Unfiltered Story #100010

, , | Unfiltered | November 15, 2017

I’m working the pre-close shift on a pretty slow Tuesday. Not a lot of people have come in, and my coworkers and I are all relaxed, when someone pulls up to the drive through.

Me: (through the headset) Welcome to (Fast Food Place), what can I get for you tonight?
Customer: Could I have your 4 for 4 deal, please?
Thinking I misheard her, I enter in our 2 for $4 deal, and try to confirm.
Me: Was that the 2 for $4 deal?
Customer: No, like the 4 for 4 deal? With the fries, and the burger?
I suddenly realize what she’s talking about, and have to stifle a laugh.
Me: Um, are you thinking of Wendy’s? Because we don’t have a 4 for 4 deal, or burgers for that matter.
Customer: Really? Then what were you trying to sell me?
Me: I can get you the 2 for $4 roast beef deal, which is two classic sandwiches for $4.
Customer: Alright, sounds good.
Me: Okay, and what else can I get for you?
Customer: Can I switch out for two frosties?
At this point, I don’t know what she’s talking about, so I just say nothing.
Customer: (realizing her mistake) Is that Wendy’s again? OH, MY H***, I HATE WENDY’S!
I am shaking with silent laughter, while my coworkers who have been hearing the conversation are laughing their heads off. After that, the order went smoothly, but for the rest of the night I had a smile on my face at the thought of the “I hate Wendy’s lady.”

Read Alert!

, , , , , | Learning | November 9, 2017

(I work at a printing shop at a university with a really big business program. We get a lot of students printing out important projects for their business classes. They are usually really picky about how the projects look and will print two or three copies before they are finally satisfied with the result. A student comes in to print a booklet for her project.)

Student: “So, all of these pages look good, but this page needs to be red.”

(I am confused, because she doesn’t have any red pages anywhere else on her document, and if she wants it red she just has to go change it before printing.)

Me: “Well, if you want it red you can go change it in the document and we can print just that page again.”

Student: “No! I need it red! It’s all blurry and it needs to be red!”

Me: “Again, all I can do is print; if you want to change the color, you have to do that yourself.”

Student: “No! I don’t want it red; it needs to be read, like readable!”

(She was pointing to the words on her page that were too blurry to read and she needed them clear enough to read.)

A Welcome Method To Overstaying Your Welcome

, , , , , , , | Friendly | November 7, 2017

(Living in a college apartment with five other girls can get interesting. One of the girls goes home for a month in the summer, and when she comes back, her sister comes with her. She asks each of us if we’d mind her sister staying for a week or two, just until she finds a place of her own. Since we’re all busy helping prepare for the wedding of another roommate — and helping her move to her married apartment, while another girl takes over her spot — we don’t mind, so long as it’s only for a week, two tops. She also asks to borrow my camp cot. Unfortunately, a month passes, and her sister’s still there. There are other issues as well, and I get designated to talk to the roommate, since she’s a friend of mine.)

Me: “Hey, [Roommate #1], can we talk? It’s about your sister.”

Roommate #1: *resigned sigh* “Sorry, but you know how it is. It can be hard to find an apartment, especially when you’re new to a town.”

Me: “That’s just it. I was talking with her last night, and she hasn’t even started looking! She tried to foist me off by saying she’d start this weekend, and then immediately called [Friend] to make plans for the entire weekend.”

Roommate #1: “Ugh. I’ll talk to her.”  

Me: “If that was it, that would be one thing, but… the cot’s destroyed, and it wasn’t cheap; I don’t know how she managed to damage it so badly. She’s also been eating everyone else’s food, and when we’ve asked her to stop, she refuses and says she’ll just replace it. But she hasn’t. I’m out over $100 in food already, and some of the others are out more. We really can’t afford to feed your sister; we’ve budgeted carefully to get through the semester. It’s one thing if she asked, or if we offered. But just taking our food off the shelves is theft, and a couple of the girls are getting really upset; they want to call the landlord and get him to sort it out. I’ve talked them out of it, because his solution would probably be to cancel your contract, and none of us want you punished. It’s not your fault.”

