PTO: Plutonium Time Off

, , , , , , | Legal | December 5, 2018

(Part of my job is to be a go-fer for the office and the higher-ups — an errand girl, basically. One day, as I’m leaving to get something from the store, I see a couple of guys talking with three of our Loss Prevention and Facilities guys, all looking confused and somewhat alarmed. I don’t think much of it until I get back and see three cop cars in front of our loading dock investigating a truck. One of the LP guys points me out, and as I get out of my car, a cop comes jogging over.)

Cop: “Ma’am, you need to come with me.”

Me: “Wait, what? Why? What’s going on?”

Cop: “Ma’am, for your safety, you need to come with me.”

(I’m super confused but do what he says and walk over to the loading dock, where I realize one of the officers has a Geiger counter and is running it over everything in the truck.)

Me: “What’s going on?”

Coworker: “You know those guys I was talking to earlier?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Coworker: “Apparently someone from Turkey shipped a package to us to be picked up by those other guys, like we’re FedEx or something.”

Me: “But our building looks nothing like a post office.”

Coworker: “Exactly. And those two guys were from Turkey, too, and flew all the way out here to pick up their package with the intent of taking it back to Turkey. With those bombs being sent to some people lately, we figured better safe than sorry.”

Cop: “Ma’am, I need to you hold out your arms.”

(I do so, and it finally hits me as they’re running the Geiger counter over me.)

Me: “Wait, you think I was exposed to radiation?”

Coworker: “You were in the mailroom this morning, and they’re scanning everyone who was there.”

(Startlingly enough, my chest area measured as somewhat radioactive. It took the cops another ten minutes to realize it was my necklace, which had a reading of .001 from God knows what, and that I had not inhaled anything radioactive. I still don’t know what was in that package that someone in Turkey had to ship it to the USA to be picked up by a couple of guys and brought back to Turkey on their flight. I’m also amazed it wasn’t a fever dream.)

Totally Divorced From Reality

, , , | Legal Right | December 3, 2018

(Our office used to be a family practice with three separate lawyers. Because the father is soon to retire and our office is an older house, his children (two sons) have moved to their own offices. We now have a much smaller staff, and I’m one of three people who open the office before eight each day. Our clients understand the lawyer doesn’t come in until nine, so they tend not to call before that time. However, when I come in one morning, the phone is going off at 7:30. We are expected not to answer phones so we can get morning tasks done before we answer, so I wait until eight to answer the first call of the day.)

Me: “Good morning. [Law Office].”

Caller: “About time! I’ve called seven or eight times already!”

Me: “I apologize; we don’t open office until eight o’clock. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Until eight?! This is life or death, and you’re going to make me wait until eight? What if I had been dying?”

Me: “Then I would hope you’d call an ambulance or the police. How can I help you?”

Caller: “I don’t know if I want him helping me anymore, if that’s how y’all act. Maybe I need to be calling someone else.”

Me: “That is your prerogative, sir. I apologize we couldn’t help you when you liked, but no one is able to answer your calls before eight. Thank you and—”

Caller: “Wait! I want to talk to Mr. [Lawyer #1] about representing me! Don’t be hanging up on me yet. Any chance I can talk to him?”

Me: “Mr. [Lawyer #1] isn’t in until nine o’clock. Is this about [type of law]? If so, I can get you to our intake to get a name, number, and some information.”

Caller: “What? No. This is about family law. Isn’t that who I called?”

Me: “Ah, no, sir. That would be [Lawyer #1]’s son, [Lawyer #2], who moved out six months ago. The phone books are still catching up in changing his information online. I can give you his new phone number.” *relays number to him* “Thank you, sir, and have a nice day.”

(A minute later:)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Law Office].”

Caller: “Yeah, I got a divorce case and—”

Me: “Sir, I believe you called earlier. I gave you [Lawyer #2]’s number, correct?”

Caller: “D***, this ain’t his number?? What’s his number again?”

Me: “The only number that [Lawyer #2] has is [number]. If you’re unable to reach [Lawyer #2] at his number, it may be that his receptionist wasn’t able to reach the phone. Try again.”

(The caller hangs up and a few minutes later:)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Law Office].”

