Tunicate posted:

oldpainless posted:

I have no idea what happened in that story

Megera posted:

What I'm saying is the imgurian probably did it to himself because there's no other damage to his car.

CannedMacabre posted:

Oh boy!

CannedMacabre posted:

It's literally the same mindset.

Mamma bear can only protect herself and her cub from perverts by being armed. [EDIT] and not just regular, gun in the nightstand armed, but hanging out on your front porch strapped. This story is so cliche I'm surprised she didn't make the creeper black too.

Jerry Cotton posted:

reddit posted:

Last Saturday my restaurant got raided during peak service. Helicopter overhead, super overkill. The restaurant I assistant-manage employs a tonne of foreign workers, and some plonker called in a malicious tip that we're employing an illegal immigrant as a kitchen porter. Cue like 15 immigration officers covering every exit, barging through while people are eating, demanding everyone stay exactly where they are and nobody leave.

Rewind to 8 weeks earlier: everyone, including the GM, is bitching about the new system I've signed us up for. Everyone's ID documents are centralised online (rather than just being flashed at us while we on-board them as new staff), and everyone's bank details and personal info are kept somewhere secure rather than on an untitled Google Doc spreadsheet. This online HR system (it's free but management still complained about 'wasting company time' to implement it) meant everyone setting up a profile online and taking precious minutes out of their days and getting everyone to do it was like pulling teeth, but it happened. I got called names, but I couldn't deal with the "system" we had so I took it on the chin.

Fast forward to cops gathered around our company computer, calmly reading through each ID document from the HR website. They thanked us for our time, apologised for the commotion, and asked if there was a back way to exit so they wouldn't upset our customers any further.

Now nobody complains.

tl;dr am an organisation freak, saved the day

Davoren posted:

I kinda miss stuff like that, doesn't seem to happen so much any more.

Tunicate posted:

For whatever reason, plasma donation ends up being exactly opposite

EmmyOk posted:

quote:

A couple months back, my boyfriend and I went out for drinks one night at this cool little "speakeasy" in Montreal. It's actually quite an interesting place. You come in through a nondescript entrance and the place has a really nice vibe going on once you get inside. Note: this is one of those bars where the server comes to your table and serves the drinks rather than one where you order at the bar and take the drinks back yourself.

We were seated at our table by the server. We ordered a couple cocktails. And then a couple more, and then a couple more after that. Each time we had to order, my boyfriend or I would have to go fetch the server so he would take our order or go up to the bar, order, and then bring the drinks back ourselves.

Then, when it came time for the bill, I went up again so he would come to our table. He came and thought we were going to order again despite me clearly asking for the bill when I went up. So, he went back to get the card machine and it was another ten minutes before he was back. At this point, I was quite ticked off at the not-so-great service and was debating whether or not I should tip him. The screen had an option for 10%, 15%, 20% or "other." I decided to just leave 10% as I wanted to avoid an argument with the server. Montreal service employees are pretty drat notorious when it comes to the expectation of tips.

Now, he prints out the receipt and takes a look at it and sees I left 10%. He then asks if we had a nice evening, to which my boyfriend responded that we did; we both thought it was just a standard question servers ask so we didn't bother telling him about the poor service received–especially because it wouldn't really make a difference at this point. The guy then says, "oh, well if you had such a nice time, than you should've left at least a 15% tip. Because, in Canada, it's customary to leave a minimum 15% when the service is good." I'm guessing the reason he felt the need to outline that's how it is in Canada is because I'm a brown guy.

Now comes the petty part. I responded, "oh I didn't know, why don't you cancel this bill and redo it so I can tip you properly. He said sure thing, just give me a second because the manager has to approve bill cancellations. Again, we waited a good 10 minutes for him to come back with the new bill. I was happy to wait, though, because once he came back, I put in the PIN and then selected the "other" option for tip and left him 0%. He printed out the receipt and his look of disbelief was well worth it. We got up and my (white Canadian) boyfriend said, "Our only tip for you is to give better service and not be so much of an rear end in a top hat. In Canada, we don't really like assholes."

quote:

Aachen, Germany, Grocery Store, Wild & Unruly | Friendly | July 11, 2017

(I come to check out. While waiting to put my groceries on the counter, first an older gentleman with only a bag of chips and later a kid with only a carton of ice cream get in line behind me and I let both of them go before me when I notice. Shortly after I start to put on my stuff, the next customer to get in line behind me addresses me rudely. Note that I usually leave a gap for other customers with one or two items at the beginning.)

