I’m busy stocking shelves when I notice a customer behind me browsing.
Me: “Oh, hello, sir. Can I help you?”
Customer: “No, thanks. I’m just looking.”
Then, a voice from across the store calls.
Voice: “FRAAAANK!
Customer: “But I can help you. Never get married.”
And then he was gone.
During the global health crisis, I worked in a small, family-owned warehouse. The warehouse manager was a gung-ho type who wouldn’t take excuses of any kind for not showing up for work.
Every year from March through July, we were in our busy season. Workers typically worked 6:00 to 4:45, though I worked 6:00 to 5:00.
In April 2021, I came down with the [contagious illness], and a bad case of it. I was completely bedridden, with coughs, fatigue, body aches, and a fever. I called off work, and everything seemed to be okay.
Two days later, however, I was called and asked if I was well enough to come in. I responded that I was not. The warehouse manager then stated that as soon as my quarantine was over — ten days after diagnosis, the following Monday from this call — I was required to come back in.
Monday rolled around, and I was still coughing, fatigued, and running a fever. As required, though, I dragged myself to work. Within an hour and a half of being there, the owner sent me home because I spent too much time coughing and wasn’t fast enough in picking orders due to fatigue.
The next day, the warehouse manager called me and directed me to come in at 5:30 every evening (after everyone was gone) and work on receiving the daily orders from our vendors. Once again, I dragged myself in, worked on what I needed to, went home, and passed out.
After that week was over, I was again expected to come in and work a normal shift. Because I had been pushing myself so hard, though, I wasn’t recovering well at all, and my cough had worsened.
On Tuesday, I couldn’t take it any longer; I went to the doctor. They took a chest x-ray and then sent me home. An hour later, I got a call from the doctor that I needed a CT scan, and I needed it TODAY. They managed to find an opening for one that day close to my home. It turned out that I didn’t have blood clots in my lung as they had suspected but just a very bad case of [illness]-induced pneumonia.
I was given strict orders by the doctor to not go to work until I had recovered. By the time all was said and done, I missed a month of work before I was healthy enough to return.
Seven months later, the warehouse manager came down with a light version of [illness]. He took the full two paid weeks off, stating that he didn’t want to push himself too hard. I still suffer from the “long” version of the illness — limited smell, reduced immune system, lower stamina — all because they pushed me hard to come in.
No, the irony and hypocrisy were not lost on me. I turned in my two-week notice a couple of months later.
This was many years ago when there was an E. coli outbreak that affected lettuce. Salads of all kinds were pulled out of restaurants and stores for weeks.
I was working as a server, and the recall had been in place for about three weeks when two ladies were seated at my table.
Customer #1: “I would like a house salad as my side, please.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any salads available right now due to the recall. Is there something else you would like?”
Customer #1: “No, I’ll take the salad. I don’t think those outbreaks are real. It’s just the government testing on us. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Customer #2: “You’ll have to get something else. It doesn’t matter that it’s not real; they don’t actually have any lettuce, and the government will shut them down if they try to sell it during their test.”
Customer #1: “Oh, that makes sense. I’ll just need a moment to decide, then.”
Me: “No problem. I’ll be back to check on you.”
I’ve often wondered over the years if the second lady believed in the lettuce conspiracy or if she just knew how to deal with the first lady well.
Related:
Lettuce Be Clear About This
I work as a bartender at a nightclub in New York City. Two fellows with thick European accents come up to the bar, and one asks in all earnestness:
Customer: “Two lines of Coke, please.”
I just stare at him for a couple of seconds. Yup, he’s serious.
Me: “Coke… Uh… cola?”
Customer: “No, to sniff.”
He then does a little mime demonstration for me to really drive home what is by now abundantly clear.
Me: “Ah, I see; you’re an idiot. Go get arrested somewhere else.”
CONTENT WARNING: Animal Abuse
I work in a pet store. There are times I do not want to sell a person an animal because I suspect they’re not qualified to look after the animal.
A woman comes into the store with a potentially abused guinea pig. She dumps the tiny, filthy cage on the counter.
Customer: “I want my money back! My children have stopped playing with it.”
It’s only my lack of coffee that allows her to continue breathing.
Me: “We are not legally allowed to take back animals. Here is the information for the local animal shelter.”
A few hours later, another customer comes up to me.
Customer #2: “There’s a guinea pig in a tiny cage out in the parking lot!”
It took me two months to nurse the little guy back to health and regain his trust. Fidget had the most amazing personality. I trained him to use a litter box, and he had a grand old time playing with my dog and cat.
Honestly, if you really want to lose your faith in humanity, work in a pet store.
