Giving Handicapped People A Bad Name

, , , , , , | Right | December 11, 2017

(I’m the fitting room attendant today. From my post, I can see a man shopping with his toddler. He keeps holding up outfits and making comments according to her reaction.)

Dad: “How about this?” *toddler shakes her head* “I know, stripes and spots; what was I thinking? How about this?”

(They joke around for a few more minutes before coming up to me.)

Dad: “Do you have a family fitting room?”

Me: “Of course. How many?”

(I set them up in the room and return to my post. A few minutes later, a woman on a handicapped scooter drives right past me and towards the family fitting room.)

Me: “Ma’am, excuse me.”

Lady: “Two, don’t bother with a card.”

Me: “Ma’am, that handicapped stall is occupied.”

Lady: *ignores me and beats on automatic door button, which won’t work when the door is locked* “What’s wrong with this piece of crap?”

Me: “Ma’am, the room is occupied. You’ll have to use the handicapped stall in the women’s fitting rooms.”

Lady: *shakes doorknob* “I need to use this one; it’s bigger. Open it!”

Me: “Ma’am, that is the only family stall we have, so families take priority. You’ll have to use the other stall.”

Lady: “I’m f****** handicapped; I take priority! Get them out!” *keeps shaking doorknob and hitting door*

Dad: *pops head out door* “Is there a problem?”

Me: “I’m sorry—”

Lady: “Get out of my stall! You can’t use that; you’re not handicapped! It’s for handicapped people only! This is discrimination.”

Me: “Ma’am, this is our family stall; he needs it because he has a daughter trying on clothing, and they can’t use the other fitting rooms. There is another handicapped stall in the women’s fitting room.” *gives man apologetic look*

Lady: “No, I get to use this stall! Get out!” *tries to push in*

Dad: “I need to put my daughter’s shoes on.” *closes door*

Lady: *pounding on door* “Get out of there, you b******! Why isn’t your wife taking your daughter shopping, huh? I bet you’re a f****** [homosexual slur]! Get out of my stall, you [slur]!”

Me: *frantically paging security with my silent alarm* “Ma’am, please. His child is very small; you must be upsetting her.”

(Security finally arrived to escort her away!)

Please Let The Door Hit You On The Way Out

, , , , , , | Right | December 10, 2017

(I’m a cashier. I am watching over the self-checks when one of them decides to act up while saying, “Please take your change,” to a customer. Thankfully, it dispenses the change and receipt like it should, but the customer is laughing.)

Self-Check Machine: “Please Ta-Please Ta-Please Ta-Please Ta-“

Me: “Sorry, but at least it gave you your change and receipt.”

Customer #1: *chuckling* “It’s all right. Besides, these things are more polite than some of the people in here.”

(I laugh as well while I open the machine top cover to reset it.)

Me: “That’s tru—”

(Just then, I hear another customer.)

Customer #2: “How much is this?!”

Me: “I’ll tell you in just a second.”

Customer #2:No! I asked you now! How much is this f****** thing?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t tell you right this second. Let me get this closed.”

(As I’m standing back up fully and beginning to pull my hand back, [Customer #2] pushes down on the cover, SLAMMING my fingers in between it and the machine. For those who don’t know how that feels, it’s about the same as a car door, particularly as hard as she slammed it.)

Me: *flinging open the cover, biting my lips* “Mmmmmpphhh!”

(Seeing me open up the machine cover again, [Customer #2] huffs.)

Customer #2: “I f****** closed it for you; now you’re reopening it. Fine! I can take a f****** hint, but you will hear from your manager!”

(As she leaves, I close the machine again and head to the watch station, clenching my fingers and using a damp rag to ease the pain. However, I have no idea that [Customer #1] has seen everything until he speaks up.)

Customer #1: “You know what? I’m going to stay here. If a manager does come, I’ll let them know what happened.”

(Sure enough, one of my supervisors approaches, with [Customer #2], while I’m still massaging my fingers.)

Supervisor: “Did you ignore this customer?”

Me: “I was fixing a machine and I told her to wait a moment.”

([Customer #2] opens her mouth to speak but [Customer #1] beats her to it.)

Customer #1: “The machine I was at had frozen up, and he was trying to restart it when she came up asking for price while he still had his head inside of the top part. He politely told her it’d be a moment, and she proceeded to demand it be done at that moment. However, as he was getting ready to close the machine, she slammed the machine down on his fingers.”

(I held out my slightly red fingers to illustrate the point only to notice [Customer #2] turning red.)

Customer #1: “He kept it to himself about how bad it hurt while reopening the cover. That’s when she left.”

Supervisor: *looking at my fingers and then at [Customer #2] pointedly* “What happened?”

Customer #2: “Uh… Um…” *turns red and leaves in a hurry without anything*


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Off The Clock And Off The Hook

, , , , | Right | December 10, 2017

(I work in a grocery store. I realize that some people will recognize me and ask for help if I’m off the clock or out of uniform. I have already clocked out, and I have my coat on and my purse on my shoulder. A regular has stopped me to say hello and we exchange a few pleasantries. From behind me I hear a SLAM and I turn and see a woman glaring at me as if I have personally offended her. She slams her cart into the register right behind me and throws her stuff onto the belt. I admit, it has been a long day and I am already at the end of my rope, but the way she proceeds has me respond in a less than professional way.)

Customer: “Well?! Are you going to f****** help me or not?”

Me: “Nope. But one of the ladies on one of the three open registers can.”

Customer: “Are you f****** serious? You’re just standing there slacking off. Now, stop being so f****** useless and help me. I’m a customer. You’re working for me. C***.”

