Applying Tax After The Price: America Vs The World

, , , , , , | | Working | June 17, 2019

(To put this story in perspective, I am around eight years old, I am from England, and this is my first time visiting the USA, so I have no idea that tax is added on after the sale. I am waiting to catch my flight home to the UK and decide to use the last of my money to buy a magazine for the flight. I pick up a magazine that says it’s $3 on the shelf. I go to the counter with three dollar bills.)

Employee: *scans the magazine* “That will be $3.25.”

Me: “Oh, I only have $3 on me, but I’ve got change. Do I have what you need?” *holds out a handful of coins*

Employee: “Why do you only have $3 on you when you should know that tax is added on afterward?”

Me: “I don’t know what tax is, but it’s okay. I’ll put the magazine back.”

Employee: “Typical foreigner, always trying to weasel out of paying taxes.”

(I’m getting nervous because there’s a line and I only have the $3 on me. This is when someone steps in to save the day.)

Customer: “Leave the kid alone. He’s not from here and he won’t know about taxes at his age; I’ll pay the extra 25 cents so he can have it.” *reaches for his wallet*

Employee: “No! More Americans shouldn’t be paying for foreigners; if he wants it he has to pay for it or I’ll call security.”

Me: *nearly in tears at this point* “Please don’t call security. I’ll see if my Mum has the money. I’m really sorry.”

Customer #1: “No, you don’t need to.” *hands the employee a $5 and tells me to go back to my mum*

Employee: “No, this little punk should pay for himself.”

(The line was fairly long so the manager came over to see what was going on. After [Customer] explained he said I should just go back to my mum. The next thing I heard was the manager shouting at the employee for making a little kid cry when a customer had offered the money.)

Spilled The Ink On That One

, , , | | Working | June 17, 2019

(I have made an appointment to get a tattoo covered up. I sit down with the artist to talk about my options.)

Artist: “So, which one are we covering up for you?”

Me: “This one, right here. The one that says, ‘[Male Name].’”

(I roll up my sleeve and show him the tattoo of a small heart with “[Male Name]” written under it.)

Artist: *rolls his eyes* “Ah, broke up, did you? This is exactly why I don’t tattoo names on people.” *shakes his head*

Me: “Uh, no, it’s not like that. It’s actually–” *cuts me off*

Artist: “This is seriously one of the dumbest tattoo choices you can make. I mean, how stupid do you have to be to tattoo a boyfriend’s name on you? Jesus, c’mon. Nothing lasts forever these days.” *shakes his head again*

Me: “It’s not my boyfriend’s name; it’s–” *cuts me off again*

Artist: “Fiancé, husband, whatever. You’re a real idiot for tattooing his name on you. I mean, seriously–”

(Sick of his s***, I cut him off.)

Me: “Actually, it’s my father’s name. I got it as a memento four years ago when he died. Or I should say, when he faked his own suicide so he could go live with his new family on the other side of the country, which we just found out about. I want it gone. But I am definitely not doing that here. Goodbye.”

(The artist went absolutely white and tried to spit out some sort of apology, but I was already halfway out the door.)

Tech Support Retort

, , , , , | | Working | June 17, 2019

(A minor note before I go into this story. I work in tech support. We’re not talking the “have you rebooted it,” outsourced type, but serious tech support — the kind that deals with digging through code to fix issues, patching, and some hardware support. Recently, I found myself thinking about upgrading my graphics card, not because I really needed one, but I thought it’d be just a nice change compared to what I had. So, with that in mind, I head down to the local big-box tech store on my way home after work. I head inside, wander back to the parts department, and start looking through the shelves for the specific card I’ve had my eye on. It’s about this time that one of the salesmen approaches.)

Sales: “Finding everything you need?”

Me: “Not entirely sure.”

Sales: “Well, what do you need help with?”

Me: “I’m looking at getting a new graphics card, but…”

Sales: *cutting me off* “Well, it depends what you’re doing with it. Take this—“ *grabs a cheap card* “—It’s good for most things, but you don’t want that. Nah, you need this.” *grabs the most expensive card*

Me: “You think so, huh?”

