Wish You Could Restore Customers To Factory Settings

, , , , | Right | June 11, 2018

(I work in the bakery department of a grocery store. To meet with supply and demand, all of our dough is made at a factory and sent to us. I often have to explain to customers that we are not a scratch bakery. This customer just isn’t getting it.)

Customer: “Can you make me a bread without [ingredient]?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but the dough comes to us from a factory.”

Customer: “Tell the people in the back that I want one special.”

Me: “All of our dough is made in a factory and shipped to us.”

Customer: “Can you contact them and tell them that there’s a customer who wants one that’s specially made?”

Me: “I can’t. The dough is made in a factory.”

Customer: “No. Just tell them that I want one that doesn’t have [certain ingredient].”

Me: “They are not able to do that.”

Customer: “Call them and tell them that I want one specially made.”

Me: “It’s made in a big container in a factory. Not by hand. All of our dough is made in a big factory.”

Customer: “Oh, it’s made in a factory. Never mind.”

(Face, meet palm. Palm, meet face.)

The Law Doesn’t Take Breaks So You Can

, , , , , | | Legal | June 9, 2018

(I’m scheduled as a supervisor for a future evening. Anyone scheduled to work that evening that is going to be working different hours than they are scheduled needs to get my approval first. I’ve also been short-tempered lately.)

Coworker #1: “Hey, can minors work double shifts?”

Me: “Legally you can work more than four hours if there is a break between them, I believe.”

Coworker #1: “Okay, because [Coworker #2] wants me to work his afternoon shift but I’m already working the shift immediately after it.”

Me: “So it wouldn’t work without having a break in between. Why doesn’t [Coworker #2] just swap with you?”

Coworker #1: “I don’t know, but I’ll be fine. As long as I can get something to eat I think I’ll be fine.”

Me: “I didn’t ask if you’ll be fine. Frankly, I like staying out of jail far more than I care about anything to do with you.”

Coworker #1: “Well, then… sorry for giving you trouble.”

Me: “It’s the whole legal bit I was mentioning earlier.”

Unfiltered Story #113853

, | | Unfiltered | June 7, 2018

(Answers phone)
Me: Hello, this is (store) bakery. How can I help you?
(Can tell by the voice that it’s a little kid. Probably no more than five or six)
Caller: What’s your name?
Me: It’s (name)
Caller: No it’s not.
Me: Yes it is.
Caller: No it’s not.
Me: I’m pretty sure it is.
Caller: It’s not.

Unfiltered Story #113823

, | | Unfiltered | May 31, 2018

(This was several years ago, at a popular sandwich shop. This is my first real job, and I’m a young, petite female closing the store alone. I locked the doors a couple minutes early, because I just wanted to finish and go home before it got really late. A young woman with several very young children comes and bangs on the door. I reluctantly let her in.)

Customer: Why did you lock the doors? It’s not 9 yet!

Me: *ashamed* I’m sorry, I just wanted to go home, and don’t like walking in the dark any more than I have to.

Customer: Well, you shouldn’t close early! It’s bad business!

(I make her sandwiches, then lock up again. I never locked up early again. I heard from another coworker that this lady always came in late at night to buy dinner for herself and her young children.)

Making A Veal Out Of It

, , , , , , , | Working | May 11, 2018

The manager of the cafeteria for the dorms I lived in was notorious for picking the cheapest food he could get, regardless of whether students wanted to eat it.

One such food was breaded veal cutlets, which few students wanted. His “solution” to this problem was to not allow students to take other foods unless they took the veal, as well. Of course, this meant most of it went straight to the trash. To add insult to injury, the cafeteria was full of posters with quotes about how students should not waste food and how people in other countries were starving.

One day, when veal was served for the fourth time in a month, I went around and asked everyone for their veal. I ended up with a tray with a two-foot high mountain of veal that must have weighed about 20 pounds. I then wrote, “No More Veal,” on a napkin, pinned it to the top of the pile of meat with a knife, and sent it through the dishwashing line.

Apparently, the message was received, as we did not have veal again for about three months.

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