Gluten In The Brain

, , , , | Right | November 13, 2017

(I am working at the customer service counter. My boss is in the back office, consolidating inventory counts. A lady comes storming up to the counter with a large package of bread in her hand, which she slams down in front of me.)

Customer: “I demand that you give me a refund.”

Me: “All right, do you have a receipt?”

Customer: “No, I don’t. I picked this bread up, and I got to the front, and I saw that it wasn’t gluten-free. I need my bread to be gluten-free.”

Me: “Okay. Well, did you pay for it with a credit card? I might be able to run the return through that way.”

Customer: “No. I told you: I got to the front and saw your bread wasn’t gluten-free.”

(It dawns on me that she might not be talking about the front of the store being outside in the parking lot.)

Me: “Ma’am, when you say front of the store, do you mean out in the parking lot or…?”

Customer: “No, I mean right over there.” *she points towards the registers*

(At this point, my manager has wandered out to listen to what is going on. He leans up over the counter.)

Manager: “Hi, I’m the manager of the store. I am understanding you properly, that you want me to pay you for picking up a loaf of bread off a shelf and carrying it up here?”

(The lady stood there for a moment, and it was obvious when her brain turned over. She immediately straightened up and marched out of the store, leaving the half-smashed loaf on our counter.)

The Age-Old Question

, , , , , | Working | November 7, 2017

(I am a 25-year-old married woman, but most of the time I get mistaken for much younger, and by this point it’s extremely irritating for me. Even though people dress casually at my office, I always try to dress a little more professionally, in the hopes that people will take me more seriously as an adult. However, it has been unusually cold this winter, so I’ve been wearing my super-puffy, bright purple winter jacket over my professional clothes, with some interesting results. These conversations happen with two different taxi drivers on two consecutive days.)

Me: *getting into the car* “Good morning. Thanks for coming to pick me up.”

Driver #1: *looking awkward* “Oh, um, before we get going… Are you 18? I can’t drive you if you’re under 18.”

Me: *out loud* “Actually I’m 25.” *thinking to myself* “Okay, I guess he was just trying to follow the rules. I really hope he just apologizes and talks about something else before this gets even more awkward.”

Driver #1: “Wow, sorry.”

Me: *thinking to myself* “Yes, finally a person who doesn’t put their foot in their mouth about my age!”

Driver #1: “It’s just that you look sooooooooo young!”

Me: *thinking to myself* “Really? Come on, guy. It’s not too late to save it!”

Driver #1: “I mean, I really thought you were 16 or something. Recently this Lyft driver got in big trouble for driving two 16-year-olds and getting into an accident, and the insurance wouldn’t pay because they were underage, so I just thought, you know, I should be careful…”

Me: *thinking to myself* “Why did you think telling me this would make things better? You just made me feel really uncomfortable about my age, and about the fact that you are apparently worried we might crash.” *out loud* “Well, we are going for a pretty short drive today, so hopefully everything will be nice and safe!”

(Fortunately we arrive at my destination safely. Then, the next day, with a different driver…)

Driver #2: *making small-talk* “So, I hear that [Town in the mountains] is really nice this time of year.”

Me: “Yeah, definitely! My husband and I are planning to visit there next month with some friends—”

Driver #2: “Wait, you have a husband!? But you’re so young! How old are you?”

Me: *burning with embarrassment* “I’m 25, and I’ve been married for three years.”

Driver #2: “Oh, wow. I definitely assumed you were in high school. I can’t believe it! You’re married! Haha!”

Me: *wondering to myself* “What happened to the rule about not driving anyone under 18?” *out loud* “Well, I guess it’s just best not to make assumptions.”

(While these conversations were kind of funny in retrospect, the bottom line is this: unless your job requires you to make sure customers are of a certain age, please don’t comment on how old they look. It’s just as uncomfortable as being judged for other aspects of your appearance.)

Unfiltered Story #99515

, | Unfiltered | November 7, 2017

(I apply for a part-time pizza delivery position at a regional chain pizza place. I go to their website, find “apply,” indicate the location near me, fill out a ton of applicant information, and submit. I don’t hear anything for about 2 weeks while I’m applying (unsuccessfully) at a bunch of other places in the meantime. I finally decide to take the time and walk into the specific location I applied to and speak to the manager in person. I walk in at what should be dinner rush and there was not a single customer in the whole store. A middle-aged man was standing behind the register.)

