Sometimes Those Do Require Some Management

, , , , , | Working | August 18, 2017

I’m working one day when a high school-age girl walks in and hands me a filled-out job application. Despite the fact that we don’t require a resume to apply here, she’s gone ahead and stapled one to the application. I thank her and duck into the back to put the resume on the manager’s desk.

Despite myself, I risk a peek at the girl’s resume. She has a previous job at a different fast food restaurant listed under “job experience,” and it looks as if one of her prior duties was “managing afternoon shifts.”

Unfortunately, she left the “f” out of the word “shifts.”

She didn’t get the job, but we all had a good laugh over the typo.

Bet Yo-Yo Weren’t Expecting That

, , , | Learning | August 18, 2017

(When I was in high school, I was a member of a very good youth orchestra. My sophomore year, we get to perform with Yo-Yo Ma, which necessitates some very late night rehearsals about two hours away from where I live. Unfortunately, one of them is the day before I have a huge oral presentation due in English.)

Me: *to first-period Latin teacher* “So, I’m going to be in Boston really late tonight to rehearse with Yo-Yo Ma, and I’m not going to get home till after midnight. Would it be okay if I sleep through class tomorrow?”

Teacher: “Tell you what. If you get me his autograph, you can sleep the whole time.”

Me: “Okay!”

(I duly went off to rehearsal that night, got home at one am, and was up at five to shower before catching the bus, arriving at school in a fairly zombie-like state.)

Me: *presenting autograph* “Here you go!” *yawn* “Gonna nap now.”

Teacher: “Um… yeah. Go sleep. It’s fine.”

Me: *staggering to back row to collapse*

(It didn’t occur to me until MUCH later that my teacher probably thought I was lying and didn’t really know what to do when I actually turned up with the autograph! I aced the English presentation, though, thanks in no small part to the power nap.)

They’re Bus-ted

, , , , , | Working | August 18, 2017

(I work as a receptionist in an office building. Usually when I see an employee running through the lobby to the door it’s because they’re running for a bus.)

Employee: *running through lobby*

Me: “Good luck!”

Employee: *pauses and looks over at me*

Me: “With catching your bus. Sorry, it looked like you were running for one.”

Employee: “Oh, right.” *continues running out the door.*

(A few minutes go by and the employee comes back inside.)

Employee: “It’s all your fault.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Employee: “You distracted me and I missed by bus by 15 seconds.”

(The employee laughed to let me know he was joking and hung out in the lobby making small talk with me for 10 minutes until he had to leave for the next one.)

Dad Is In More Hot Water Than The Hotdogs

, , | Related | August 18, 2017

(This is during the Northeast blackout of 2003. It’s the height of summer, and our power and water have been out for days. I’m 12 at the time and already acting like a teenager, communicating mostly through angry expressions and snarky words. My mom and brother are away on my brother’s school trip, so it’s just me and my dad. Unfortunately, my dad doesn’t really have any cooking or survival skills. He can barely boil water without something going wrong. During the brief time between when he moved out of his parents’ house and when he married my mom, he lived exclusively on pizza and fast food. He once nearly burnt down his apartment by trying to reheat a pizza in the oven without removing it from the box first. Obviously, he’s having some trouble feeding us both with no working fridge, freezer, oven, stove, or microwave. While I’m reading a book and trying to keep cool, I see my dad carry a gas camp stove outside. I hear lots of clattering and swearing for the next half hour or so, then he comes back inside and proudly sets a plate in front of me. On it are the charred remains of what looks like an entire package of hot dogs. One of them has broken open and appears to still be raw on the inside.)

Me: *disgusted look*

Dad: “Okay, I know it’s not as good as what your mom makes, but this was the best I could do.”

Me: “Oh, my god, Dad! You know I’m a vegetarian now.”

Dad: “Oh, right. Still? But anyway, do hot dogs even count?”

Me: *Of course they— Hold on, I thought we declared yesterday that all the food in the fridge was bad.”

Dad: “Yeah, but hot dogs don’t go bad.”

Me: “Uh, yeah, they do. Why do you think we keep them in the fridge?”

Dad: “Because that’s where the meat drawer is?”

Me: *face-palm* “We can’t eat this. We could get sick.”

Dad: “Well, other than this, we have ketchup and chocolate milk powder without the milk. And without water, for that matter.”

(We decided to drive around to see if any stores were open and selling food or water. We had no luck for a few hours, and then the sun went down. We saw a faint glow on the horizon and headed in that direction. It turned out to be a city with the power back on, and we found one fast food place that was open. We got some food and drinks and then decided to come back the next day to see if any grocery stores were open. Luckily, our power came back on that night. When my mom got home, she had a few words with my dad regarding food safety.)

Customer Has Daddy Issues On Your Behalf

, , , , | Right | August 18, 2017

(I work at a low cost retailer on the weekends to make some extra cash. The weekend before Father’s Day, my manager approaches me while I restock some shelves.)

Manager: “Can you work next weekend?”

Me: “Yes. Why?”

Manager: “Thank God! I’m having problems finding people willing to work on Father’s Day.”

(Before I can say anything, an older customer who is standing a few feet away speaks up.)

Customer: “You want to work on Father’s Day? How could you! Don’t you love your father? Don’t you want to spend time with him? What kind of daughter are you? Don’t want to see your own your father on Father’s Day?!”

Manager: *turns to Customer* “I’m sorry, ma’am—”

Customer: *turns her wrath towards the manager* “And you! How could you ask this poor young woman to work on the day made to celebrate her father?!”

(My manager looks flummoxed for a moment, so I jump in.)

Me: “Ma’am? My father has been dead for ten years, and really, he was an a**-hole when he was alive. I don’t think he really cares what I do on Father’s Day.”

(The customer stops and stares at me, her mouth agape. Then she turns and hurries away. I glance at my manager, sure I’m about to get yelled at for cursing at a customer, but am surprised to see him grinning ear to ear.)

Manager: “So… still available to work next weekend?”

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