Caller: “D*** it!” *hangs up*

(I guess he didn’t believe me when I told him that was the only number that lawyer had. Aside from that, I’m not sure how a divorce is a matter of life or death.)

Marking Down Items Takes Just A Sharpie

, , , , , | Right | December 2, 2018

(I am working part time at a temporary holiday store. This is only my second week there; it’s a Saturday near closing time. We have several small light-up figures around the cash wrap, basically impulse buys. We also have a specific method of marking down clearance or damaged items. I’m running the register, and we aren’t very busy, when this woman comes to check out with her son. As I’m ringing up her other purchases, she starts fiddling with the figures in front of my register where I can’t see.)

Customer: “And I want this, too.”

(She waves the figure at me, and I take it and scan it.)

Customer: “How much is that?”

Me: “$3.99, ma’am.”

Customer: “But it’s marked a dollar.”

(I turn over the tag and in RED ink, the original price is scratched out and “$1.00” is written above it. We have a manual tag printer for markdowns, and even when that device isn’t working, we never use red ink; furthermore, we have color-coded stickers that differentiate between clearance or damage pricing.)

Me: “I’m not sure, ma’am. I can check with my manager. Maybe it’s damaged.” *flicks the switch a couple times and it doesn’t turn on* “See? The light isn’t working.”

(She ignores me and proceeds to dig through the other display of figures.)

Customer: “Is this one a dollar, too? How about this one? What about these over here?”

Me: “I’m not sure, ma’am. They should be priced as marked.”

(She lays a pile of figures at my register just as my manager walks up.)

Customer: *points at me* “She said these are all a dollar! I want them all for a dollar!”

(My manager knows I wouldn’t say anything like that, and starts to explain that she cannot sell them for a dollar a piece. At this point, some other customers are looking on and shaking their heads at this woman. This woman’s son, aged about eleven, is trying to ignore everything, looking off in the distance.)

Customer: “Well, then, your employee lied to me. You should fire her and sell these to me for a dollar!”

Manager: “Ma’am, I need you to calm down. The only one I can sell you for a dollar is the one that is marked for a dollar. And I am making an exception for you, since it’s not even properly marked down. It is against policy to scratch out prices, and none of my employees would handle markdowns this way. You can either take this one figure for a dollar, or you can leave.”

Customer: *grumbles* “Fine. But she’s still a liar.”

(My manager does the price override, I finish the transaction, and the customer leaves.)

Next Customer: “The nerve of some people…”

Manager: “That’s what it’s like to work in retail.”

Divorced From Reality, Part 3

, , , , , | Working | November 30, 2018

(I have just been hired on at a large medical office where my husband works as the IT manager. A few of the coworkers know me already, but none in the new area I will be working at. I have come in to sign paperwork and am being introduced to the coworkers in my area when my husband comes in to check on a computer.)

Me: “Hey, sexy man.”

(I go back to talking to my new manager, who knows we are married. One of my new coworkers suddenly becomes unfriendly after he leaves. She makes a point to tell me:)

Coworker: “You should know, he and I are dating. I don’t appreciate you flirting with him.”

(I don’t mean to, but I start laughing hard, and my manager joins in. She and I explain to her that he’s my husband, and has been for over ten years. She gets red in the face and hurriedly goes back to work. When I tell my husband about what she said that evening, he replies:)

Husband: “I don’t know what she was thinking; she’s seen your pictures on my desk. But don’t worry, babe; I would never cheat on you with someone that stupid.”

Coffee Drinkers Are All Talk And Somebody Else’s Trousers

, , , , | Right | November 27, 2018

(I’m a barista at a very popular coffee chain. Even though we call out drinks with their full description AND customer name, AND the drinks are labeled, people still frequently just grab drinks that are not theirs, only to complain later that we’ve given them the wrong drink. This particular day is very busy and full of customers like that, so after my shift I call my cousin to vent about my day.)

Me: *explains drink problem* “I just do not understand! How do you just walk up, grab a random drink, and assume it’s yours, when it’s clearly not? How do these people even get their pants on in the morning?!”

Cousin: “Apparently they put on someone else’s pants in the morning.”

(She left me near tears with that one; I couldn’t stop laughing.)

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