Needs To Update His Newsfeed, Not His Operating System

, , , , , | Right | September 16, 2019

(It is September 16, 2001, five days after the terrorist attacks on the USA’s east coast. While we are 3000 miles from there, many people have friends or family who have been affected. Our computer store was supposed to have the new Mac OS available, but with plane flights suspended, we haven’t gotten it yet. One man is less than understanding, and is screaming at my coworker:)

Customer: “What do you mean, you don’t have it?! Your ad promised it would be here, and I reserved a copy weeks ago! How can you not have it?!”

(He pauses for breath and I put on my best “helpful customer service” voice.)

Me: “Sir, due to the terrorist attacks Tuesday, in which thousands of people died, shipping has been disrupted. Would you like to leave your name and number so we can call you when your order arrives?” *which we’d be doing for everyone who pre-ordered, anyway*

Customer: *after a long pause, blushes, and whispers* “No, thank you; I’ll check back later.”

(At least he had the grace to be embarrassed.)

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It’s Not Exactly The Da Vinci Code

, , , , | Right | September 16, 2019

(I work in a call center for a security company, and I have dealt with my fair share of interesting customers. This one was a first, though.)

Customer: “I need to get some information about my account.”

Me: “All right. Can I verify your code, please?”

Customer: “Oh, I’m not supposed to give that out…”

(Note that at this point, I have the customer’s information pulled up and I am literally staring right at her code. I just need it to verify that she is who she says she is. I’m taken aback by her response, and I say the only thing I can think to say.)

Me: “Um… I won’t tell anyone.”

(She gave me her code after that, but I think someone needs to tell her that it’s okay to give her code to her security company… which assigned her the code in the first place.)

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Unfiltered Story #163259

, , | Unfiltered | September 16, 2019

(I walk into a fast food restaurant to order some seafood. Near the counter is an old man in a wheelchair, who appears to be talking, loudly, into an object I couldn’t see well, but might have been a phone. Next to him, on the counter, is a large bag of food. As I walk up, he puts the phone away and looks at me.)

Man: (in a voice that sounds slightly unstable) Oh, just a small family emergency. I want to see the show, but they told me to leave! I was just talking to customers, for a feeling of community! Can you believe this?

Me: Uh, okay?

(A few chairs in the dining room have been moved aside, I notice. If you squinted hard, you might maybe be able to mistake them for seating for a small play or something – but obviously, especially given the presence of mops and wet floor signs, they had been moved because the employees had been cleaning in that area earlier. An employee is walking around behind he counter trying to gather items for a previous order. The man tries to flag her down while pulling out a new device, this one apparently a tablet.)

Man: Miss, can you verify something?

Employee: (clearly wanting to keep her distance) What is it?

Man: (almost as much to the tablet as to her) I want you to verify that the reason I was asked to leave was because that man thought I threatened him.

Employee: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Man: That man who was here earlier was making trouble and telling me I shouldn’t talk to the customers. I was just trying to make conversation before the show! I said I’d bite his ankles if he didn’t leave me alone! Does that sound like a threat to you? No, it was a joke!

Employee: I’m sorry?

Man: Can you get your manager? I’m not getting you in trouble, but you guys need to be re-trained.

Employee: Uh, one minute.

(She disappears, while he holds up his tablet as though recording something. She returns a moment later.)

Employee: He’s on the phone.

Man: Well, I don’t appreciate being asked to leave! It’s such a shame! I like this restaurant because it’s one of the only ones I can get into with this chair! But if you’re going to kick me out because I talk to customers and make jokes, then I have to call corporate. Oh, I’m not getting anyone fired! You didn’t do anything wrong; you’re beautiful! But you all need to be re-trained! Thanks for the fish.

(With that, he takes the bag of food and leaves. The employee looks relieved to have him gone, and says she’s ready to take my order.)

Me: What was all that about?

Employee: I don’t know, but he’d been there for a while.

(I think it’s a testament to her patience she was as calm as she was! The manager certainly didn’t look happy when he came out a few minutes later – though by that point, the wheelchair man was long gone. Suffice to say, no shows took place while I was eating there.)

