Not About To Have An Opening

, , , | Right | October 17, 2017

(Our building used to be located opposite the town library, but separated by a busy two-lane road. We have just moved to a new purpose-built building on the other side of town, when I get a call.)

Me: “Good morning! This is [College]. How can I help?”

Caller: “Yeah, get me the number for the library!”

Me: “Sure, I’ll just put you through to the campus library.”

Caller:No! I don’t want no crappy campus library! I mean the real library opposite you. I want you to go look at the opening times.”

Me: *speechless* “You want me to walk to the other side of town to the main library just to get their opening times?”

Caller: “I don’t see how it’s hard; just look out your window!”

Me: “We have moved buildings to the other side of town, so even if I wanted to, I couldn’t do that. You can either call them or go online to find out that information.”

Caller: “WHAT F****** GOOD ARE YOU?!” *hangs up*

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Sliding Around That One

, , | Working | October 17, 2017

(I work for an airline and we have just landed into a major UK airport at a very busy time. We are currently waiting on a member of ground staff to attach the air-bridge so our passengers can disembark. We have been waiting on the ground for approximately five minutes.)

Passenger: *a man who was perfectly civil and seemed relatively smart during the flight* “Can you not just use the emergency slide?”

Purser: *after realising that they are not joking* “No, sir.”

Passenger: “Why an earth not?”

Purser: “One: it’s not an emergency. Two: it’s unbelievably dangerous to anyone around on the ground. Three: it costs around £60,000. Four: it renders the aircraft unserviceable and means the next flight must be cancelled. And five: it wouldn’t get you anywhere except underneath the plane instead of on it.”

(The air-bridge was attached about two minutes later and we heard no more about the slide from anyone!)

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Trying To Fulfill Your Delivery Period

, , , , , , | Working | October 17, 2017

(I work as a delivery driver for a well-known supermarket. I’m 25 and male but quite familiar with the concept of a woman’s period and tampons. I’m training a new driver, and our current customer appears to have placed an “emergency order,” since their shopping only contains a box of tampons, some tea bags, and some chocolate. I look to my trainee and say:)

Me: “Okay, this next customer has a small order, but my advice is be patient. If she doesn’t answer the door right away, give it a few. She probably won’t want to be wound up.”

Trainee: “Why, is she a b****? Have you delivered before?”

Me: “Umm, no. Just look at the receipt, mate; it’s quite obvious what’s going on here.”

(The trainee looks at the receipt long and hard, but it doesn’t appear to sink in. Eventually I take pity on him.)

Me: “She might be on her period; she’s bought tampons, chocolate, and tea.”

Trainee:What!? I ain’t going near that! It’s disgusting!”

(He refused to even leave the van to make the delivery and generally acted like I might have caught some kind of taint just by being around a woman who may or may not have been on her period.)

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The Power Of A Potato

, , , , , , | Hopeless | October 16, 2017

I’m sharing this, not to show off about how generous I am, but how broken the system is, and how easily well-meaning people can fall through the cracks. This is a message to encourage people to keep an eye out and try to be helpful where you can.

Recently, my wife was admitted to a National Health Service hospital with pneumonia. She’s also eight months pregnant, so it’s all a bit stressful, and we’re hoping the baby hasn’t been affected in any way by the pneumonia, or by its treatment. I visit her after work to take her a few items from home and to speak to her doctor. She’s going to be in for a few days, at least. We also discuss whether she should transfer to a private hospital, as we have private medical insurance.

By the time we decide on what’s happening, it’s nearly 9:00 pm, and I’ve not eaten since midday. My wife sends me down to the cafeteria to get some dinner before they close. In the line behind me is a boy of no more than 11, wearing the uniform of a local primary school, who is doing the same thing. He chooses a cheap sandwich, and looks enviously at my jacket potato with chicken curry. I pay, and move to sit down, but hear behind me that the card the boy is trying to pay with has been declined. It’s at this point I notice there’s only one other table occupied in the cafeteria, by a group of off-duty nurses. This kid is on his own.

He reaches into his pocket to look for change. He has about fifteen pence. By the time he goes to find his parents and comes back, the cafeteria will be shut. Of course, I offer to pay. The poor kid is crying, trying to refuse. The lady running the cafeteria only cares about closing up. I ask if there’s any chance of a cheap jacket potato for the lad, as they’re only going to be thrown out anyway.

“The prices are up there,” she says, pointing at the menu board.

“Fine,” I say to the lady. I turn to the boy and ask, “Chicken curry, or beans and cheese?”

“Beans and cheese, I guess,” he mumbles, tears clearing.

Of course, he’s wary of strangers, as he should be, but I ask him to sit with me. I guess I’m feeling helpless, not being able to do anything for my wife and unborn child, so I’m trying to help in any way I can. After a few bites of potato and a gulp of soda, he tells me that his mum is in the hospital for a second night in a row. None of the family that were supposed to help look after him have turned up, so he’ll be sleeping in the chair by her bed again, and going to school in a dirty uniform again. And of course, he’s worried sick about his mum. This is ridiculous.

I go back with the boy to the ward his mother is on. She is worried, as she just sent him down to grab a sandwich, and he’s been gone about half an hour. I explain what happened, and she tries to pay me back, almost ripping her IV cannula out as she stretches around looking for her purse.

“No need, no need, please!” I protest. She eventually relents, and looks drained from the effort. I have no idea what’s wrong with her, and don’t want to ask. Given the ward she’s on, I doubt it’s life-threatening, but it doesn’t look like fun, in any case. I convince her to make social services aware of her son’s predicament, and ask the ward sister why they hadn’t done so already. They blame shift changes, foreign and new staff not knowing procedures etc.

Eventually, they contact the out-of-hours social services, who promise to send someone home with the boy to get a clean uniform, and to chase up the family for somewhere for him to stay. I tried calling to find out what happened, but of course they couldn’t discuss it with me. I hope it all worked out okay for them.

And in case you’re interested, yes, my wife and baby were fine. A beautiful girl, induced a few days later, and a few weeks early, but absolutely perfect.

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Will Make You Want A Drink In The End

, , , , , , | Working | October 16, 2017

Me: “Hello. Could I have a [chicken burger] please? Just the burger.”

Cashier: “Would you like cheese?”

Me: “No, thanks. Just the plain burger.”

Cashier: “What drink would you like?”

Me: “No drink. Just the burger.”

Cashier: “You choose the drink from the machine there.”

Me: “I just want the burger.”

Cashier: “So, you want a bottle?”

Me: “No. Just the burger.”

Cashier: “Okay. That’s £6.30 please.”

Me: “The board says it’s £4.50.”

Cashier: “That’s for the burger on its own.”

Me: “That’s what I want. Just the burger.”

Cashier: “Just the burger?”

Me: “Yes.”

Cashier: “Do you want chips?”

Me: “No. Just the burger.”

Cashier: “Do you want a drink?”

Me: “Just the burger.”

Cashier: “Just the burger?”

Me: “Just the burger.”

Cashier: “That’s £4.50, then.”

Me: “Thank you very much.”

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