Me: “Hi, I actually applied online for a driver position a couple weeks ago–”

Manager: *with startling familiarity* “–I emailed you twice! Why don’t you respond to my emails?! I can’t use that online system, it does nothing for me! Don’t apply online!”

Me: “Right. Sorry. Well, I mean, I’m here now, so . . .”

Manager: *handing me a multi-page paper application* *aggressively* “Fill this out!”

(I spend the next 15-20 minutes filling out the detailed personal information and not a single customer walks in while I’m there; though one employee does at one point. After I’m done, I return to the counter but no one is there. The manager and the employee are both in the back and I can’t get either’s attention. After, oh, five minutes of trying to catch one of them as they passed into visibility in the back, I left my completed application on the counter and left (a move, in retrospect, wasn’t the wisest thing to do but thankfully never proved to cause harm in the years since this happened)).

(I check my emails when I get home and found no emails from that store or manager. Then I went into my dusty Junk Mail inbox and lo and behold there was the email from the manager from two weeks prior, saying simply “call me at store” and the number. It was another two weeks before I heard back on my in-person application but by that point I’d decided to pass on employment there.)

Nothing Civil About This War

, , , , , , , | Working | November 6, 2017

(My partner and I have been waiting for months to see “Captain America: Civil War,” and going to the movies is a very special occasion for us due to finances. We decide on a theater located on the top floor of a rather nice mall that is surrounded by a food court, since prices are fair and the location is close. We pay and take our seats in the front, and not too long after the previews start someone sits directly behind us and begins noisily eating out of a paper bag. My partner turns and informs me they are eating a burger out of a paper bag and I figure they will be done soon. Except, they have an entire large backpack FULL of burgers, and they proceed to eat them as noisily as possible all the way through the credits and half an hour into the movie itself! My partner confirms that they are eating burger after burger like their backpack is a dispenser, and the paper on each burger is crinkled so loudly and purposely that I cannot hear most of the dialogue. I’m talking continuous and endless loud crinkling, like an Internet troll decided to come to the movies. Fed up, I decide to do what I never do and complain. This theater is two stories, and to get to the desk I have to go down an escalator and across the lobby. When I get to the concessions desk, a very nice guy calls a manager when I explain the problem, and whispers quickly that he had the same issue a week ago and not to expect any real help. A female manager arrives and I explain to her my issue. She looks incredibly bored.)

Manager: “What do you want me to do about it?”

Me: “You have a no outside food and drink policy.”

Manager: “Yeah, but it’s not like we can enforce it; we’re right next to the food court.”

Me: “So, what am I supposed to do? I can’t hear, and have missed a big part of the movie.”

Manager: *sighs* “I can come up behind you and talk to them, but that is really it.”

Me: “That’s fine.”

(I went back upstairs and into my theater, where the guy was STILL eating noisy, paper-wrapped burgers and continued to do so for an additional twenty minutes. I could hear everything behind me and looked back several times, and the manager never came into the theater, at all. When we left after the credits, we counted over a dozen burger wrappers thrown all over the aisle behind us. I was upset that nothing was done and that the manager lied and never came to check, so I decided to write a formal online complaint on the company website. Apparently those complaints go directly to the managers, and the manager I talked to decided to answer and state that I was making too big of a deal out of this. Then she lied and said she did come to the theater, and that their was no evidence after the show of outside food or drink. Then she offered me free passes to shut me up! I was pretty upset that my complaint got brushed aside twice by the same awful manager, who apparently just liked to lie. I decided to not push it further, as I had clearly hit a wall, and refused the passes. Who wants to go to a movie they can’t hear? I went back about eight months later and didn’t see her, so hopefully she works somewhere else now.)

Have Reached Your Mac Potential

, , , , , | Romantic | November 3, 2017

(My wife likes to make mac and cheese from scratch, but I usually make it from a box.)

Wife: “Do we have any cheese?”

Me: “I think so.”

Wife: “If we do, I’ll make mac and cheese.”

Me: “Wait, why do you need cheese for mac and cheese?”

(I caught my error, but my wife teased me for a few minutes.)

Page 1/1512345...Last
Next »