Hard No To Soft Pretzels

, , , , , , | Working | January 20, 2020

(The sandwich chain inside our local big box store installed a very large glass display case full of a dozen or so soft pretzels at one end of their counter. I am a sucker for soft pretzels, and I usually only have them as an occasional treat at the mall, so after a few weeks of walking past the display, I decide to try them out. I approach the only employee, a bored-looking young man.)

Sandwich Artist: “Can I help you?”

Me: “Yes, I’d like one of those soft pretzels, please?”

(The sandwich artist gives me an incredulous look, and then takes a couple of steps closer to the display case and points at the pretzels inside.)

Sandwich Artist: “Those… aren’t real. Those are plastic.”

(I walk closer and look in. They certainly are plastic.)

Me: “Oh, this is just a display? Do you have some real ones behind the counter, or…?”

Sandwich Artist: “We don’t have any pretzels.”

Me: “Sorry, do you mean that you’re out?”

Sandwich Artist: “We have never sold pretzels.”

(I looked at the display. I looked back at the sandwich artist. Baffled, I walked away. The display remains on the counter to this day, and I continue to wonder whether they truly have never sold an item they devoted a three-foot-tall glass display case to, or if he just didn’t want to serve me one.)

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Karen Sounding Like Scratching Plates

, , , | Right | January 20, 2020

(I am talking to a customer on the phone when I pause beside a register to read the ingredients on an item. Apparently, this means that I am opening the register, so two customers — a man and a woman — come over.)

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not on the register.”

Male Customer: “Then why are you standing here?”

Me: “I’m on the phone with another customer.” *gestures to the phone still in my hand* “You can check out at the registers with the lit numbers.”

Male Customer: “Oh. Sorry.”

Female Customer: “I’m not leaving.”

Me: *gives her a questioning look*

Female Customer: “You heard me. Do your job.”

Me: *points to the phone* “I am.”

(I turn away and leave her standing at the register. A few minutes later, my name is called over the loudspeaker with a request to go back to the same register. I do so and see a manager standing beside the woman, who looks quite pleased with herself.)

Manager: “[My Name], please ring out this woman.”

Female Customer: “If you don’t, I’ll call corporate and tell them what you did.”

Me: “[Manager], can I talk to you for a minute?”

Manager: “After you’re done with her, you can come to see me in the office.”

(The woman unloads her purchases as I sign on the register.)

Female Customer: “You deserve this. Aww. Poor little girl. Someone made you do your job.”

(There are two small ceramic plates, generally used under potted plants, with a piece of tissue paper between them.)

Me: “Do you want the paper between these plates?”

Female Customer: “If you had just done what I told you to do in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Me: “Ma’am, the paper?”

Female Customer: “No. You could have just checked me out and– What are you doing?!”

Me: “You said no.”

Female Customer: “You’re going to scratch them!”

Me: “I asked if you wanted the papers; you said no.”

Female Customer: “I did not! I’ll be sure you’re fired. You’ve been horrible this entire time.”

Me: “Your total is [total].”

Female Customer: “And now you’re trying to push me out the door!

Me: “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

Female Customer: “Your generation is so disrespectful!”

Me: “Cash or card, ma’am?”

Female Customer: *swipes her card* “Everywhere I go, terrible service!”

Me: *handing her the receipt* “Maybe it’s not the associates.”

(I walked away, once again leaving the women at the register. I did have a talk with my manager. She sided with the customer at first, saying I should have opened the register. When I told her what the woman said when I was checking her out, she changed her mind.)

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Pregnant With Rage

, , , , | Right | January 20, 2020

(I sold a guinea pig to these people earlier in the week, and the mom calls the store and begins ranting.)

Me: “Hello, can I help you?”

Mom: “Is your name [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes.”

Mom: “You sold a guinea pig to us last week, and this morning it had babies!”

Me: “Oh, wow, okay.”

Mom: “It’s my daughter’s birthday today and now we have to deal with these baby guinea pigs! You should have told us it was pregnant!”

Me: “I didn’t know it was pregnant.”

Mom: “Don’t you separate the males and females?!”

Me: “Yes, but we can’t control how they’re kept before we get them.”

Mom: “Well, I would think if you work in a pet store you should be able to tell if a guinea pig is pregnant!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m not a vet; I had no way of knowing that.”

Mom: “You’ve ruined my daughter’s birthday! I hope you’re happy!”

(She hung up.)

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More Than Forty-Nein States

, , , , , | Learning | January 20, 2020

A long time ago, a friend was an exchange student from Germany to the United States. On his first day in class, he was asked to show where he was from on a map… 

…of the USA… 

…by the teacher.

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Could Have Helped Her In A PIN-ch

, , , , | Right | January 20, 2020

(A nurse comes in to see one of our residents and she is signing in at the kiosk. She has a snotty air right from the get-go, which is fine, whatever. Then the fun starts.)

Nurse: “It won’t let me in. I’ll try it again…”

(The machine hasn’t even printed out a denied tag so I’m curious what she’s on about.)

Me: “Can I see?” *reaches out to turn the kiosk towards me*

Nurse: “No! I’m trying it again.” *taps angrily at the screen* “Ugh! I don’t know what my PIN is. I’m just going to go in.”

Me: “No, I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to. If you’ve forgotten your PIN, it can text it to you…”

Nurse: “I can’t get texts. HIPAA–” *a health insurance privacy law* “–won’t allow us to get texts.”

Me: “Okay, then is there a supervisor you could call to see if they have your PIN stored?”

Nurse: “She’s already working on it. They said I could just go in.”

Me: “Well, she’s probably working on getting your credentials to the system that runs our kiosk. Unfortunately, I can’t just let you go in, though, for security reasons.”

Nurse: “Well! Fine, then. I guess I just won’t see [Resident]!” *mutters angrily as she stomps off out the door*

(I could have helped her more, but I won’t help someone when they’re being such a b****. I don’t understand what she was on about HIPAA not letting her text. And she obviously doesn’t care about HIPAA anyway, yelling the resident’s name in a busy lobby with who knows who listening. Idiot.)

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