Roommate #1: *bursts into tears* “I’m so sorry! I’m trying to get her to start looking for a job and a place of her own. I really am!”

Me: “Oh, hon! I know. It’s not your fault. It’s harder when it’s family. I get that. What can I do to help?”

Roommate #1: “I don’t know. I’m trying to motivate her, but… she just doesn’t seem to care.”

Me: “All right. She’s your little sister, and you feel like you have to protect her. I’ve been there. Do you want me to step in? I’m not her sister. I can be the designated b**** in this situation; it doesn’t matter to me if she hates me.”

Roommate #1: “Would you? Could you? But what… I mean, do you have an idea?”

Me: “I do, if you want me to. In fact, I can almost guarantee it will work. But I’ll need you to stand firm with us.”

Roommate #1: “I can do that. What’s the plan?”

(I tell her, and then we wait for her sister to come home, which doesn’t happen until very late. I’m waiting for her on the front porch.)

Me: “[Sister], we need to talk.”

Sister: “Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m bushed!”

Me: “No, it can’t wait. We have a problem.”

Sister: “Well, talk to [Roommate] about it. I’m going to bed!”

Me: “That’s just it. No, you’re not.”

Sister: “What?”

Me: “You don’t live here. We agreed to let you stay for a week, two at most. As of today, it’s been a month. If you want to stay another night, you need to start paying your share of rent. That’s [amount], by the way.”

Sister: “I can’t afford that!”

Me: “Not my problem. Although any apartment around here is going to run more than one seventh of this place, just so you know.”

Sister: “Seriously, can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m going to bed.”

Me: “You’re still not getting it, are you? You aren’t crossing this threshold again.”  

Sister: *it finally clicks that I’m serious* “You can’t do that!”

Me: “Actually, I can. I live here. You don’t.”

Sister: “Yes, I do!”

Me: “No, you don’t. Your name is not on the contract, you’re not paying rent, and you’re stealing everyone’s food. And if you step through that door again, I’m calling the cops and having you arrested.”

Sister: “For what?”

Me: “Theft and trespassing, for starters. And since the door’s locked, it would also be breaking and entering.”

Sister: “You can’t do this!”

Me: “Yes, I can.”

Sister: “But what about my stuff?”

Me: “Your sister and I can bring you out anything you need, and we’ll both be glad to help you haul everything to your new apartment, just as soon as you’ve found one.”

Sister: “But where am I supposed to sleep?”

Me: “The landlord took the old love seat out of the living room last week; it’s on the patio out back. My sleeping bag is already waiting for you. I’ll need it back in the morning.”

Sister: “You can’t just leave me out here! I’ll start looking tomorrow, but you can’t just leave me outside!”

Me: “Oh, just stop whining for one second in your life! It’s still summer; you’ll be lucky if it gets down to 70. You’re not going to freeze. It’s no worse than camping — better, really, since you have the love seat — and I know you’ve gone camping plenty of times.”

Sister: “But… I… You… But…!”

Me: “Your sister and I visited the housing office after class today. We have a print-out of available places you can start looking at first thing in the morning. Give me a call if it gets colder than the forecast said; I’ll bring you out a spare blanket. Good night.”

(I let myself in, and then lock the door behind me.)

Sister: *starts pounding on the door and ringing the bell* “Let me in! You can’t do this!”

(Hearing the noise, everyone starts coming into the living room to see what’s going on.)

Me: “[Roommate #1]’s sister will be sleeping on the love seat out back tonight, after which she’ll be finding an apartment of her own. Don’t worry; I’ve loaned her a sleeping bag.”

Roommate #2: *starts laughing* “Oh, that’s genius! She’s not going to freeze though, is she?”

