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Fro-No Thank You!

, , , , | Working | May 29, 2021

I used to work at a frozen yogurt shop that turned out to be one of my biggest nightmare jobs ever. My boss was the kind of guy who was obsessed with productivity, cleanliness, and nitpicking ridiculous things.

I later learned that other fro-yo shops would just let the customer build their own and then charge by weight and be done with it. But that’s not how it worked in [Boss]’s shop.

[Boss] made a point of making us build to the customer’s requests and then weighing every single fro-yo so that it matched an arbitrary number of ounces, even though the weight was never posted and none of our sizes mentioned anything other than small, medium, large, and kids’ cup. One day, a small would be sixteen ounces. The next day, it would be fifteen or seventeen. With no consistency, there was no way to do it “right.”

He would chew us out IN FRONT OF CUSTOMERS for doing it “wrong.” Then, he’d make us throw away the old cup, fro-yo and all, and make a new cup and bring up the scale and weigh it again. The amount of wastage from this nonsense alone was astronomical. I have no idea how he stayed in business as long as he did.

But what killed me was the store itself. [Frozen Yogurt Shop] was a rathole of a place. The front was neat, because we made it so, but we had to struggle with machines that broke down frequently.

Boss: “No, I’m not going to call someone to fix it! It’ll be okay! No, that’s not a fire hazard. Yes, I know it’s smoking. Just turn it off and I’ll band-aid the thing later!”

The freezer leaked. And by that, I mean that there was such a huge icicle that my coworker took a mallet and a screwdriver and chiseled it out because we couldn’t even get to things in the back.

I was apparently the only person willing to do any sort of cleaning. When I first got there, half the machines were completely caked with old fro-yo. We had a “blizzard” type machine, with a spoon that had become a Jurassic-Park-level mosquito in amber, only the amber was dried ice cream. It took me three days to clean that.

I busted my a** trying to keep everything as clean as I could. But it was a lost cause. I found out how much of a lost cause it was when I was making a gentleman a smoothie.

While I was blending away, the gentleman looked up.

Gentleman: “Excuse me, but did that just move?”

I looked up at him like a deer in the headlights, wondering what he was asking. He was pointing to the painting of an ice cream cone on the wall.

I saw a spot of chocolate sauce, but that wasn’t surprising.

Me: “Did what move, sir?”

Gentleman: “The chocolate sauce. Did it move?”

I didn’t even take him for possibly being crazy; my constant battle with the vile condition of this place ensured that I was instantly flooded with A Very Bad Feeling. Taking a few steps toward that wall made the “chocolate sauce” bolt for a crack in the wall.

My stomach dropped into my shoes. It was a roach!

I turned around to the customer in a near panic.

Gentleman: “It’s okay. I’ve watched every step of what you were doing, and you did just fine, so I’ll still take my smoothie. But I hope you’ll understand that I won’t be coming back.”

Me: *Rather sadly* “I don’t blame you, sir. I wouldn’t come back, either.”

An “anonymous” phone call was made to the Health Inspector that very day, because I knew that this place couldn’t be saved, and my job was going to end sooner or later anyway. Once the customers see the bugs, it’s just a matter of time.

Yes. I know I should have called it in much earlier. My inexperience delayed it.

I told [Boss] about the roach when he came in later, and he laid roach traps everywhere.

Mean Boss: “The Health Inspector is coming! Make this place into an A!”

Considering what shape it was in, this was impossible. The necessary steps would have required a professional cleaning crew to give it a top-to-bottom treatment, including dismantling things or just replacing them entirely. 

So, [Boss] screamed at me for not doing a good enough job, despite the fact that I was the only one to actually put in any effort to clean… AT ALL. None of the other employees bothered. [Boss] certainly didn’t contribute; it was all my responsibility.

I quit as soon as he stopped to take a breath.

Then, the Health Inspector showed up after I was gone. The store’s final grade was a C. For those not in the know, to get a C grade, the restaurant had more than four critical foodborne illness violations. To be honest, I’m shocked it wasn’t a worse grade.

My father and I drove by shortly after I quit to see that he’d hidden the C Grade sign behind some tables where no one could see, a HUGE no-no.

Another month after that, [Frozen Yogurt Shop] was gone. The store was cleared out and closed down, and not long later, it was taken over by an Italian deli who consistently got A ratings.

Yogurt Brain Freeze

, , , , , | Friendly | January 25, 2018

(I am finishing my last shift at work before taking a leave of absence, as I need to have a minor surgery on my ankle the following Monday. I’ve been working at this frozen yogurt shop for six months. It’s locally owned and very popular, so I’ve seen people I know on just about every shift I work. Everyone I know is aware I work there, as it’s a fun environment and I post about it on social media occasionally. My friend is the one who recommended I apply to work here, so she’s been working at this store for about a year longer than I have. We have just under an hour left until close, so it is slowing down a bit. An acquaintance walks in as I am sweeping up some sprinkles a kid spilled.)

Me: “Hi, [Acquaintance]! Welcome to [Store]!”

Acquaintance: “Hello, I was just at [Burger Shop in the strip mall] and was stopping by in hopes of catching [Friend].”

Me: “Oh, sorry. She isn’t in right now. It’s pretty hard to catch her since she decided to only take a couple shifts a week right now.”

Acquaintance: “That’s too bad. Hey, so, what are you doing here? Just hanging with friends?”

(I look down at my broom, obnoxiously bright tie-dye t-shirt, and hair pulled back with a headband. The broom, shirt, and headband all have the store’s logo. I’m not sure if it is a sincere question.)

