It’s Tearin’ Up My Heart When I’m With You

, , , , , | Working | September 25, 2017

(I’m putting my items through the self-checkout and get an alert because I’m purchasing alcohol. Once I’ve finished, I see a worker come over and expect her to verify my age, etc. However, she proceeds to pick up my bag, turn it upside down, and dump everything on the scale. I am using a reusable bag from another store.)

Worker: “We just need to put your bag through.”

(She tries to scan the bag. It is clearly from another store; this store uses a blue bag, while mine is white and green, and the text and overall aesthetic is completely different, as well. As expected, the scanner doesn’t pick it up.)

Me: “It’s from [Other Store]. It won’t work.”

Worker: *ignoring me* “Why isn’t it scanning?”

(She tries over and over, refusing to listen to me until she screams out in frustration and rips the bag in half.)

Worker: “Now look what you did! You’re going to have to get another now!”

(She tries to get one of the store’s bags when a manager intercepts her. The manager apologises to me and offers me a free replacement, despite my bag not being from their store. She also approves my alcohol purchase and lets me go. I ask for my torn bag back, as well, before I leave. The worker is screaming so loudly at the manager by this point that half the checkout has stopped moving to watch the spectacle. I leave, and a week later decide to shop at the store where I got my original reusable bag. While I’m there, I decide to get my bag replaced, as they have a lifetime free exchange offer for damaged bags.

Me: “Could I replace this, please?”

Other Worker: “Sure.” *while grabbing another bag* “It looks like someone tried to rip it open.”

Me: “Someone did.”

Other Worker: “Your kids?”

Me: “Ugh, no. Someone at [Store] thought it was one of theirs, and—”

Other Worker: “Was it a woman? Short, with curly black hair?”

(I nod.)

Other Worker: “She worked here last Christmas.”

(She handed me my new bag and started scanning my shopping. As I was leaving, I heard people at the service counter talking about the woman and laughing hysterically. Looks like she got herself a reputation.)

Rocking On Through Your Shift

, , , | Right | September 21, 2017

(I am working the register. A woman approaches to return two items: ribbon and a five-pound bag of decor rocks. I scan the slip, and it says that I cannot return the rocks, as they were purchased as a clearance item.)

Me: “I’m sorry; I can return the ribbon, but I cannot return the rocks because they were bought on clearance.”

Customer: “But I don’t need them.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the register will not let me.”

Customer: *incoherent mumble*

(I process the return of the ribbon as normal, with no other issues.)

Me: “Here you are.” *hands her the bag with her return slip and the non-returnable rocks*

Customer: *throws the bag back at me, hitting me in the chest and chin with five pounds of rocks* “UGH! I said throw them away! I don’t want them, and I am not taking it home!”

(She stomps off.)

Me: *to next customer* “Want a bag of rocks?”

Raising A Monster Versus Monster Parenting

, , , , | Right | September 21, 2017

(Around the holidays, the tension is really high for people to get their prescriptions on time before going on vacation, so the pharmacy area is packed with close to forty people. I overhear this exchange as I’m ringing up a customer with an especially rude son.)

Me: “That will be $4.50, please.”

Customer: *digs in her purse for her wallet*

Customer’s Son: “Geez, stupid b****. Can’t you hurry up!? I want to go home, now!”

(A lady a few people back snaps her head towards him with a face that is the essence of “Oh, HELL no!”)

Customer’s Son: “God, Mom. Every time we go somewhere, it takes you for-f***ing-ever!”

(The lady a few people back is now breathing very loudly through her nose.)

Customer: “Sweetie, if you wait a minute, we can go get you a burger.”

Customer’s Son: “You bet like hell you are.” *points finger in her face* “You owe me big, woman. I could have been home hours ago out of this s*** heap with you. I’m bored out of my f***ing skull.”

(The lady a few people back is now looking anywhere but at the teenager, shaking her head violently, tapping the side of her purse, and muttering, “Mm-mm, mm-mmmm,” to herself.)

Customer: “Okay, look, honey. We’re done.”

Customer’s Son: “ABOUT D*** TIME, B****!”

(The customer and her son just pass around the corner, when the lady a few people back suddenly swings around, grabs both her teenage sons with one hand, and starts hitting them both with her purse.)

Lady: “DON’T.” *smack* “YOU.” *smack* “EVER.” *smack* “TALK.” *smack* “TO.” *smack* “ME.” *smack* “LIKE.” *smack* “THAT!” *smack*

(Some people are staring open-mouthed, others are cheering her on, but I am face-down on the counter, laughing hysterically. When it is the lady’s turn, I am still choking down tears.)

Me: “Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?”

Lady: “You’re laughing, but I’ll do the same to you if I ever hear you talking like that.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. You’re a great woman.”

Lady: “That’s because I was taught how to respect my parents.”

(Faith in humanity restored. Thank you, purse lady!)

Running Away Runs In Their Blood

, , , , , | Learning | September 21, 2017

I took a zoology course in college and ended up with a very unique and laid-back professor.