Not Too Chicken To Defend Themselves

, , , , , , | Hopeless | September 14, 2019

As a kid, I had a flock of chickens that we tried to keep at 20 to 30 birds. We raised the birds for the eggs and for fun, so we took care of our sick and injured birds.

We bought two silkies — little puffball chickens — and they stuck together. One of the silkies, later named Frankenmonk — or Monk for short — ended up getting an eye infection and lost her eye around when she got a neck injury, so we put the two silkies in the garage while the one healed, and then returned them to the flock.

We didn’t know if Monk and Puff, the other silkie, were males or females as they are notoriously difficult to determine the gender on, but we knew that Puff took care of Monk. Wherever one was, the other was, too.

One day, one of our Rhode Island Red roosters — about four times the size of the silkies at the time — decided to breed with Monk, and as soon as he tried, Puff flung her body into the rooster, knocking him down. Puff and Monk then continued on their way as if nothing had happened.

In my six years of owning chickens, this is still one of my favorite memories.

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So Tender And Wild

, , , , , | Right | September 14, 2019

(It’s about 7:40 pm. The deli stops serving hot foods at seven, and deli clerks are to clock out by nine. We are behind as it is. My coworker and I are cleaning the deep fryers, washing dishes, and the like.)

Customer: *approaches hastily* “Are you guys closed?”

Coworker: *stops washing dishes* “Yeah, we are. Sorry.”

Customer: *annoyed* “Well, that’s just great! When do you normally close?!”

Coworker: “We close every night at seven, ma’am.”

(The customer lady checks her phone to see the time and just grunts annoyingly.)

Customer: “So, you’re telling me I can’t get four chicken tenders?!”

(There is a pan of old, kind of burnt chicken tenders in the now turned-off display case. It’s not been heated for way over the ten-minute rule and was dried out even before we turned off the heat. I stop in the middle of cleaning the deep fryer and turn to her.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. But we stop serving food from that side of the deli at seven. I can get you something from our salad bar—”

Customer: *interrupting me* “You’re telling me you can’t give me four chicken strips?!”

Me: “No, ma’am…”

Customer: “Then what’re you gonna do with them?!”

Me: “Normally at seven, if the tenders are still fresh, we put them in the fridge to be packaged up tomorrow and sold as cold food. But those have been sitting for a while even before we closed, so—”

Customer: *interrupting again* “You can’t give me four d*** chicken tenders?!”

Me: “I just said—”

Coworker: “Sorry, we can’t. It’s the rules.”

Me: “Yeah, it’d be against code for me to serve them to you.”

Customer: “Fine! Whatever!” *leaves*

(My coworker and I exchange looks and then get back to what we were doing. The customer comes back not two minutes later.)

Customer: “So, you’re telling me I can’t get four d*** chicken tenders?!”

Me: *internally screaming* “No, ma’am. You cannot. If you really want some, we do have some cold packaged tenders over at the cold display case.”

Customer: “But isn’t that stale, too?”

Coworker: “No, it’s not, ma’am. It was cooled and packaged before it was stale, keeping it mostly fresh for you—”

Customer: “So, you’re telling me that the packaged tenders are stale?”

Coworker: “No… It’s not. It’s more like…” *starts trying to explain to her how bacteria in food and temperature works like on our food handlers test*

Customer: “So, the packaged ones are filled with bacteria.”

Coworker: “No. It’s…” *starts repeating himself*

Me: “It’s not how it works, ma’am. And it’s just too late. The hot food is closed down for the night. We’re just following the rules.”

Customer: “I just want four chicken tenders!”

Coworker: *starts explaining again*

Me: “We’re not supposed to, ma’am. We don’t make the rules.”

Customer: “So, you’re telling me the packaged tenders have bacteria in them?!”

Coworker: *getting really tired of repeating himself*

Me: “Look, I’m sorry, ma’am. But we just don’t want to give you bad food and get in trouble. All right?”

(That seems to have done it, because she then leaves again and doesn’t come back.)

Coworker: *after a few minutes* “I miss her.”

Me: “Me, too… If she comes back, I wanna make sure to throw those tenders into the compost right in front of her.”

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