Me: “I… work here?”

Acquaintance: “Oh, yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

Me: “…?”

With Pregnant Women You Really Have To Crack The Whip

, , , , | Right | August 18, 2017

(I work at a self-serve frozen yogurt shop, where customers can serve themselves cups of yogurt with various toppings, and weigh it at the end. The one topping we offer that is not self-serve is whipped cream, because customers would have to touch the nozzle to serve themselves, and that’s unhygienic. Employees are the only ones who can touch the nozzle, because we wash our hands with sanitized water frequently. This story happens as a heavily pregnant woman comes in with her husband.)

Woman: “Can I get some whipped cream, please?”

Me: “Of course!” *holds can over her cup* “Tell me when.”

Woman: *grabbing for the can* “No, I’ll do it.”

Me: “I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t let you. It’s due to the health code; only employees can touch whipped cream cans.”

Woman: “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never heard that in my life!” *continues to try and snatch the can away from me* “Just let me do it. I’m pregnant!”

Man: “Come on, just let her do it. She’s eight months pregnant. Let her do what she wants.”

Me: “Really, I am sorry. It can seem like a silly rule, but we can’t be sure that customers’ hands are totally clean, so we can’t let anyone else touch the nozzle.”

Woman: “Oh, so now you’re calling me dirty?! Give me the can, you little b****!!” *she slaps the can out of my hand and proceeds to put whipped cream on her yogurt herself* “There, was that so hard?”

(I have to throw the can away at this point, since there’s no way to properly sanitize the nozzle, and we can’t risk other customer’s safety in the case that the woman’s hands might have been dirty. The woman rages when she sees me do this.)

Woman: “What the f***?! You just throw it away?! Because I touched it!?”

Me: “Yes! Like I tried to tell you, it’s unhygienic! I can’t keep using a can that someone else has touched—”

(The woman slams her yogurt down on the scale, which causes it to splash up and go everywhere, including all over herself. She starts screaming in frustration, before stomping out, leaving her husband behind.)

Man: “See what you did? This could have all been avoided! She’s pregnant!”

(They left without their yogurts.)

And That’s How The Calorie-Counting Crumbles

| Right | July 18, 2017

(I work at a yogurt shop one summer in college. Because so many people are weight-conscious, I quickly became aware of the caloric content of everything we sell.)

Customer: “Hi, do you have anything low calorie?”

Me: “Yes, our vanilla frozen yogurt is non-fat, and has [X] calories in a small, and [Y] in a large. The chocolate is low-fat, and has [A] calories in a small, and [B] in a large.”

Customer: “Great, I’ll take the non-fat vanilla, small.”

Me: “Would you like it in a cup or a cone?”

Customer: “A cup. I don’t want the calories from the cone!”

Me: “Okay.” *takes cup, gets ready to serve yogurt*

Customer: “That’s the NON-fat vanilla, right?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. The vanilla is non-fat.” *dishes out yogurt*

Me: “Would you like any toppings on that?”

Customer: “Do you have any chocolate sauce?”

Me: “Yes, we have regular chocolate sauce and non-fat chocolate sauce.”

Customer: “How many calories in the non-fat sauce?”

Me: “[N] calories.”

Customer: “Okay, I’ll have that.”

Me: *adds sauce*

Customer: “Oh, and put some of that crumbled Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup on it!”

Me: “…”

Frozen Yoghurt For Warm Hearts

, , , , , , | Right | June 5, 2017

(I work at a small self-serve frozen yogurt store. One night, a man and his young daughter come in, the daughter clearly excited about getting frozen yogurt. I chat with them, help them out, and everything goes fine until it’s time to pay. He reaches into his wallet to pay, and pulls out a $100 bill. Because $100 bills are so easily faked and because we have so little in our change drawers, our store policy won’t let me accept it.)

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t accept a $100 bill, sir; it’s against our store policy. Do you have another method of payment, like a credit card?”

Customer: “No, this is all I have. Are you sure that you can’t take it?”

(He shows me the entire wallet, which, true to his word, only has $100 bills. By this point, from his accent and the contents of his wallet, it’s clear to me that he and his daughter are foreign tourists out for a late night treat, and as she has been so excited, I don’t have the heart to make her give the yogurt back.)

Me: “In that case, I’ll just let you have the yogurt for free.”

Customer: “Oh! Thank you — but I’ll come back to pay you. I’ll go to the bank and get smaller bills.”

Me: “You don’t have to do that; it’s all right. Have a good night!”

Customer: “No, no, no. I will come back!”

(The two of them start to head out with their yogurt.)

Customer’s Daughter: “Where are we going, Daddy?”

Customer: “To the bank, so that I can pay the lady. Go ahead and eat your yogurt.”

(They leave, and I leave the check open and go back to tending to the store. About fifteen minutes later, I notice a truck pull up in front of the store, and to my surprise, it’s that customer and his daughter!)

Me: “Hello, I see that you are back!”

Customer: “Yes, I went to the bank to get money you can take. Here you are!”

Me: “Oh, thank you!”

(He hands me a $20 to pay. Since I’d left the check open, I was able to give him change and hand it to him.)

Customer: “They closed the exit to here so I had to drive all the way around to the other exit — but I was going to get you your money!”

Me: “Thank you very much for coming back, sir. A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered.”

Customer: “No, thank you for letting us take the yogurt. Have a good night!”

(That girl is lucky to have such a great father!)