Unfiltered Story #105928

, | Unfiltered | February 20, 2018

I was working as a burger flipper / petrol pump assistant in a tiny tourist town on the Great Ocean Road when a terribly rude American tourist asked me the following. Note: Hobart is the capital city in Tasmania, the island State at the bottom of Australia.

Tourist: Excuse me ma’am, could you tell me what is the best time to catch a flight to Hobart?

Me: Well, that depends, when do you need to arrive?

Tourist, suddenly and unexpectedly yelling: Don’t play games with me young lady, I’m not a stupid tourist you know!

Me: ?

Tourist: I KNOW that Tasmania rotates, so it must be cheaper to fly at certain times of day when Hobart is closer to the mainland.

Me: ?!

Tourist: Well? I haven’t got all day.

Me: *speechless*

Saying Nothing Really Tells You A Lot

, , , , | Right | February 16, 2018

(An older gentleman walks into the store. He looks extremely sour.)

Me: “Hi—”

Customer: *interrupting* “Pump three.”

Me: “Interesting way of saying, ‘Hello,’ but we’ll roll with that! So, pump three, $[amount] on… the card today?”

(The customer stares at card terminal.)

Me: “Okay, no worries.” *pause as transaction goes through* “…and that’s approved! You have a great day!”

(I turn to my screen to bring up the next customer, and then turn back to find the man still standing there.)

Me: “Do… you need a receipt?”

(He confirms this with a five-degree inclined nod.)

Me: “No worries. Sorry about that. I didn’t realise, because you didn’t say anything.”

Customer: *shouting* “Look: there’s no need to be a f****** smarta**!”

Me: “Um, I wasn’t. I was just–“

Customer: “I don’t want to hear it!”

(He proceeds to go on a rant as he walks out the door, leaning back to hurl more abuse as I calmly try to apologise for obvious miscommunication. Suddenly, he screams that he’ll never shop here again. It is at this point that my boyfriend, who works in the office, steps in.)

Boyfriend: *jumping out of office and running to service area* “Good! F*** off, then. We don’t want f****** a**holes like you here!”

(The man gets in his car and screeches off.)

Boyfriend: “Only I’m allowed to yell at you.”

Very Accessible Back-Stabbing

, , , , , | Working | February 13, 2018

(I have to lay out a section at my job. I know I have to make everything accessible for our customers and I have tested it myself. The job needs to be complete for an inspection by our very strict owner. As I’m finishing, my manager comes along and decides to move one of the shelves I have put up so she can put other stock up high on the fixtures. I do feel a bit miffed that she’s changed my work but I don’t say anything. I tidy up where I am and go to move a basket where she is, but she tells me she’s still using it. That evening, I am relating a dream to a friend, who tells me that the meaning to that dream is that I have to keep an eye out for someone who’s about to stab me in the back. I get in after the owner has done his inspection and has already left.)

Manager: “[Owner] wasn’t very happy with how you left things. I had to tell him it was you who did that job. He said the work was unacceptable, so he wants to take it further, and I have to give you a verbal warning.”

Me: “Why? What was wrong with it?”

Manager: “You put the stock much too high for customers to reach.”

Me: “I don’t think I did; I’m not tall and the edges of the top shelves were at my head level. I didn’t have to stretch to take anything off them.”

Manager: “Well, what about how high the shelf with [items] on it is? Oh, wait a minute. I moved that, didn’t I? But what about [items]?” *I raise one eyebrow* “Oh, I did that, too, didn’t I? But what about the basket that was left on the floor?” *I keep my eyebrow raised and cross my arms* “Oh, that was me, too, wasn’t it?”

(I have no idea whether she’s recorded that she’s given me a verbal warning, but as I walk out of the office, much more miffed than I was last night, she still throws a little dig in.)

Manager: “So, you now know that you have to keep to the standards that [Owner] expects, don’t you? No excuses.”

Always Room For A Gift

, , , , , , | Related | February 9, 2018

(I am about 13. My parents are on the brink of divorce. My mum refuses to sleep in her room with my dad anymore; instead, she sleeps in my bed, with me. I am weirded out by this, but she’s being unusually sweet and affectionate with me, reading with me, and so on, so I let it go. One day we have a fight — over something I can’t remember, now — and I tell her I don’t want to sleep with her anymore. How strange does that sound?)

Me: “Just leave me alone, Mum!”

(She continues arguing, but I cut her off again.)

Me: “Get. Out! This is my room. Get out of my room!”

Mum: *blows up* “Your room? What do you mean, your room?”

Me: “This is my room! You have your room; I have mine! Get out of my room!”

Mum: “This is my house! All the rooms in this house belong to me! How dare you claim this as your room?!

(My dad has not interfered in this argument up until this point, but he’s finally had enough. He walks up to my room and pokes his head in the door.)

Dad: “[Mum], this is actually my house. I paid for it, and the title of the house is in my name, so it’s my house. [My Name], I hereby gift you this room. It is now your room.” *walks off*

(I was grinning from ear to ear. It was a glorious victory for me, although my mum immediately and inevitably turned her wrath on my dad. They ultimately divorced the next year.)

Found The Wrongest Fragrance

, , , , , , | Right | February 5, 2018

(A female customer approaches my coworker.)

Customer: “Hi, can I please try a sample of [Popular Men’s Fragrance]”

(My coworker sprays the fragrance on a sample card for her.)

Customer: “Oh, I love this fragrance!”

Coworker: “Yeah, it’s lovely and super popular.”

Customer: “It gets me so horny.”

Coworker: “Um… Okay.”

Customer: “My dad wears it.”

Coworker: “…”

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