Me: “Ma’am, again. I cannot help you. I am off the clock and headed home.”

Customer: *begins shrieking* “Get me a manager right now! This is ridiculous! I DEMAND YOU RING ME OUT! MANAGER! MANAGERRRRRR!”

(The manager who has taken over for the night shift has run over upon hearing the screaming.)

Manager: “Ma’am… She is a manager. And she’s going home. She has her coat on. But if you bring your items to register one, two, or three, one of the ladies there can help you. And please, I do have to ask you to stop cursing, or you will be asked to leave. [My Name], have a good night!”

(I said goodnight to the kind regular I had been talking to, and as I continued to walk out I could hear the woman shrieking again. I got home to a text that she had thrown her eggs at the night manager while screaming a slew of curse words, and had to be escorted out by security.)

ID-on’t Know Who You Are

, , , , | Right | December 6, 2017

(I work as a hotel clerk at a large chain hotel, and am going about my business like normal when an elderly man and his wife come to check in.)

Me: “Hello! Welcome to [Hotel]. How are you today?”

Customer: “Fine. Enough with the chit-chat. My name is [Customer]; check me in.”

Me: “Absolutely, sir. I just need to see a credit card and a photo ID to check you in.”

Customer: “Excuse ME?”

Me: “Oh, just a credit card an—”

Customer: “I HEARD what you SAID. How dare you ask me for an ID?”

Me: “It’s just standard policy, sir, to protect our guests and ourselves from credit card fraud. We ask every guest, even our VIPs, for an ID at check-in.”

Customer: “In all my years of staying at [Hotel Chain] I have NEVER been asked for my ID once at check-in! Do you KNOW who I am? I know the [Chain] owners personally, and they WILL be hearing from me. You can say goodbye to your job! This is unacceptable!”

Me: “Okay, sir, that is fine, but I will still need to see an ID to check you into this room.”

Customer: “I WILL HAVE YOUR JOB!” *throws nearby magazine at me and storms off, with an embarrassed-looking wife*

(But lo and behold, I STILL HAVE MY JOB! I don’t think they were as close with their “friends” as they thought they were.)


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When Toxic Personalities Become Intoxicated

, , | Nashville, TN, USA | Learning | November 30, 2017

THROWBACK THURSDAY! Check out this awesome story that you may have missed! What’s a memorable deli experience you’ve had? Let us know in the comments!

 

(I am bartending at a neighborhood dive that caters mostly to a set of regulars who were minimum wage or blue collar workers, but occasionally some of the kids from an expensive nearby university would wander in. I am talking to a female regular at the bar who happens to be seated next to a young guy from the college.)

Me: “Hey, did you check out that show I told you about?”

Regular: “Yeah, thanks, it was really funny!”

(We are discussing episodes, when a college kid joins in.)

College Guy: “Hey, I love that show! What season are you up to?”

(For a few minutes, we all engage in friendly conversation until, suddenly, a spoiled and VERY intoxicated college girl in a miniskirt and six-inch heels proceeds to shove my female regular in the back.)

College Girl: “Hey, b****!”

Regular: *calmly turns on her barstool to look at the girl*

College Girl: “Quit talking to my boyfriend, you stupid w****!”

Regular: “Miss, we were just having a polite conversation.”

College Girl: “You think you can steal my boyfriend, you ugly b****?” *she shoves the regular’s shoulder for emphasis* “Stupid f***ing s***! You wanna try and steal my boyfriend?”

Regular: “Miss, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. I have a boyfriend of my own.” *untucks a set of dog-tags from her shirt as proof* “I wasn’t hitting on your boyfriend; we were just having a nice chat. Please calm down.”

College Girl: “You think you can just hit on my boyfriend, you f***ing s***? F*** you, you fat ugly b****!”

(She shoves the regular again, and by now I am furiously trying to flag down the bouncer. The bar has gone quiet, and the girls’ friends have nervously gathered behind her to watch the spectacle.)

Regular: “Miss, please do not touch me again.”

College Girl: “You wanna start something, b****? You wanna start something with me? Come on, you stupid w****!”

(Another shove, and this time the regular stands from her stool.)

Regular: “Miss, I’ve asked you nicely, but now I’m telling you. Do. Not. Touch. Me. Again.”

College Girl: “Let’s go, w****! I’ll f*** you up!”

(Mid-sentence, she tries to shove my regular again, but this time the regular catches the college girl’s arm and delivers a powerful right cross to her face, knocking her out cold. The regular watches the drunk college girl drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes, then sits back down on her barstool and turns back to the bar. The college girl’s friends proceed to pick the woozy girl up off the ground in time for bouncer to escort them all to the parking lot.)

Regular: *to the bouncer* “Me, too?”

Bouncer: “H***, no! I saw the whole thing, girl! You sit your a** back on that stool and order a beer on me.”

(The regular and I exchange smiles as I pull her usual up from the cooler. It’s at this point that we both notice that the college guy who was the cause of the whole mess looking at the regular with his jaw on the floor.)

Regular: “Hey, man, sorry about your girlfriend, but I did warn her.”

College Guy: “Okay, let me stop you right there. That was not my girlfriend. I had never even met that girl before tonight. I have no idea what the h*** she was talking about. And that was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. So the bouncer can get the next round, but that one’s on me.”

(One of the girl’s friends ended up coming back in and apologizing for her pal’s erratic behavior, and offered to buy a round for my regular, too. After that night, every regular in the place usually bought one for ‘One-Punch’ whenever she came in, until she moved away to marry her soldier boyfriend!)

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