Customer: “Let me go in front of you.”

(I turn around and look first at her cart which is about as full as mine, then her.)

Me: “Why?”

Customer: “You let those two go first, so you should let me, too.”

Me: *blinks confused* “No?”

Customer: *glares* “Yes.”

Me: *thinks that she maybe is in a hurry* “Do you have to be somewhere? Because if you don’t, I really don’t have a reason to let you go first.”

Customer: “That’s none of your business. You only don’t want to let me go first because you are sexist.”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “You heard me!”

Me: “So, you are saying I, obviously female, am sexist for letting two males who only had one thing each? Did I get that right?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Me: *turns around and proceeds putting my stuff on the counter*

(For a moment the customer is quiet before she starts squeezing between me and the other line with some of her stuff in her arms. Thankfully my cart has turned slightly and is blocking her.)

Me: “What are you doing?”

Customer: “You clearly left some space for ME because you do realize this is my rightful place, so I am taking it.”

Me: “No. That space is for one to two-item customers. Which at this point I am willing to let go in front of me even if they arrive after you, because you have been a jerk to me this entire time and I am a bit petty. Considering other customers probably heard you from across the shop, they will know why.”

(The customer continues to glare at me while I finish putting my groceries on the band and starts slamming her own onto it long before I am finished and not even just behind mine, instead putting her first item next to my last one. When I move to move it a bit back to put the divider-triangle-thing between our groceries she grabs my wrist.)

Customer: “Don’t touch my f***ing groceries!” *I refuse to answer that and instead go to move my own item* “WHAT DID I JUST SAY!”

Me: “I want to put my own item away so I can place the di—”

Customer: “NO! IF YOU DON’T LET ME GO FIRST, YOU PAY FOR MY GROCERIES!”

Me: “No. Let go of my wrist. You are starting to hurt me and if you damage it, I will take up charges.”

(Shocked, the customer let go and I grabbed my item, placed the divider, and started stacking my groceries, which I usually don’t like doing because I am terrible at balancing things. The rest of me paying for my groceries thankfully went out without a hitch and the cashier apologized for not reacting but said the way I was standing up to the customer suggested I had everything under control. I was too nervous to tell her the reason I hadn’t looked around for help was that that would have required eye contact which I am pretty much unable to initiate or hold.)

Strudel Man posted:

That doesn't make a lot of sense. I'm pretty sure all income is declared on tax forms, not imputed. If your declared tip income is below the level they expect you might be audited to verify, but you wouldn't be charged additional taxes based on theoretical income.

Aleph Null posted:

Tips are taxed just like any other wages, but the IRS still expects you to make a certain minimum amount of total money and taxes you accordingly.
This is because employers are expected to make up the difference if their employees don't make enough in tips for their total salary to qualify as "minimum wage".
But they don't. Because, who would complain? They'll just fire you and hire someone else.
Hence, you need to get a certain amount in tips or you lose money instead of make money.

e:f;b

CROWS EVERYWHERE posted:

I like how the author makes sure to point out that their friend is specifically uncomfortable talking to feeeemales and """dudebros""". Just so you know their friend is a lovely human being. They're one step away from hitting a new PB because they were scared of spooky gang bangers and """thugs""" following them. OP your friend is bad and you are probably bad by association.

quote:

Weeding Out The Bad Neighbors
HOME, NEIGHBORS, USA

(It is during summer and I am about nine years old. A few months prior, the city had decided to fix some nonexistent cracks in the sidewalks and make the residents pay about $500 each for it. Obviously, people complained, but the city informed them that the sidewalks were city property and that the residents had no right to decide whether the repairs were necessary. The residents tried to fight the cost being forced on them, but they lost. One of my neighbors is a bit of a grump who likes to turn tiny problems into huge issues. He also has a large garden, which he tends to obsessively. When I’m walking past his house on the way to a friend’s place, I see a tiny flower (clearly a weed) growing between the cracks of the sidewalk. I pick it and tuck it behind my ear before continuing on my way. My friend isn’t home, though, so I go back to my house. I find my mom and the grumpy neighbor arguing on the front porch.)

Neighbor: *pointing at me* “There! There it is! See? In her hair! That’s the flower she stole!”

Mom: “That little thing? The way you were going on, I thought you meant an expensive flower, like an orchid or something.”

Neighbor: “It doesn’t matter! She’s a dirty thief!”

