Unfiltered Story #120954

| Unfiltered | September 15, 2018

I was waiting at the doctors surgery and a man walked up to reception.
Man: I need prescription. (gives name and DOB)
Receptionist: I don’t have any prescriptions waiting for you.
Man: I was told to come here for prescription.
Receptionist: Sorry, who told you to come here?
Man: Hospital. I see hospital yesterday, they tell me to come here for prescription.
Receptionist: Did they say they would write to us?
Man: Yes. I need prescription.
Receptionist: It takes a couple of days for a letter to arrive from the hospital, maybe up to a week.  Can you call later in the week to check?
Man: (storming out the door) THIS RIDICULOUS! RIDICULOUS! I NEED PRESCRIPTION!

How Do You Say “Burn” In Polish?

, , , , , , , | Friendly | September 14, 2018

(In London, if you’re pregnant you can apply for a pin-on badge that says, “Baby on board,” so that people can offer you their seat on public transport — if they want to — without having to having to guess if someone is pregnant or just shapely. I am about seven months pregnant and have a badge, but I’m only going to be on board about ten minutes. I get on, and it’s packed, but I can stand. It’s no big deal, as I’m off the train at the next stop. A few seconds later, a Polish teenager offers me a seat. I decline, but thank him and let him know that I’m off on the next stop, anyway. I turn away and get my water out of my bag only to hear a middle-aged man in a suit start to rant. He is seated further down the carriage.)

Middle-Aged Man: “Those f****** immigrants. No manners. He’s just sitting there. Not even offering that pregnant lady his seat. He should be ashamed.” *gestures to the Polish man*

(We all ignore him, and I shoot the young guy who offered me a seat an apologetic smile. Suddenly, a little old lady further down the carriage marches up and hits the ranting man’s shin with her umbrella.)

Old Lady: “I heard that young man offer her his seat! You can bloody talk! You’re in priority seating. You’re the one that’s meant to move for the less-abled. It says it right above your head. He might be Polish, but you can’t even read English!”

(The man in a suit went bright red and got off the train at the next stop. He disembarked so quickly that he almost knocked over several other passengers.)

The Best Comeback Since Sliced Bread

, , , , , | Right | September 14, 2018

(I work in the in-store bakery of a major supermarket in the UK. One of the things we do is slice our fresh-baked loaves for customers. Unfortunately, our bread slicer broke a few days ago and we are waiting for a replacement part, so we can’t use it. A customer comes to the service door. She looks to be in her late thirties, while I am nineteen.)

Customer: *thrusting bread in my direction* “Excuse me, can you slice this for me?”

Me: *walking over to her* “I’m terribly sorry, but our slicer is broken. We’ve been unable to slice bread since Wednesday afternoon.”

(The customer leans to the side.)

Customer: “I can see the slicer right there. Slice it for me.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I know the slicer is there but, as I said, it’s broken. It cannot be used.”

Customer: *huffing* “You people are all the same; your generation is so lazy! All I’m asking you to do is slice this loaf. That’s not so hard.”

Me: “Again, I would love to slice it for you, but I can’t. The bread slicer is out of order. We’re waiting for a part that needs to be ordered directly from the manufacturer.”

Customer: “Look, let me make this simple: you either slice this bread instead of being so lazy, or I get your manager.”

Me: “Our manager knows the slicer is broken. He was the one who had to authorise us ordering the part. You can speak to him if you like, but he’ll tell you the same thing.”

Customer: “Well, this is disgusting! All I want is to get some bread sliced and you’re refusing.”

Me: “I’m not refusing; I just can’t slice bread on a machine that is broken.”

Customer: “There you go with those lazy excuses. You know in the time you’ve made all your lies you could have sliced this bread!”

Me: “Madam, I really don’t know what to tell you. The machine is broken; it needs a specific part replaced and it’s going to take time to get here. In the meantime, we can’t use the machine. If I could slice your bread, I would. But I can’t.”

Customer: “Well, get a bloody knife and cut it for me!”

Me: “I’m sorry, that’s not something I can do.”

Customer: *smiling triumphantly* “See, your machine isn’t really broken! If it was, you’d have said yes.”

Me: “Not really. We don’t have any knives suitable to slice bread in here. Plus, if you’re going to cut it with a knife, you’d be better off doing it at home.”

Customer: “Fine. Let’s see what your manager has to say about this. I hope you enjoy being unemployed!”

(The customer leaves. My manager does not come over. I decide to make up a few temporary paper signs to put around the bakery aisle to inform customers of our technical difficulties. We didn’t before because all our other customers understood, even if they were a little disappointed. After I put the sign up, I notice the woman is skulking about in the bakery aisle. I wonder what she is up to, so as I put up the signs, I keep an eye on her. Then, an elderly couple, probably in their seventies or older, picks out one of our baked-in-store loaves, and the woman practically jumps on them.)