Sales: “Oh, yeah. I’m an expert!”

Me: *muttering* “Sure, you are.” *aloud* “I get that you’re trained in these things to some degree, but you didn’t let me finish explaining the issue.”

Sales: *rolling his eyes* “Oh, go on, then.”

Me: “As I was about to say, I’m looking for a graphics card, but I’m not sure what kind of connector this type has, or if it’s for a laptop or tower. It doesn’t say it on the box, and I need a specific type to fit my system.”

Sales: “They’re all the same thing! I don’t know what gives you the idea they’re different.”

Me: “Education, training, experience…”

Sales: “What?”

Me: “Ever hear of [Well-Known Tech Support Company]?”

Sales: “Yes. And?”

Me: *producing badge* “I’m a technical support agent for them. So, yeah, the connections are different. I don’t need the upsell into something more expensive than what I want, and I don’t need the condescending ‘I know everything’ attitude. I just need to know what kind of connection this is, or if it’s for a laptop or tower.”

Sales: “Whatever. They’re the same [censored] thing! Here.” *grabbing a box off the shelf* “That’s the one you want.”

(With that he left. I ended up having to go back a second time, returning the one he picked up when I found out that yes, it was a laptop card. I also had a long talk with the department’s manager and the store manager about my experience. They ended up trading me the PC version — which was fifty bucks more — even for the laptop card I’d picked up, and assured me that they were going to have a long sitdown with that employee. I got the impression that this wasn’t the first time something like that had happened.)

He’s Smiling From Gill To Gill

, , , , , | | Working | June 16, 2019

Our new head of marketing suggested to the company CEO that some management training would be useful. The CEO — we rated him not as a Type A personality, but a Type AAAA personality — signed up for an “Interpersonal Skills” retreat.

The upshot was that he smiled more when he returned, but no other determinable change in his personality had occurred.

My office partner pegged it: “It’s the teeth! He went to ‘Congeniality Training for Sharks’!”

The Only Thing They’re Grabbing Is A Way To Get Kicked Out

, , , , , | | Working | June 15, 2019

(I have recently started working at a restaurant as a waitress. About halfway through my shift one evening, a group of four men are seated in my section. I head over to take their drink orders.)

Me: “Hello there. My name is [My Name] and I’m going to be your waitress tonight. Can I start you all off with something to drink?”

Customer#1: “Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing!”

Customer #2: “Good thing the ol’ wives aren’t here, or we’d be in trouble tonight!”

Me: “…”

(I’m feeling uncomfortable, but I do my job and take their orders. When I return to the table to hand them their drinks, I notice [Customer #2] looking me up and down with a creepy grin. He scoots to the side of the booth and leans over, hand out-stretched, clearly intending to slap me on the butt. I leap to the side as he swings, causing him to miss his target and lose his balance, sending him tumbling to the floor. As he pulls himself off the ground, he begins yelling at me.)

Customer #2: “You little b****, how dare you?! You flaunt yourself around in those f****** tight pants and can’t take the consequences? You’re a f****** teasing b****!” *shoves my shoulders* “Get me your manager! Now, b****!”

(My supervisor runs over to the scene and places a protective arm around me.)

Supervisor: “Sir, you need to calm down.” *turns to me* “Go take your break, I’ll handle this.”

(I run to the back and take my break. My supervisor kicks the men out of the restaurant. When I arrive for my shift the next day, the manager calls me into his office to speak with me.)

Manager: “Now, [My Name], I heard about what happened last night. So, consider this your first warning. If it happens again, you will be written up for it.”

Me: “What? What am I trouble for?”

Manager: “You made some loyal customers very angry and lost us a lot of money. We had to give them a gift card for their trouble.”

Me: “What?! He tried to sexually assault me!”

Manager: “[My Name], don’t turn this into one of those ordeals. You know what really happened.”

Me: *stunned silence*

Manager: “Situations like these are just what comes with being a waitress. The guys can’t help it, so you need to get used to it.”

Me: “I quit.”

(I walked out of his office and right out the door. I’ve never gone back.)

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