Treat It Like A Boss

, , , , | Right | March 14, 2018

(It is a busy Friday night, right after I’ve turned 20. My family and I have just moved to a small gambling town for job prospects about a month prior. A pair of brothers own about half the town, including the casino I am hired onto about a week after moving in. Due to my ability to deal with rude and borderline belligerent, drunk people and my sunshine personality, I am assigned to cashiering at one of the buffets on the nights and weekends. In my first several days of training, it is stressed to me that I must ask for ID from every customer, every time, if they make a credit or player’s card purchase, even if I know them.)

Me: “Okay, sir, I have [number] adults and [number] children. Your total is [amount], please.”

Guest: “Sure, no problem.” *hands me credit card*

Me: “Thank you, sir. Now I just need to check your ID real quick, please, and we’ll have you on your way.”

Guest: “Seriously?”

Me: “Yes, sir. This is as much for your protection as the casino’s.”

Guest: *looks at me incredulously* “Do you have any idea who I am?”

Me: *smiles wide, and calls on all the high school theater I can muster* “No, sir.” *leans in and drops to a conspiratorial tone* “Do you know who I am?”

Guest: *stops, confused* “Well, no.”

Me: *grins again, straightens up* “Great! So, we’re even! ID, please.”

(The guest continues to look at me like I’ve grown a second head while I compare his name and ID… and realize his name is the same as one of the brothers who owns my casino.)

Me: “Oh, dear sweet baby Jesus.”

(The owner started howling with laughter, and refused to accept my apologies, stating that while I “probably should know who my bosses are” he was glad to know that his assets were so hilariously guarded by smart-aleck cashiers.)

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