Time Is Money, Extra Literal Edition

, , , , | Working | November 19, 2018

(I’m the silly employee in this one. I’m ringing up a woman who is buying some clear glassware.)

Me: “Your total comes to 5:17 pm, ma’am.”

Customer: *confused*

Me: *facepalming* “I mean, your total is $3; your clear glassware was half off. I’m so sorry!”

Customer: *laughing* “So how much longer is your shift today?”

Me: “Two more hours, unfortunately.”

Any Emulsion By Any Other Name

, , , , | Working | November 19, 2018

(My mum decides we need to try a new hipster food place because the guy who owns it is a famous chef and is often on the radio channel she listens to. We are there for lunch and they don’t really have anything that I would like to eat, mainly because of the ingredients; there’s mayo on almost everything. I don’t know if I would consider it a food allergy, but mayo makes me throw up, and vinegar gives me heartburn. So, I decide on the lunch special but tell them I don’t want mayo on the burger, and I request no dressing on the salad. After I order, the chef comes and talks to me.)

Chef: “Are you the one who wanted the burger with no mayo and the salad with no dressing?”

Me: “Yes, please.” *explains my problems with mayo and vinegar*

Chef: “No problem. Would you like some tomato salsa on your burger, instead?”

Me: “Yes, that would be great. Thank you.”

Chef: “Also, the salad dressing only has a little bit of vinegar; you won’t be able to taste it. Mainly it is an emulsion of egg and oil. Just try it; I am sure you’ll like it.”

Me: “No, please don’t put that on my salad.”

(I thought to myself, “You just gave me the definition of mayo, and basically told me the dressing consists of the two things I told you I cannot eat.” They put it on, anyway.)

Right Backed Up At Ya

, , , , | Working | November 19, 2018

(I’ve been admitted to the hospital through the ER overnight for unbelievable stomach pains. After determining that it is not my appendix but a bowel blockage that is to blame for my incapacitation, the doctors put me on a low dose sedative and some pain meds while they assess the best way to… move things along. As soon as my store opens the next day, I call to let someone know what is happening. My store manager — who is basically the equivalent of Professor Umbridge from “Harry Potter” — answers the phone.)

Manager: *incredibly cheery, obviously fake* “Hello there! Thank you for calling [Store]. This is [Manager], the store manager. How can I help you today?”

Me: “Hi, [Manager]. This is [My Name]. Last night I—”

Manager: *suddenly angry* “If you’re calling off, don’t bother.”

Me: “But I—”

Manager: “Not that you work much, anyway. You sit down every chance you get; you always look angry. You even left early yesterday!”

Me: “Yeah, about that, I had to go to the—”

Manager: “You will be here on time or you are fired. Do you hear me?”

Me: “Okay, then.”

Manager: “Good.” *hangs up*

(I immediately call the corporate office to report her and explain my side of things. The representative asks me to fax a letter from my doctor so that I can be put on medical leave. A week later, I return to work. My manager is waiting for me by the time clock.)

Manager: “Fancy seeing you here, [My Name].”

Me: “Hi. How was your week?”

Manager: “Very productive! I spoke with corporate. After you failed to show up for your shift, I told them you called but didn’t say why you wouldn’t be in.”

Me: “Yeah. I sent them all my medical paperwork, since you threatened to fire me for going to the ER, which they know.”

Manager: “Well, now, that’s not entirely true, is it? What exactly sent you racing to the doctor anyway?”

Me: “I had a bowel blockage, so I couldn’t really move or lift anything or… do anything.”

Manager: “Oh, so you were full of s***!”

Me: “Yeah. But at least I can admit it.”

Not Doing A B.A.M. Up Job

, , , , , , | Working | November 18, 2018

(I work at a franchise location of a national restaurant chain. After a looong renovation, it has finally reopened as a flagship store for the entire company. Because of this, our owner, district manager, marketing rep, etc. have been there every day during our busy period to help and to work out the kinks. Unfortunately, many of our old staff found other jobs during the six months we were closed, so most of our staff is new, and some are less than stellar employees. One morning, a newer employee calls to say he is going to be late, over two hours after his shift starts. He speaks to a manager with a common name, let’s say Dan. He keeps cutting Dan off and finally hangs up. He calls back a few minutes later, and our district manager — basically the highest authority other than the owners — answers. Our district manager is also named Dan.)

District Manager: “Thank you for calling [Store]; this is Dan.”


District Manager: “Yes, this is Dan. What’s up, [Employee]?”


District Manager: “No, you didn’t speak to me earlier… No, you really didn’t… No, I’m not messing with you,[Employee]; you didn’t talk to me… Yes, this is Dan, but I think I’d know if I’d spoken to you in the last ten minutes… You didn’t talk to me, man…”


District Manager: *perfectly calm* “I’m sorry, but there’s no one here named B****-A**-Motherf***er.” *hangs up*

(The district manager walks over to the other Dan, still completely calm, and says in a conversational tone of voice:)

District Manager: “[Employee] no longer works here.”

A Significant Degree Of Stupidity

, , , , , | Working | November 17, 2018

I work in a coffee shop in a very student-heavy town. We are known globally for the standard of our students. The coffee shop is attached to a bar, so when the cafe closes, the bar opens, and we often clear the bar area in the mornings.

I get assigned a new coworker who is a student at the local university. On his first day, he has his safety talk and induction. On the second day, I have to remind him that taking a tray out of the 200-degree oven with your bare hands is not a good idea, as it will hurt. This lesson has to be repeated every day until it is decided he isn’t safe near the oven.

On the next week, he and I are on opening duties, so we have to clear the bar area. I take all the dregs and put them in a jug; as I am clearing I put the jug on the side. This brain box decides to try and drink the dregs, is promptly sick, and is sent home.

After this and similar instances of brainlessness, he is let go from the company. Can’t say I miss the walking disaster.

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