Customer: “You know they refuse to cut these now? Their staff can’t be bothered. They’re hiring all these young, uneducated people who are too lazy to cut it for us! I tell you, this generation is so lazy!”

(The couple stare at her and then me.)

Elderly Woman: “Oh.” *points to signs I just put up* “Their slicer is broken, deary. I guess you’ll have to make do like my generation did without the luxury of electric slicers and cut it yourself at home with a bread knife instead of being lazy and relying on somebody else to do it for you.”

(The customer was speechless. She turned bright red and left without a word. It made my day.)

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Roasting You Over The Roasting Tin

, , , , , | Related | September 13, 2018

(I’m a female in my late twenties living with my mother due to the fact neither of us can afford living alone. The rule is that one person cooks, the other does the dishes. Mum is locked in the mind-set that I am a child and thus cannot cook, so she always cooks, and I do the dishes. I have washed up all the pans and dishes from our dinner/tea/evening meal, bar the roasting tin, as Mum siphons off the fat — another thing I’m not allowed to do because she is locked in the mind-set that I am a child — and usually does it the morning after, so I empty the sink of the water. This has never been an issue before until this moment.)

Mum: *really angry* “Why did you let the water out?!”

Me: “Er, cause the washing up was done?”

Mum: “The roasting tin isn’t, though!”

Me: “Yeah, but you do the fat part first thing in the morning, so I let it out.”

Mum: “I’m going to do it now! And now I have to use more water!”

(We’re not on a meter, so it doesn’t affect our bills, and we’ve never ever been on a water meter.)

Me: “Sorry.”

Mum: “Next time, leave it in!”

(From then on, I leave the water in whenever we’re using the roasting tin. This goes on for months. Then, one evening, this happens:)

Mum: *really angry* “WHY DID YOU LEAVE THE WATER IN?!”

Me: “What? But you told me to!”

Mum: “Why would I say that?!”

Me: “For the roasting tin!”

(There is a pause.)

Mum: “Empty the sink of water in the future!”

Me: “…”

(I am looking for another place to live.)

Shot Himself In The Foot

, , , | Right | September 13, 2018

(I work for one of the major energy suppliers in the UK in the department that deals with accounts where payment has not been made for at least 18 months. We administer the accounts and try and contact the customer to resolve the issue while the warrant team begins preparations for a warrant to enter the customer’s home to have a prepayment meter installed. Obviously, we try very hard to ensure it doesn’t get that far. As you can imagine, we get many calls from customers who are furious to get a letter advising them of court action. Once, I get a call from a guy who has received a letter advising him that our agents are coming to his property in two days with said warrant.)

Me: “Hi, you’re through to [Company], [Department]. My name is [My Name]. Can you confirm your name, the first line of your address, and your date of birth for security?”

(The guy on the phone does as I ask calmly, confirming all his details, and I pull up his account.)

Me: “Okay, how may I help you today? Are you calling to make a payment?”

Customer: “No, I’m f****** well not. I’m calling to let you know that if you send your bailiffs round, I’ll shoot them. I’ve got a gun; I’ve shot bailiffs before!”

(We don’t use bailiffs; we do not remove property. We are just there to fit the meter because we have a duty to prevent the debt getting out of hand, and it is a last resort. This customer has never answered a single call or letter in the past two years, and has never made a single payment, either.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we take gun threats very seriously. I am going to have to call the team and advise them to request a police escort when coming to your property, which will incur an additional charge.”

Customer: “Send whoever the f*** you want. I’ll shoot the police. I’ll shoot your guys. I have tonnes of guns. I’ve shot and killed people before!”

Me: “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but I am obligated to report this threat.”

Customer: “Do whatever the f*** you want. I’m not paying this bill. Why should I? If anyone gets near my house I’ll f****** shoot their f****** heads off!” *hangs up*

(It is company policy to report any threats of guns, violence against our field agents, or bombs, even if we suspect the customer doesn’t mean what they say or are clearly joking. I filled out the appropriate form, and then contacted my manager who listened to the call and then contacted the police, per protocol. A few days later a huge complaint was called in from this customer, furious that we had the gall to call the police on him. They went to his house, knocked down his door, and searched his house for weapons, and while the police were doing this our warrant guys fitted his meter. Luckily, I was on a break when he called, but my manager informed me that she told him that it was policy to do that and that perhaps next time he’d think twice before threatening people who have his name and address! Moral of the story: don’t mention guns, and especially never say you’re going to shoot the police; they will not take it lightly.)


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