I went to a lot, to give my parents a break.

This aquarium had what we called the Trash Tank in the lobby — basically a bunch of tires, plastic, and assorted garbage in an empty tank that simulated a river to tell people not to throw trash in the local river.

For some reason, tiny me was obsessed with this tank, and I would always spend as long as I could, playing I Spy, looking for weird things, etc.

When we passed the tank, I ran to it and began pointing out things in it and talking about not “being a litterbug” and always throwing your trash away. My aunt’s boyfriend was looking around awkwardly.

My aunt later told me that my now-uncle suddenly stopped littering after that day. I wonder why…

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The Age(d) Of Class

, , , , , , | Friendly | August 14, 2019

(I’m squatted down looking at some books on a completely empty aisle at a particular store that has nothing over $1. It’s important to note that there is a box of stock next to the adjacent shelves so between the box and myself, we’re blocking the aisle should anyone try to go through. After a few minutes, I see someone out of the corner of my eye, but they’re about ten feet away so I assume they’re looking at the books, as well. After about two minutes, the following takes place:)

Old Woman: “You’re rude.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Old Woman: “You’re rude! I’m trying to get by and you’re blocking the aisle!”

Me: *way more polite than I should be* “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. If I had seen you trying to get by, I would have moved.”

Old Woman: “Bulls***!”

(I’m a little confused at this point because I’ve been nothing but polite to her.)

Me: “Believe what you want, but I would have moved if I saw you trying to get by.”

Old Woman: “You need to treat me with respect! I’m old enough to be your grandmother! You’re supposed to be respectful to your elders.”

Me: “And you need to show a little class.”

(I’m pretty sure she missed my last comment because, by that point, I had moved out of her way and she was looking at some toys, mumbling about how she thought children would like them. I chalked it up to a case of COLS — Crazy Old Lady Syndrome.)

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Working With This Guy Is Just A Scream

, , , , , | Working | August 13, 2019

(I am a waitress at a restaurant chain. We have a new general manager who, according to my coworkers, is very unpleasant to work with. He screams at them over slight mistakes, but luckily, all my normal shifts since he started working there have been under the much nicer shift manager. One day, my luck runs out, and I get the mean general manager. This happens while I’m waiting on a 75-year-old lady during that shift.)

Me: “How is everything today, ma’am?”

Elderly Lady: “It’s absolutely delicious, thank you.”

(Just then the general manager storms toward me.)

General Manager: “What the f*** are you doing?! Why aren’t you waiting on the other tables?! You’re so f****** useless!”

Me: “But I—“

General Manager: “Shut it! You go over and serve those customers right now, and then come straight to my office!”

(The general manager storms away. I’m close to tears at this point. The lady is visibly angry.)

Elderly Lady: “Sir! SIR!”

General Manager: *turning around* “WHAT?!”

Elderly Lady: “You’re the manager here, right?”

General Manager: “Yes.”

Elderly Lady: “Just what do you think gives you the right to scream at her, young man? She’s done nothing wrong!”

General Manager: “Because I’m her boss, that’s why! You can’t tell me what to do!”

(The lady ignores him and gives me a $10 bill.)

Elderly Lady: “For you. Don’t let what he says get to you. You’ve been doing a very good job.”

General Manager: That’s it!

(Without warning, he stomps over to the table, snatches the $10 from my hand, and stuffs it into his shirt pocket.)

General Manager: *screaming in my face* “YOU’RE FIRED!”

(I break down crying. The whole restaurant is now staring at us. The lady, who by now has had enough, stands up and gets up close to the general manager.)

Elderly Lady: “Now, listen here, young man. This poor girl has been nothing but nice and sweet this whole time. She’s been doing her job very well. You, on the other hand, have been nothing but rude and unprofessional. All you have done is scream and yell at her for no particular reason, and now you’re firing her and taking the tip I gave her? Shame on you! Shame, shame, shame on you!”

(The lady went to the register, paid her bill, and left without so much as saying a word. Several other patrons got up and walked out after her, some of them doing so without paying. That night, I got a telephone call from the district manager profusely apologizing for the general manager’s actions and telling me that my firing had been overturned, and that I could resume my normal schedule the next day. He paid the restaurant a visit that day, and I arrived just in time to see him in the office, going practically nuclear on the now ex-general manager for his behavior. The shift manager was promoted into the newly-vacated general manager position. And I got my $10 back.)

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You Bruise, You Lose

, , , , | Right | August 6, 2019

(At about 7:00 one night, a well-dressed woman in her thirties approaches me.)

Customer: “I need to speak to your manager.”

Me: “I’m the manager on duty; how can I help you?”

Customer: “I was in an accident outside your store last night, and I needed to know if you have any video cameras of the parking lot. I also need to know who owns the parking lot and how to reach them.”

Me: “Unfortunately, we don’t have any cameras for outside our store, but it’s possible that the property manager does. Let me contact my boss and see if we can find out who you need to contact.”

(I send a text to my boss about how a customer was in an accident and needs to contact the owner of the parking lot, but he doesn’t answer. I peruse the office for any phone numbers for the property manager, but I can’t find anything. After a few more minutes, I go back to the customer.)

Me: “Well, we have a couple of different options. I’m still waiting for my boss to get back to me, so if you’re willing to wait around, we can see if he has an answer. There’s also another manager who will be in tomorrow morning at 6:00 am. He has a bit more experience than I do, so he probably knows where to look to find the property manager’s number. If you don’t want to wait around any longer, you could call him in the morning.”

Customer: “Oh, okay. I think I’ll call in the morning. You see, the lights in the parking lot weren’t on last night, so I couldn’t see where I was going. I hit my leg against the curb while walking toward your store, and now I have a bruise. I just wanted to make sure that whoever is responsible will pay for my medical expenses.”

Me: “…”

(My boss finally called me after the lady left, frantic, until I explained that the lady had tripped on the curb and wanted someone to pay her medical bills. The weirdest part: even if the parking lot lights had somehow malfunctioned that one night, our doors and vestibule are made of glass. The lights from inside the store would have lit up our curb clearly. We never got a call in the morning, and we never heard from her again.)

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