Me: “We’ve all been sleeping with our windows open, trying to catch a breeze. It’s hot out; she’s more likely to sweat to death than freeze. In fact, she’ll probably have more pleasant temperatures than any of us.”

Roommate #2: “Oh, good. Night, then!”

(Everyone else goes back to bed as well, and the sister soon gives up yelling, ringing, and knocking. She then tries to sneak in the back door, but finds it locked tight. Then she tries calling her sister repeatedly.)

Roommate #1: *looking at her phone* “What do I do?”

(I hold out my hand, and she gives me the phone. I answer:)

Me: “[Roommate #1]’s phone, [My Name] speaking.”

Sister: “Let me in, you [insult]!”

Me: “Nope. Not happening. Have a nice night.”

Sister: *screams and hangs up, finally going around back and flinging herself on the loveseat*

(The next morning, I handed her the sheaf of papers with apartment listings. She had a place of her own within an hour. Go figure.)


Doesn’t Have A Long Term (Inter)View

, , , , | Working | November 6, 2017

(I’ve worked managing a telesales route for one of the largest soft drink companies in the world for about a year. There’s a lot of fuss in my department about how you must work there for a year before applying anywhere inside the company, but they never have you sign anything agreeing to it. A position that I’m very interested in opens up in a different city. I mention it to a couple of the managers there who practically beg me to apply, so I do. I get called in almost immediately for an interview, but before I can request the PTO for it, my manager calls me into her office.)

Manager: “Why did I get a call saying that you applied for an internal position?”

Me: “Because I did? I was just about to put in a PTO request for a half day so I can go interview at the other office.”

Manager: “You know that you can’t apply for anything internally until you’ve been here for a year! You haven’t been here for a year yet! The only reason that [Coworker] was allowed to change departments was because she waited out the year.”

Me: “I started working under you in June of last year. It’s now July. I’ve worked here for a year.”

Manager: “The first 90 days that you worked here were probationary and don’t count towards the year time. You cannot apply for an internal position until September. Also, when the time comes you are not allowed to apply for any positions within the company without asking me first.”

Me: “I already applied for this one and they really want me to come in. [Other Manager] is waiting on my reply.”

Manager: “You weren’t supposed to have applied in the first place! I won’t let you go.”

Me: “All right, then. I’ll let [Other Manager] know.”

(My manager started getting daily phone calls and emails from the other manager asking her to let me come in, and I started getting daily phone calls from him, as well, asking if she had okayed it yet. This went on for over a week, with me constantly telling the other manager that I still didn’t have approval to take time off during working hours to go. I finally got called back into my manager’s office and told that I could go interview. When I excitedly called the other manager back, I was told that they were forced to close the position and choose someone else the day before, and that there was no way to get me in anymore. I turned in my two weeks notice and moved across the country shortly afterwards.)

It’s Better Than Just Stopping At Aaron

, , , , , , , | Related | November 3, 2017

(My spouse and I are having our first child in a matter of weeks. Ultrasounds show that it is most likely going to be a girl.)

Mother: “What baby names have you picked out?”

(My spouse speaks Russian, and the due date is around our nation’s Thanksgiving holiday, so I decide to Google “thankful” in Russian just to see how badly it sounds phonetically in English. I am texting both my mother and spouse about it.)

Me: “Let’s name the baby Blagodarnyy. It’s a name full of gratitude. If it’s a girl it has to be Blagodarnaya.”

(After I don’t get an immediate response, I add some flavor for plausibility.)

Me: “Anaya for short.”

Mother: “Okie dokie, then. Russian? I like the Anaya. No Celtic names? With a surname like yours—”

Me: “I’m kidding, Mom.”

Mother: “Oh, for crying out loud! I was trying so hard to be a good mom and mind my own business, but Dad said, ‘That poor child.’ It had ‘blaggard’ and ‘darn ya’ all in one name. Good grief!”

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