(I am in a tea store the other day checking out some white tea. The employee helping us was very nice and knowledgeable, but she made some AWFUL puns.)
Employee: “So this tea used to be reserved for the Imperial Family of China. I guess you could say it’s… Royal-Tea!”
Us: *groan*
(I am blessed with soft, thick, luxurious hair that grows incredibly fast. I decide to start donating it every couple of years once it gets long enough, usually about to my lower back or thighs, or whenever I grow too frustrated with it. I go in to ‘harvest the crop’ and one of the girls tells me to come on over and sit down.)
Stylist: “Okay, so what are we doing to it today?”
Me: “Cut it short, but save the ponytail. I’m donating it.”
Stylist: *somewhat perturbed* “Oh… that’s interesting.”
(I’m not really paying attention while she’s cutting. I run a side business and am on my phone sorting out some orders until she’s done.)
Stylist: “Finished!”
Me: *looks up* “ACK! WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
(My hair is now cropped up to my ears when I usually like it cut about to the nape of my neck. Even worse, I look down on the floor and all of my hard-grown hair is lying in tattered shreds and pieces all around the chair, utterly useless for cancer donation. I turned around, wild-eyed.)
Me: “I was going to donate that! What the h*** did you do to it?!”
Stylist: “I did exactly like you said; I cut it short. It’s a cute little pixie cut now!”
Me: “Okay, one, I did NOT ask for a d*** pixie cut; it looks atrocious! Two, I asked you to cut it straight across and SAVE the PONYTAIL! I was donating it!”
Stylist: “Okay, uh, eww! You know they just toss the hair out, right? Besides, this is so cute on you!”
Me: “They don’t ‘toss it out,’ it goes to cancer patients! My niece ended up with the last ponytail I donated!”
Stylist: “Well, your niece is officially gross and you obviously don’t care about your appearance. You need to pay for the cut now.”
Me: “I’m not paying you for s***!”
(One of the other women overhears the argument and brings the head stylist over, as well as the lady who usually cuts my hair.)
Regular: “[My Name], I thought you were donating this week.”
Me: “I WAS, before she did this to me.” *points at ridiculous haircut*
Stylist: “Nobody donates hair! That’s f****** disgusting!”
Regular: “Uh, SHE has, for the last two years!”
Stylist: “Whatever, she still needs to pay for the cut.”
Regular: “No, she doesn’t. You on the other hand, owe her an apology and you can officially excuse yourself for the rest of the week.”
(She flipped me off instead and stormed out. I found out later that she was fired for throwing out ponytails of donated hair that other stylists had saved up for various organizations. A total of thirty-four donations wound up in the dump.)
(I’ve recently graduated from college and am in desperate need of a job so I can start paying my student loans. I go in for an interview at a local boutique and am hired on the spot for a part-time position. The owner says she’ll call me within 48 hours to let me know when to start. Four days later, I haven’t heard anything, so I call the store…)
Me: “Hi, this is [My Name], and I was wondering if you had a start date for me?”
Owner: “Of course! I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner; it just slipped my mind. You’ll be starting this Saturday.”
Me: “Great! What is the dress code?”
Owner: “Whatever you are comfortable in! You can wear a dress and heels; you can wear jeans and flip-flops. We’re pretty relaxed around here.”
Me: “That sounds awesome. I’ll see y’all Saturday, then.”
(I take the owner literally and decide to wear my favorite jeans, a cute top, and some fun flip-flops on my first day. I show up and am surprised to see that both the owner and the other employee are wearing nice sundresses and high heels.)
Me: *jokingly* “I feel a little underdressed today!”
Owner: “Oh, no, you look just fine! Now, let me show you what you’ll be doing today…”
(I spend most of the day in the stock room, pricing new items and steaming clothes. Despite my extensive retail and cash handling experience, I am not allowed to use the register. At the end of my shift, I notice that I’m not on the schedule for the next week.)
Me: “Hey, [Owner], I was wondering when I’ll be working next? I am not on the schedule.”
Owner: “Oh, I made that up two weeks ago. Let me see. I am sure we’ll need you next weekend.” *pulls up the schedule* “Oh, no… not next week. We have more than enough staff working… Not the week after either… Hmm, let me pull up July’s schedule.”
Me: “Uh…July?!”
Owner: “Oh darn, I’m not seeing any needs then either!! How about this: I’ll tinker with my schedules this week and I’ll give you a call to let you know when you’ll be working again?”
Me: “Sure.”
Owner: “Great! Well, you were a great help today, and I’ll see you soon, I’m sure!”
(I give it a week. When I don’t hear anything, I decide to start applying for other jobs. I am hired almost immediately for a part-time position that is actually related to my degree. A couple months pass and I don’t hear anything from the boutique, but am doing so well at my other job that I am promoted to a full-time position. I get home the day after and see an email from the boutique owner. Please note: it is now September.)
Owner: “Hey, [My Name], I just wanted to let you know that we haven’t forgotten about you! I know it’s been a while since you’ve worked here, but I’m sure I will need you very soon!”
Me: “Actually, I just got offered a full time position at another company. Please consider this my resignation, even though I only worked 1 shift back in June.”
(I never heard anything back. I’m not sure if the owner just forgot she hired me or if not scheduling me was their way of firing me…)
(I manage a retail boutique. I have been looking to hire a replacement for a keyholder who is leaving, and I have to be fairly picky about who I hire in those positions, as they’re responsible for opening and closing the store by themselves when my assistant or I are off, as well as handling deposits, taking $1000 custom orders, etc. Meanwhile, I have a seasonal associate who has no interest in talking with customers and has difficulty following instructions on tasks.)
Seasonal Associate: “What’s a [acronym for sales performance goals]?”
Me: “I’m sorry, what?”
Seasonal Associate: “A [acronym for sales performance goals]. What is that?”
Me: “You’re joking, right?”
Seasonal Associate: “…no? [District manager] just sent an email about that and I didn’t know what it meant.”
Me: “[Seasonal Associate], I know for a fact that [Assistant Manager] and I both explained it to you when we interviewed you for the job, as well as during it your first couple shifts. It was explained in the orientation video that I witnessed you watch and take a quiz on. We’ve used that term every single day, multiple times a day, since you started five months ago. There’s a huge chart, at eye level, on the door to the sales floor that tracks everyone’s [acronym for sales performance goals] each week. How do you not know this?”
Seasonal Associate: *shrug*
Me: “You do realize that [acronym for sales performance goals] is literally the only way the company judges how our store is performing, right?”
Seasonal Associate: “I didn’t realize that. By the way, if you can’t find another key-holder, I can do it!”
(My grandmother died on April 9th, of natural causes. My grandfather then died on April 10th, the day after, also of natural causes. My family is clearing out their condo because we have only until the 30th to do so. The phone in their house starts ringing.)
Aunt: *picks up the phone* “Hello?”
Telemarketer: “I need to speak to [Grandmother] or [Grandfather].”
Aunt: “I’m sorry, but they’re deceased.”
Telemarketer: “I need to speak to one of them.”
Aunt: “You can’t; they’re both deceased.”
(This goes back and forth a couple of times, my aunt keeping her cool, which is surprising because she isn’t known for her tolerance of stupidity.)
Telemarketer: “I don’t think you understand; I need to talk to [Grandmother] or [Grandfather]!”
My Aunt: “No, you don’t understand! THEY’RE DECEASED! THEY’RE WITH GOD NOW! THEY BOUGHT THE FARM! THEY CROAKED! THEY DEPARTED! THEY’RE DEAD!”
Telemarketer: “…” *click*
My Aunt: “B**** hung up on me!”
(No sorry for your loss or anything!)
