Interrupting The Work Flow

| Working | September 30, 2013

(My crew has just recently gotten a new supervisor who has a problem with people being out of their assigned aisles. He will often walk the store to make sure everyone is doing what they’re supposed to be doing. On this day in particular, I happen to be out of my aisle both times he walks the store.)

Supervisor: “[My name], why were you out of your aisle twice in one shift?”

Me: “I had to use the restroom.”

Supervisor: “Both times?”

Me: “Yes, sir. Is that a problem?”

Customer: “Not really, but do you think you could limit the amount of times you run to the ladies’ room?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but that might not be possible. You see, being the only girl on the crew I have to deal with an issue that no one else has to deal with. And because of this issue, I will often have to use the restroom every few hours or so. I really don’t want to go into the details since they are rather personal and private. Do you still have a problem with me using the restroom more than once per shift?”

Customer: *pale and uncomfortable* “No, it’s fine!”

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Rates This Customer Service High

, | Working | September 30, 2013

(My dad and I are on our way home from visiting a potential college about eight hours away. We decide to stop at a restaurant on the highway to get food and use the restrooms. When we come out of the restrooms to order our food, there is not an employee in sight.)

Me: “Well this is weird.”

Dad: “Yeah, where’d everyone go?”

(After about a minute, every employee comes out together and somebody takes our order. We walk back to the car with our food.)

Dad: *laughing* “You gotta be f****** s******* me!”

Me: “What?”

Dad: “Did you see that?”

Me: “That they all came out like that? That was weird.”

Dad: “Well yeah, that, but I was looking at the one guy making our fries, and he was going like this…”

(My dad tilts his head back and squints his eyes.)

Dad: “And then I realized they all must have been in the back getting high!”

Me: “Oh, that explains it!”

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Apoyo Loco

| Working | September 30, 2013

(I am a missionary. I am assigned to work with Spanish-speaking congregations all over Southern California. I have been speaking Spanish for 14 months, but have only been fluent for 10 months. My fellow missionary companion has been speaking it for about four months. It is an unspoken rule that you don’t make fun of each other’s Spanish if it’s your second language, because you used to be just as bad as whoever is speaking. This does not, however, mean that you don’t help the person out when they ask for it.)

Bishop: *in Spanish* “We need to make sure that our church’s members feel loved and supported. We need to support them, give them whatever support they need…”

(My companion leans over and whispers to me.)

Companion: “What’s with all the chicken?”

Me: “What?”

Companion: “He keeps saying something about needing chicken. Are we having a church dinner?”

(After a couple of seconds of listening, I lean over.)

Me: “‘Apoyo’ (ah-POI-o) means support. ‘Pollo’ (POI-yo) means chicken.”

Companion: “Okay, that makes much more sense than every member needing a chicken.”

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Giving Bad Managers A Pizza Your Mind, Part 2

| Working | September 30, 2013

(My girlfriend and I are at a casino, and decide to get pizza at the restaurant located within the premises. After about 15 minutes of being altogether ignored by the wait-staff, I get up and approach one of the waitresses. She apologizes and tells me she will call the waitress who is supposed to be serving our area. She goes up to a waitress who is standing by the bar chatting with the bartender. The waitress barely glances in our direction before walking lazily towards us with a sullen expression for having interrupted her chat.)

Waitress: “What’ll you have?”

(The waitress speaks without so much as an apology or even a greeting, while chewing gum. I let it slide.)

Me: “Um, yeah, can we get a large meat-lovers pizza with extra cheese, but hold the pork; I cannot eat pork without feeling nauseous.”

(The waitress writes down our order and walks away and proceeds to ignore us once again. After about 20 minutes, I walk up to her.)

Me: “Excuse me, but how long does it usually take to make a pizza?”

Waitress: “Look, sir, it’ll come when it’s ready.”

Me: “Yes well, can you please check for me?”

(Wordlessly, the waitress gets up and goes to the kitchen and comes out almost immediately with our pizza. She plonks it on our table and is about to walk away when I notice that the pizza has pork on it.)

Me: “Hold on, this pizza has pork on it. I specifically ordered it without pork.”

Waitress: “No substitutions, replacements or changes.”

Me: “Well you could have told me this before when I was ordering.”

Waitress: *shrugs shoulders* “Not my problem; it’s [restaurant’s] policy.”

Me: “Look, I can’t eat this. Take it back and just get us a chicken and mushroom pizza.”

(This pizza comes out fairly quickly. However, after looking at it closely, I see that it has obviously been spat on, and been poorly disguised with a piece of chicken on top of it. I call the waitress back and she pretty much stomps over and gives me the glare of death with her hands on her hips.)

Waitress: “What now?”

Me: “Call the manager.”

Waitress: “What for?”

Me: “Just go and call the manager please.”

(She leaves and comes back alone five minutes later.)

Waitress: “He’s not in at the moment.”

Me: “Bull! Are you telling me that a restaurant like this doesn’t have anyone in charge at any given time?”

Waitress: “Well actually I was being nice. He really told me that he was too busy to deal with petty issues and that you must pay up and leave.”

(She then proceeds to total our bill, giving a running commentary all the while.)

Waitress: “So, that’s two wasted pizzas and [drinks].”

(This is the last straw. What with the attitude of the waitress and the useless manager hiding in the office, I take matters into my own hands. I pick up the pizza and proceed to go to each of the tables showing customers the pizza with spit on it. While doing this, out of nowhere, a man runs up and yells at me.)


Me: “Who are you?”


Me: “Oh I’m sorry. I was under the impression that you were very busy. Never mind though, I’m simply showing the other diners the wonderful cuisine served at your restaurant. Well I’m pretty much done here; how much do I owe you?”


(The other diners leave quickly after us, and we never eat at that restaurant again.)


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Flights Of Fancy

| Working | September 29, 2013

(My initial flight is delayed, so I am checking to see when the next connecting flight leaves. My final destination is by no means a small city.)

Agent #1: “Do you have a connecting flight, sir? If so I can direct you to the correct gate.”

Me: “Yes, I was supposed to be on flight [number], but I’ve already missed it. When is the next flight to [location]?”

Agent #1: *confused look* “Umm… we don’t fly into [location].”

Me: “Here is my boarding pass; you obviously fly there, or else I wouldn’t have a ticket.”


Me: “I printed this at the airpo—”

Agent #1: “THAT’S IT! SECURITY!”

(Finally, another nearby gate agent hears the screaming and comes over.)

Agent #2: “What is the problem here?”

Agent #1: “This man printed a fake ticket. I know we don’t fly to [location], so it has to be fake.”

Agent #2: “Oh, for the love of—I’m sorry, sir. Let me look up when the next flight to [location] is.”

Agent #1: “NO! Y’ALL JUST CONSPIRING AGAINST ME!” *storms off*

Agent #2: *to me, sighing* “The sad part is, that’s at least the third time she’s tried to call security for a fake boarding pass.”

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