Taking A Big Bite Out Of Your Parenting

, , , , , , | Friendly | November 18, 2017

(I am kneeling in a bookstore looking for a particular book, and there is a mother with a toddler nearby. The mother is absorbed in her book. Suddenly her toddler runs up to me, then grabs and BITES DOWN ON MY BOOB — and I feel teeth!)

Me: *yelps* “What the f***?!”

Mother: *whips her head around like Linda Blair, glaring at me* “Excuse me! Don’t swear in front of my kid!”

Me: “Your kid just bit me!” *I stand up and gesture where he bit me*

Mother: “Oh, he must’ve been hungry.”

Me: “What? That’s not okay!”

Employee: *investigating the commotion* “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

Me: “I—”

Mother: “It’s nothing really; she’s overreacting. Some people just can’t handle children.”

(With that, she picks up her kid and walks off like it was nothing. I explain to the employee what happened.)

Employee: “Oh… uh… Do you need—” *he gestures, clearly flustered* “—I mean, are you—”

Me: “It’s fine. Just… I’ll be going.”

(I never ran into that woman or her kid again, but since then I’ve been very wary of toddlers that aren’t being watched closely — once bitten, twice shy, I guess!)

This Customer Isn’t Even Remotely Right

, , , , , | Right | November 17, 2017

(I’m checking a couple into their room when the woman informs me they’re here on a trip with their church and are “top people” in their church. She comes down from her room 30 minutes later.)

Me: “How may I help you, ma’am?”

Guest:Remote! This isn’t working.”

Me: “Okay, let me get you fresh batteries.”

(I get her the batteries, but she comes back down ten minutes later. By now, it’s 5:00 pm and I have three guests in line I’m checking in.)

Me: “Okay, sir, you’re in room—”

Guest: *storms up to the desk, cutting in front of the line* “THIS REMOTE IS STILL NOT WORKING!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. If you can wait until I check this man in, I’ll get you a new remote. Or I can bring it to your room when I’m finished here.”

Guest: *doesn’t move from the desk, and is pacing back and forth and almost breathing down my neck* “This is ridiculous! I can’t believe the idiots they hire; I should be helped immediately!”

(She begins muttering profanities under her breath.)

Guest: “WHY CAN’T YOU HELP ME NOW?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m the only staff member on site for this shift, and we are at full capacity. I promise I’ll help you as soon as I can.”

Guest: “FINE. I GUESS I’LL JUST STARE AT THE CEILING!”

(She then throws her remote control at me as hard as possible. It hits my shoulder.)

Me: “I suggest you apologize, pack your things, and leave, or I’ll call the cops. You just assaulted me. I’m allowed to refuse you service now, and I think that’d be the best decision.”

(The guest laughed and walked up to her room. She was escorted out by police an hour later. Moral of the story: your employer may use the “customer is always right” motto, but if a customer insults, harasses, or attacks you, you DO have the right to refuse service. It is illegal to be forced to serve someone berating you. If employees around the world allow customers to verbally or physically attack them, then customers will always think it’s okay to do so.)

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Taco No No

, , , , , , , | Right | November 16, 2017

(I work at a 24-hour taco place in a college town, and I usually do graveyard shifts. We get our fair share of drunk students and strange characters. One regular customer, a lanky, scruffy-looking guy with a backpack, who smells like marijuana, comes in three or four times a week between midnight and 6:00 am. He always gets two tacos and a cup of water, pays with cash that often includes larger bills, leaves a dollar plus his coin change in the tip jar, sits at the same table if it’s available, eats quickly, consolidates all his trash into one basket, washes his hands in the bathroom, and leaves. He gives polite smiles, says all his pleases and thank you’s, and never has any complaints, but he does not make small talk and responds with one- or two-word answers when chatted with. That said, I much prefer a quiet, polite customer to a loud, rude one. The thought that he might be a drug dealer has occurred to me, but he’s a good customer and I have no interest in causing him any trouble if my unfounded theory happens to be true. One night at about 4:00 am, he comes in, does his normal routine, and is sitting at his usual table eating when another customer, obviously drunk, comes in and approaches the register.)

