Idiots Have Reached Their Pee Total

, , , , | Right | October 18, 2018

(Whenever the women’s or men’s restrooms are being cleaned, a sign is put up directing them to the family restroom, which is only one stall. Normally, people are smart enough to use the family one or wait their turn; however, we get a few idiots. I am on my lunch and have taken off my employee lanyard to go the bathroom. When I come out, I see a woman trying to get into the women’s bathroom.)

Me: “Ma’am, you can’t go in there. It’s being cleaned.”

Customer: “How was I supposed to know?”

Me: “Well, his cleaning cart and garbage can are parked right in front of the door, blocking your way, and there is a sign saying to please use the family one, as this one is being cleaned.”

Customer: “But you were in there!”

Me: “Yes, but you could’ve waited. Instead, I see that you squeezed between the garbage can and his cart and since the floor is wet in there, you could have slipped and fallen. Also, if you would’ve gotten hurt, it would have been entirely your fault since he has properly placed signage stating this restroom is closed.”

Customer: “But I had to pee!”

Passing Out From The Incompetence

, , , , , | Healthy | October 18, 2018

(I have a sleep disorder. This disability is mitigated by my service dog, a Labrador. I am taken to a store for some items I need. This is generally not an issue. My service dog goes with me, because it isn’t safe to leave her home. Unfortunately, I begin to have issues. My dog alerts me, so I quickly stop what I am doing to find a worker.)

Me: “Listen. I have exactly one minute before I pass out. Please do not call the EMTs. I will be fine.”

(My service dog is whining and pawing at me, basically getting in my way, and trying to get me on the floor before I pass out — basically, what she’s trained to do.)

Employee: “Yeah, whatever.”

(I knew this was a bad sign, but I didn’t exactly have the time to find someone else. I sat on the floor nearby and promptly passed out. I woke up being loaded into an ambulance while animal control was taking my service dog into a cage. My dog was understandably freaking out, trying to come to me, because they were disrupting her work. I have a medical alert bracelet that says NOT to separate my dog from me on my wrist. I was still a bit out of it from passing out. I did the only thing I could think to do: scream at the top of my lungs. Everyone stopped to look at me. It took ten minutes to convince the EMTs to let me go, and longer to get animal control to give my dog back to me. This was all because an employee didn’t listen. Apparently, they had panicked when they saw me on the floor. They ran over, which prompted my dog to gently nudge her away from me — not aggressively, just a gentle push. She is a larger dog, though. The employee called 911, saying that my dog had attacked me and tried to hurt them. Mind you, my service dog was in full dress: a harness that says, “service dog.” on both sides, a collar that also says, “service dog,” on it, a tag stating that she is for medical alerts, AND a leash that says, “Service Dog. Do Not Pet.” I realize that retail isn’t a fun time, but that whole incident could easily have been avoided. I did inform their manager, but they still work there, so I don’t know what all happened. They glare at me every time they see me, though.)

Send, Wait, Ask, Repeat

, , , , | Right | October 18, 2018

Me: “Okay, so I just sent you out an email. There are a few steps within that email we need to complete now. Let me know when you receive it, so I can walk you through the steps.”

Caller: “Okay, I’m waiting for it now.”

(A few minutes will pass without hearing anything.)

Me: “Have you received the email yet?”

Caller: “Oh! I was supposed to open that now? Let me log into my email.”

Pop Goes Their Chance Of Getting One

, , , , , | Friendly | October 18, 2018

(My friend invites me to a sports day held by his work, mainly because I have a car so I can drive him up. As it is the middle of summer, I pack a small cooler with some drinks for us, and I throw in a package of “freezie pops,” as well. We meet up with some other friends who also work there, and we are sharing the freezie pops between us when a woman walks up, followed by two kids.)

Woman: “Where did you get those?” *pointing at the freezie pops*

Me: “Oh, we actually brought them ourselves, since we figured it would be so hot. Do–”

Woman: *cutting me off* “We’ll take four.”

Me: *pausing, then plastering on a big smile* “Sorry, we only brought enough for us.”

(At that, the woman makes to lunge at the cooler, but I block her path with my body.)

Me: “Ex-cuse you!”

(She huffs, then stomps away as her kids begin whining about not getting freezie pops.)

Me: *opening up the cooler to reveal the dozen or so freezie pops we have left* “So, anyone want seconds?”

(Seriously, I’d been about to offer that woman some, but not with that kind of attitude. It’d be one thing if she asked nicely, but with just that demand, there was no way I was giving her squat.)

Paper Recycling Has Become A Toxic Task

, , , , , , , , | Working | October 18, 2018

I used to work in the credit department for a regional department store. My job was attached to the collections department, but I wasn’t a collector. We had a dress code, which was ignored by the collectors. Since we weren’t the only business in the building, we had a code of conduct to prevent swearing in the elevator or the lobby. That was also ignored, also without consequence.

The high point came with the paper-recycling bin. Each group had a large rolling bin to put paper in for recycling, which was picked up weekly by an outside company. One group of collectors used theirs for garbage, including fruit remnants and packaging, and the recyclers refused to touch it. Since it wasn’t in the trash bins located at each desk, the janitorial staff wouldn’t touch it, either.

It sat there and rotted until complaints got to the VP. I was told to take it down three floors on the elevator, wheel it across the street and over a block to the store, dump it in the compact, and bring it back. I tried making the point that this wasn’t my job, that I’d had no part in creating the problem, and that it should be fixed by the people that did create it, but that didn’t fly.

I did as instructed, and parked the stinking bin — rancid juices streaking the sides, flies orbiting around it — in front of that supervisor’s desk, and told her she could clean it.

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