The Number One Problem Here Is The Manager

, , , , | Working | June 21, 2017

(We’ve had a little accident with a five-year-old who has wet himself. He’s crying quite a bit as his mum tries to sort him out. We have a cleaner sorting out the mess. After he is tended to, he and his mum come out and see our manager glaring at them. He speaks to the boy first.)

Manager: “You should be ASHAMED OF YOURSELF! HAVE YOU NO SELF CONTROL, YOU ANIMAL?!”

Mother: “Excuse me; that’s my son. He’s only five!”

Manager: “AND HAVE YOU ANY PRIDE, WOMAN?! BRINGING AN UNDISCIPLINED MAGGOT INTO MY SHOP, PISSING EVERYWHERE. GET OUT NOW, BEFORE I HAVE BOTH OF YOU ARRESTED!”

(The mother looks horrified as she rushes her son out of the store, while our manager follows her out, screaming louder with every sentence. After they leave, he addresses us.)

Manager: “That is how you handle white trash. The lowest most despicable vermin of our society. In future, if you ever see people like that again, you have my permission to drag them out.”

(I’m too petrified to speak, but am eyeing the door and considering just leaving and never coming back. The feeling seems to be hanging on everyone’s head, but a head supervisor is the first to speak.)

Supervisor: “I may as well pack my bags now, then.”

Manager: “What? But you’re my best!”

Supervisor: “I also have a maggot who also wets himself. Yes, I said it. WETS HIMSELF! I hope your mother wasn’t too harsh on you to think it is all right to scream at a five-year-old for an accident. I’m off!”

(This is what broke the silence and we all voiced our disapproval before leaving. The manager sputtered out an attempt at back-pedaling, but it fell on deaf ears. He had to call HR and explain why he needed replacement staff, and according to the other management, got a stern talking to from his manager, who just so happened to have a son around the same age as the boy.)

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Going To College And Having A Gay Old Time

, , , , , | Hopeless | June 20, 2017

Customer: “Can you help me, please?”

Me: “Of course. What do you need?”

Customer: “My son is gay and he needs more acceptable attire for an interview at his university. He is wearing what HE wants to go in, and well…”

(She motions to a very embarrassed boy a few metres away from us. He is quite well presented and I can’t see a problem.)

Me: “It looks fine to me. Very respectable.”

(The mother looks at me like I’ve spat at her.)

Customer: “HE LOOKS GAY!”

Me: “I don’t see it. Maybe it’s because you know he’s gay already?”

Customer: “You’re no help at all!”

Me: “Look, I can go around with him and see if there’s anything else he likes, and work around that. But seriously, I can’t see why a university would have a problem with him.”

Customer: *exasperated* “Fine, fine. Just do whatever you can. My son needs to look straight. Universities don’t accept [slurs].”

(She leaves the store altogether. I walk up to the son.)

Me: “Do you have a problem with what you’re wearing?”

Son: “Not really…”

(I finished ten minutes later and offered to get him something to eat. We actually spent most of the day talking about life and school. He seemed a lot more comfortable without his mother there. We exchanged numbers in case he needed help, and I promised to introduce him to my brother, who’s also gay, in case there’s anything he’s not comfortable talking about with me. He got accepted at university, much to his mother’s astonishment.)

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When Homework Doesn’t Work

, , , | Learning | June 20, 2017

(Our teacher has a rule that any work we don’t complete in the lesson is to be completed as homework. However, as she doesn’t care much for homework either, she usually gives up 10 minutes at the start of a lesson to catch up.)

Friend: *huffs* “I hate homework!”

Teacher: “I do, too…”

Friend: “Why do you force it on us, then?”

Teacher: “[Friend], I’ve taught you for three years. My policy has always been the same. If you have homework, it’s your fault.”

Friend: “It’s a stupid policy. Why can’t you just not give us homework?”

Teacher: “Because then you would never get your work done.”

Friend: “What do you mean?”

Teacher: *sighs* “Every time you have homework, it is because you didn’t finish your work off in the lesson.”

Friend: “Wait, what?”

Teacher: “Why do you think [My Name] and [Other Friend] have never had homework?”

(Friend looked at all of us as though this was a shocking revelation. Three years! It took him three years to clock on!)

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A Signature Death

, , , , | Learning | June 20, 2017

(We are going on a trip in the new couple of weeks, so consent forms have been sent out to our parents for us to return to the school reception.)

Me: *handing form over* “Here you go. Year nine, [Group].”

Receptionist: *taking it* “This is a consent form.”

Me: “Yes. Year nine, [Group].”

Receptionist: “It needs to be completed by your parents and returned to us.”

Me: “I know. They’ve signed it.”

Receptionist: “They need to complete it in case something happens.”

Me: “I know.”

Receptionist: “Like you die.”

Me: “…”

(She hands the form back to me and wanders off. I turn to the other receptionist.)

Me: “Can you?”

Other Receptionist: “Sure… I don’t know about you, but that was really weird.”

Me: “Don’t worry, though. I’ll try not to die at the library.”

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New Job, Old Friends

, , , , | Hopeless | June 19, 2017

(When I worked in retail, I used to get the same bus home from work each day. A group of elderly women used to be on there at the same time, and I used to talk to them. After three years of retail work, I got an office job full time and gave my notice to the store I worked for. I mentioned to the ladies on the bus that I would be finishing that Friday. Friday comes, and I am pretty emotional after spending the day saying goodbye to people. I get on the bus… and find a card a wrapped present in my usual seat.)

Lady #1: “You’ve been so kind to us over the last few years. We thought the least we could do is give you a little something when you’re starting afresh.”

Me: “I don’t know what to say. Thank you; that’s so generous.”

Lady #2: “I’ll tell you what you can say. Promise never to work in retail again!”

Me: *laughing* “Deal.”

(The present was a coffee mug with the first letter of my name on it, and box of chocolates. They had gotten two of the regular drivers to write in the card as well. I hugged them all before I left the bus, and still keep in contact with all three women. That mug still has pride of place on my desk. Thank you, ladies.)

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