Drunk Customer:Hey! You’ve got to give me a bunch of free tacos. Your manager said so.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Drunk Customer: “Are you f****** deaf? Free tacos. Uh, like, twenty of them.”

Me: “Sir, we don’t usually give tacos away for free, and my manager hasn’t told me anything about this. Can I ask why he said you should get free tacos?”

Drunk Customer: *he huffs and rolls his eyes like I’m a complete idiot* “B****, it’s not your business. Give me tacos! Tell the [Mexican slur]s back there to get ’em started, now, b****!”

(The regular jumps out of his seat and walks quietly up behind the drunk customer.)

Drunk Customer: “If you don’t give me twenty free tacos right now, I’m going to beat your f****** a**!”

Regular: “[Drunk Customer].”

Drunk Customer: “Who the f***—”

(He whirls around to see the regular standing behind him, shaking his head slowly. The drunk customer freezes like a deer in the headlights.)

Drunk Customer: “Uh, hey, [Regular].”

Regular: “No.”

Drunk Customer: “Hey, man, I was just—”

Regular: “No. Leave.”

(The drunk customer practically bolts out the door. The regular looks up at me and smiles politely.)

Regular: “Have you called the cops?”

Me: *still a little shaken and confused* “What? The cops? N-no?”

Regular: “Okay. Are you going to?”

Me: “I don’t— Should I?”

Regular: “No, thank you.”

(He then sat back down as if nothing happened, finished his tacos and water, consolidated his trash into one basket, washed his hands in the bathroom, and left. I gave him his tacos for free the next couple times I saw him, but his routine still hasn’t changed.)

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That Went From Zero To Ten Super Fast

, , , , , , | Working | November 14, 2017

(I’m waiting in a line to be served. The current customer has a young daughter with her who has been playing silently with a number book. The cashier takes notice. She is an elderly lady.)

Cashier: “Oh, are you learning you count?”

Girl: “Yep!”

Cashier: “Can you count to ten yet?”

Girl: *innocently* “Sure! Can you?”

(The cashier’s face turns sour.)

Cashier: “F*** you!”

(Everyone gasps, including the girl and her mother. Before anyone can react though, the little girl slaps her.)

Girl: “Naughty!”

(Then, chaos breaks loose as the cashier tries to climb over the counter while the mother scolds her daughter. The cashier then starts shouting for a manager and they all head for the store’s exit. The remaining line moves to another checkout and is seen to. As I leave the store, I still hear the cashier shouting, with a manager shouting over her.)

Manager: “WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO? PROSECUTE A TODDLER?”

(I imagine the mother probably got in trouble, but hopefully the repercussions weren’t too severe.)

Rock Solid Reason For Dismissal

, , , , , , , | Learning | November 13, 2017

(My kindergarten teacher doesn’t like me, probably because I am a bit of a smart-a**, correcting her on math, grammar, and seasons. Each student in the class has brought in a bag of rocks from our neighborhoods as homework. I am partnered with a boy in my class to talk about our selections.)

Me: ”These rocks are really hard. See?”

(I tap the bag on the kid’s head, not too hard.)

Partner: “Ow. Those are hard.” *continues eating snack*

(Then, my teacher proceeds to call me inside. She takes me to the reading corner, the one spot of the room that can be completely counted on to not be reached by security cameras. She then hits me over the head with the rocks so hard that I’m surprised I don’t get a concussion.)

Teacher: “Did you like that?”

Me: “No! I’m sorry! Please don’t do that again!”

(She then emailed my mom and let her know what happened. She never mentioned how she punished me, probably because physical punishment is illegal in my state’s schools. I didn’t tell my parents what really happened until about third grade because I thought it was my fault. She was retired by then, but if I had told my parents a bit sooner, we would’ve taken it to court and probably sued her.)

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