He started the laboratory portion of our class with a story told to him by his own college professor about why we should follow lab protocols (closed-toed shoes, no food in the lab, tying back long hair, etc).

In the story, there was a young female student taking biology, and the lab section involved dissection of bullfrogs. These were semi-fresh dissection subjects and had minimal preservation (blood was still present and tissue was still… squishy). She had long, blonde hair, worn loose, and she was wearing a cream cashmere sweater. In the midst of the dissection with her lab partner, she leaned over the tray with the partially dissected frog on it, and her hair trailed through the blood. Her lab partner pointed it out to her and the student started screaming.

She stood up quickly and her hair slapped onto her face, which made her scream more, as she started shaking her head in a panicked attempt to get the blood off. The shaking spread blood-spatter down her cashmere sweater, and the situation continued to get worse.

Before the professor could intervene, she ran out of the lab and down the hall shrieking, and the other professors started poking their heads out. From their perspective, there was a highly distressed young lady covered in blood running down the hallway, so the police were called and it was a gigantic mess…

Amidst snickers, my class agreed that we would follow the lab protocols (and if we didn’t, we wouldn’t run out of the lab screaming bloody murder.)

Entitlement Can Be Disabling

, , , , , , , | Friendly | September 20, 2017

(I am attending the county fair, and I go to use the women’s bathroom. There is only one handicapped stall, and a polite woman using a wheelchair is waiting to use it. She even moves her chair to make sure I can get into an empty stall. Once I am done, she is still waiting, and I notice she is squirming a lot in her chair. I work with disabled individuals, and I know that those with mobility issues, especially those who are paralyzed, can have little to no control over their bladders.)

Me: “Are you all right?”

Woman In Chair: “Yes, it’s just… I’ve been waiting about ten minutes, and it’s getting harder and harder.”

Me: *I knock on the stall door* “Excuse me, are you all right?”

Woman In Stall: “See? I told you to hurry up; people are waiting! We are not leaving this stall until you go potty!”

Child: *also in stall* “I don’t have to go! I told you already!”

Woman In Stall: “I don’t care! We’re not leaving!”

Me: “Ma’am? I’m sorry, but there are people waiting to use this stall.”

Woman In Stall: “We’re in here!”

Woman In Chair: “I can wait, I think. I’m trying.” *squirms more* “Really, I don’t like to cause a scene.”

Me: *to the woman in the stall* “Ma’am, that is the only stall large enough for anyone with a wheelchair to use; you need to move so others can use it.”

Woman In Stall: “I have my daughter with me!”

Child: “I don’t have to go!”

(This goes around for about three minutes. The mother keeps yelling at her daughter to go potty, the daughter says she doesn’t have to, and I try my hardest to figure out how to get a woman who cannot walk at all into a stall that isn’t large enough for her wheelchair. It’s not happening, at all. Even the larger stalls all have tiny doors. The woman in her wheelchair is actually tearing up.)

Woman In Chair: “This is my anniversary trip. I don’t have any spare clothes, or another seat cushion, and I just can’t… I can’t wait.”

Me: *bangs on the stall door*

Woman In Stall: “FINE!”

(She comes out of the stall, revealing that her daughter has to be close to seven years old. They leave, and I move out of the way so the woman in the chair can get in. As I move, an eleven-year-old girl walks over and actually steps over the foot pedals of the woman in the wheelchair!)

Me: “Hey! Wait your turn, please.”

Woman In Chair: “Excuse me. I was next; I’ve been waiting.”

Girl: *stares straight at the woman in the wheelchair as she shoves the door shut and locks it, literally having to push the woman back to do so*

Woman In Chair: *crying* “Please! Please! I can’t hold it any longer. Every other stall is free! Please!”

(The girl ignores us, and a woman comes in and walks straight past us and to the handicapped stall. She begins talking to her daughter through the stall.)

Me: “Ma’am, your daughter pushed this woman aside, who has been waiting!”

Mother: “Oops, sorry about that.” *continues talking to her daughter, notices that the woman in the wheelchair is crying* “[Child], this is actually a very good lesson for you. Look how upset this woman is getting over a bathroom stall. That is ridiculous! You did nothing wrong; it’s stupid to get upset over a stall.”

Me: “Wow! I’d be more upset over the fact you and your daughter are b****es.”

(The mother throws a literal tantrum. Her daughter comes out, and the mother then refuses to move, standing in front of the handicapped stall and trying to get other women in the bathroom to side with her, repeatedly saying, “I don’t have to move if I don’t want to; am I right?” Finally, a woman who has been doing her makeup at the sink turns around and stares the mother down.)

Makeup Woman: “If I were you, I would be beyond embarrassed. First for your daughter’s obvious lack of manners, and then for your own. If you were one of my employees, or if my daughters acted even close to how yours has, I’d be appalled. You are at a community event, and you are a parent. Act like an adult.” *looks at the girl* “As for you, I hope that you do not grow up to act like you are acting now, or how your mother is, because I can assure you it is a mistake.”

(The mother grabbed her daughter’s unwashed hand and stormed out, a bunch of us laughing at her as she did so.)

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