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Bad boss and coworker stories

Really Gets The Blood Pumping

| Working | January 7, 2014

(I’m at a clinic to give a blood donation. Everything is going smoothly, and I’m making small talk with the nurses, until I lay down to actually make the donation.)

Nurse #1: “I’m sorry. I can’t take your blood today.”

Me: “What? I thought everything was in order. All my tests came back within normal range.”

Nurse #1: “I know, but I can’t take your blood. You’re too calm.”

Me: “What?”

Nurse #1: “You obviously get some kind of sexual satisfaction from donating, so I can’t take your blood.”

Me: “WHAT? That’s ridiculous. Just because I don’t freak out at needles doesn’t mean I have a fetish for it!”

Nurse #1: “I’m sorry. I just can’t—”

Nurse #2: “Shut the f*** up and stick the f****** kid!”

Nurse #1: “But he’s going to—”

Nurse #2: “Stick. The. Kid.”

(Nurse #1 took my blood and didn’t say another word the rest of the time I was there.)

Very Bad Reception, Part 4

| Working | January 7, 2014

(I need to make an appointment to see a doctor at my college’s health center. I go to the front desk to make said appointment.)

Me: “Hi. I need to make an appointment”

Desk Receptionist: *hands me a business card* “Call this number to make appointments here.”

(The card is obviously pre-made, so I assume appointments are handled through an office somewhere else in the building. I step away from the desk and call the number.)

Desk Receptionist: *picks up phone* “Hello. How may I help you?”

(I ended up making the appointment over the phone from 10 feet away!)


Not Always Mostly Working

| Working | January 7, 2014

(About 28 days ago I bought an awesome laptop bag. The bag broke before the 30-day return period is over. With the receipt and tags from the bag in hand, I take it back to the store I’d purchased it from.)

Me: “Hey, I need to return this. Here’s my receipt. I’m kinda bummed, because this was a great bag, but the zipper gets stuck on a misshapen tooth.”

(The clerk examines the bag. He looks it over, inside and out, then proceeds to wrench on the zipper pull like his life depended on it. He forces the bag to zip completely.)

Clerk: “There you go. I fixed it.”

Me: “But you can see that there is a crooked tooth in the zipper. It’s going to get caught again and I’ll have the same problem.”

(As if to demonstrate how he’d “magically” fixed my bag, the clerk begins sawing on the zipper pull again. Sure enough it ends up stuck halfway once again. More wrenching on it gets the bag closed again.)

Clerk: “See?”

Me: “That doesn’t really fix the problem.”

Clerk: “Well, it mostly works now. Just keep it.”

(The clerk pushes the bag back across the counter to me.)

Me: “No. I didn’t pay money for a bag that will ‘mostly’ protect my laptop. I have my receipt. I am within the return period. I want to return this defective bag.”

Clerk: “Well, I fixed it, so it’s not really defective. And it’s obviously been used so I can’t return it without manager approval.”

(The clerk calls the manager, who saunters over and examines the bag.)

Clerk: “She says she’s returning it because it’s defective, but it’s not. I fixed it.”

(The manager starts doing the same insane yanking on the zipper that the other clerk had done. It takes some effort, but she manages to get it open and closed around the broken tooth of the zipper.)

Manager: *sighs in defeat* “Okay. It’s not defective, but I will let you return it just this once.”

(The manager rang it up and handed me my cash. I left the store, completely bewildered at how a simple return within the 30-day return window and with a receipt had become such an ordeal!)

Driving Home The Punch Lines

| Working | January 6, 2014

(Having lived in a large city most of my life, I am pleasantly surprised at how friendly the bus drivers are in the university town I have moved to.)

Bus Driver: *calling out stops through a microphone* “Hunter Ridge! Hunter Ridge Apartments!” *in a distinctive southern Indiana accent* “Can anyone tell me why they call them apartments when everyone lives all stuck together?”

Police Work Is Child’s Play, Part 3

| Working | January 6, 2014

(I am with my boyfriend at a hotel, checking ourselves in. I am 21 and he is 23. I also have to list my date of birth to check with security details. I am average size.)

Receptionist: “Okay. Is this your date of birth?”

Me: “Yeah.”

(The receptionist looks bewildered, but still lists it down and gives us a key. We’re unpacking in the room when the door is banged on rather loudly.)

Boyfriend: “I’ll answer.”

(He opens and two burly security guards answer. One of them stands right in front of my boyfriend while the other comes to me.)

Security Guard #1: “[Boyfriend’s Name]?”

Boyfriend: “Yeah?”

Security Guard #1: “I need to see you. Now.”

(My boyfriend gets taken out of the room as the second security guard sits down on my boyfriend’s bed and talks to me. I am extremely nervous and concerned.)

Me: “Where’s my boyfriend going?”

Security Guard #2: “Manager’s office. The receptionist needs to identify him and then the police are coming. Now, we need your parents’ number. Do you know it?”

Me: “Listen, what exactly are you asking for? What’s he done wrong?”

Security Guard #2: “We just need some confirmation. The receptionist said you gave your date of birth.”

Me: “Yeah. I’m 21.”

Security Guard #2: *surprised* “Really?”

(He gets a walkie-talkie radio out. I can hear what’s on the other end.)

Security Guard #2: “Er, [Manager], how old EXACTLY did [Receptionist] say she was?”

Manager: “She said 11.”

Security Guard #2: “Well, I’ve got a young woman here who looks 18 at the least.”

Manager: “[Receptionist], how old is she?”

Receptionist: “She put her year of birth as 1992! That’s 11 years ago!”

Manager: “That’s 21 years ago! How ON EARTH could you think a 21-YEAR-OLD WOMAN was 11? To make this even more stupid, the boyfriend had to write his year of birth down, too!”

Me: “Seriously?”

(When we get downstairs, I see the receptionist looking VERY embarrassed and the manager frowning. My boyfriend is blushing.)

Security Guard #2: “[Receptionist]? You know every guest booking in writes their date of birth. That guy is not much older, so why would you think they BOTH put children’s ages?”

Receptionist: “I thought he was trying to trick me.”

(I almost laugh, since my boyfriend is over six feet, has a few days’ growth of beard and an incredibly deep voice. The manager is just so glad he wasn’t involved in a molestation ring or anything so he didn’t charge us for that night!)