Dealing With Stupidity: That’s A Wrap!

, , , , | Right | June 14, 2018

(I am working the board for the night, which is where all of our sandwiches are made during late-night. A customer comes in and orders a sandwich. I make it, and it is passed out to her. She takes a seat in the dining room. A few minutes later, she walks up to the counter, sandwich in hand, not looking too happy.)

Coworker: “Can I help you?”

Customer: “This sandwich is ice cold! The meat isn’t even warm!”

(I have just made a fresh pan of hamburger patties, and they had just come up before her order, so I know that this isn’t true. If anything, it should be hot enough to burn her mouth.)

Coworker: “Sorry about that. We can warm it up in the microwave for you, if you’d like.”

Customer: “Thank you.”

(The coworker brings me the sandwich, and knowing well that the meat is not cold at all, I simply unwrap the sandwich, stand there for about thirty seconds, then place it in another wrapper and hand it to be passed out.)

Customer: “See? Now it’s nice and hot. I can feel the heat through the wrapper. Thank you!”

Was Correct To Ask

, , , , , | Working | April 16, 2018

(My store is running a clearance event with additional markdowns listed on items by way of large stickers showing 33%, 50% off, etc. I notice that several of the items that had been placed on one set of tables do not have an original price listed, so customers would have no way of calculating what the final price would be. I walk an associate over to explain what I want her to do.)

Me: “Grab a clearance sticker gun and go ahead and make sure everything on these tables is ticketed.”

Associate: “Correctly?”

Me: *laughing a little at first, because I think she’s kidding, but then a little sad when I realize she’s not* “Yes, well, that would be the point.”

Unfiltered Story #104556

, , , , | Unfiltered | January 29, 2018

(I work at a grocery store. One of the tasks that we crew members have is a ‘cart run,’ which is basically just going out into the parking lot and collecting carts and bringing them back into the store. One day, in the middle of February during a snowstorm, as I was struggling to push carts through the sludge, a woman in a floor-length fur coat comes up to me and grabs my arm, stopping me dead in my tracks. She speaks in the American version of an upper-crust posh accent.)

Woman: “Really, dear, I must commend you for your hard work.”

Me: “Oh, thank—”

Woman: “I’m sure that if you work hard enough, you might be able to make something out of yourself. I’m sure that for people of your social status, it must be so difficult, but you shouldn’t let that bother you.”

(She smiles in that way that people do when they think they’ve just done a good deed, as though she just paid me a compliment, and I’m sure in her head, it was a compliment. Meanwhile, I’m completely floored.)

Me: “Excuse me?”

Woman: “Well, being part of the working class and all—”

(At this point, I’ve had enough and interrupt her, adopting a similar posh-like accent. I just want to get the carts back into the store and get out of the freezing cold and biting wind.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’ll have you know, I am currently working on my master’s degree at Miskatonic University in Arkham, Massachusetts. I’m sure you’ve heard of it?”

Woman: *stammering* “Oh, yes, of course, who hasn’t heard of Miska—”

Me: “Miskatonic University. My major is archaeology with a specific study on ancient tomes and texts. Have you ever heard of the Necronomicon, written by the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred?”

Woman: “Oh, I’m sure I have…”

Me: “My work with that tome is going to change everything. So you see, I am not simply a cart-pusher or cashier. Now, if you don’t mind…”

(I gesture to the carts, which have started to slide sideways in the harsh winter winds.)

Woman: “Oh, yes, of course. My apologies.”

Me: “Hm.”

(She stumbles off to her car, a Mercedes Benz, and skids out of the parking lot. I guess luxury cars and snowstorms don’t mix. In all, I don’t know what made me more sad; her affluenza and oblivious personality, or her lack of knowledge concerning classic American literature.)

Can’t Hold A Candle Up To This Cashier

, , , , | Right | January 2, 2018

(I get called to a register to assist with a customer who has asked to speak to a manager.)

Me: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: *waving a receipt in the air* “Yes, I was here last week, and I spent WELL over $30 on [Brand Candle] products, so I was entitled to the free candle “gift with purchase.” But that cashier said you didn’t have any more, so I couldn’t get it!”

(She continues badmouthing “that cashier” for several more moments, finishing with “She’s here today, but I’m not going to say who it was though…”)

Customer: “Now I’m in here today, and the signs are still up! That’s false advertising, if signs are still up for a free gift you don’t even have!”

Me: “Okay, well, I do apologize about that. I happen to have the free candle in stock today, so I can certainly take care of that for you right now.”

(I use her receipt to start processing the transaction, and she starts being nicer and back-pedaling a bit about the cashier from last time, saying that she wasn’t trying to get her in trouble or anything, and that she’s always so nice and helpful all the time. She again says she won’t name names, especially since she’s getting what she wants now, but I can tell which cashier did the original transaction from looking at the receipt. As I finish up the new transaction, I put on my most forbidding and serious voice and face.)

Me: “I do apologize again for your inconvenience, ma’am. It was completely unacceptable, and I will make sure that [Cashier] is addressed regarding this matter.”

Customer: *uncertain and a little nervous at this point* “Umm… Oh, no, she’s usually so great!”

Me: *ominously* “It WILL be addressed. I’ll see to it personally.”

Customer: “Uhh, nicely, I hope! Thanks!” *practically runs out the door*

(I run over to the cashier, who is at her station near the window.)

Me: “Hey, see that lady? Do you recognize her?”

Cashier: “Yeah, she’s a regular. She’s in here all the time!”

Me: “Well, she didn’t hesitate before throwing you under the bus…”

(I explain what just happened, and my response.)

Me: “So consider yourself addressed and next time you see her, pretend you almost got fired over a stupid free candle.”

(This has become a joke in the store for how ridiculous people can be, but I hope that lady went home feeling horrible that she might have gotten someone in serious trouble over something so stupid. Nothing like trying to mess with someone’s livelihood over a $10 free gift.)