Me: *thinking I’m about to get in a lot of trouble* “But it was just a weed! It was growing between the sidewalk cracks.”

Neighbor: “I don’t care where it was growing! You stole it from me.”

Mom: “What exactly is it that you want me to do? She can’t put the flower back.”

Neighbor: “I know she can’t put the flower back. Do you think I’m stupid? She destroyed it, and I want her punished! If you refuse to address this matter, I’ll have to involve the police.”

Mom: *pulling me behind her* “Go right ahead.”

Neighbor: *shocked* “What?”

Mom: *trying not to smirk* “As you well know after those repairs, the sidewalks are the property of the city, not you. The city has no laws forbidding children from picking flowers. Now, if that will be all, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Neighbor: *sputtering* “But… but… she stole from me!”

Mom: “No, she clearly didn’t. But you’re on private property, and I’ve already asked to leave once. If you stay here, you’ll be trespassing, and I’ll have to involve the police.”

Neighbor: *leaves, looking like he just swallowed a lemon*

Me: *staring in shock at my mom, who’s normally very soft-spoken and non-confrontational*

Mom: “Never give in to people like that, honey. If you do, they’ll walk all over you forever.”

Bertrand Hustle posted:

It's probably a bit of both. People who actually shoplift and write about it on Tumblr claim it's just RP in the same way that people post about "someone who isn't me" or "a friend" doing something illegal or embarrassing. Probably plenty of fake stories from sheltered teenagers who want to seem cool and edgy, too.

quote:

This Is Not The Checkout You Are Looking For
RETAIL | OH, USA | WORKING | JULY 13, 2017

(I am shopping at a major retail store that sells everything from groceries to tires. Normally I use self-checkout, but I know this will be expensive so I decide to go to a register instead. I am male and the cashier is female.)

Cashier: “Hello, how are you today?”

Me: *while unloading a number of ‘Star Wars’ themed pictures on the belt* “Fine, thanks.”

Cashier: *now looking over what I am buying* “You must be single, right?”

Me: “What? Oh, uh, yeah.”

Cashier: “I knew it. No one with a girlfriend would be allowed to buy these.” *looking over each piece before scanning it* “I certainly wouldn’t let you decorate our house with this.”

(I’m 24 and the cashier most likely in her late 40s.)

Me: *now slightly uncomfortable that I am being judged by a cashier for my love of ‘Star Wars’* “Uh huh.”

(The cashier at this point is now verbally judging each piece saying things like “oh, this isn’t too bad,” or “that is much too scary to hang.”)

Cashier: “Okay, your total is [amount].”

Me: “Thanks.”

(I pay and start gathering up my bags.)

Cashier: *just as I am about to walk away* “Make sure you hide those before you invite any girls over.”

(I roll my eyes as I promise to myself that I will use the self-checkout next time.)

quote:

Close, But No Cigar
COLLEGE/UNIVERSITY | ST. LOUIS, MO, USA | WORKING | JULY 16, 2017

(I attend a very prestigious school — not Ivy League, though it outranked two of them — and walk over to the pharmacy kitty-corner from my dorm to buy some cigars. I am 19 then, and a Texas native. Under-21 licenses in Texas, which list “Under 21 until [DATE],” are rotated 90° compared with the 21+ licenses, to make age verification for alcohol purchases easier.)

Me: “Just a pack of [Cigars].”

Cashier: “Can I see your ID?”

Me: “Sure.” *hands it over*

Cashier: *raises an eyebrow* “This is out-of-state.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m from Texas.”

Cashier: *sighs, pulls out a book from beneath the counter with examples of IDs from each state*

Cashier: “Your ID is oriented the wrong way.”

Me: “Oh, yeah, they do that until age 21.”

Cashier: “I dunno; the book doesn’t mention that.”

Me: “The book probably only shows examples of 21+, for alcohol purchases. You can see mine says ‘Under 21 until [My 21st Birthday].’ But I’m just buying tobacco; I’m over 18.”

Cashier: “I’m gonna have to get my manager; I think this is a fake.”

Me: “Listen, ma’am. I attend [University], and I’ve been on the Dean’s List every semester. I’m a National Merit Scholar. I got a 2320 on my SATs, and graduated from my high school with a 91/100 GPA. It’s safe to say I’m a fairly smart guy. Do you honestly think I would be here, not only showing you a fake ID, but one that explicitly states that I’m not even 21?”

(I got the cigars.)

quote:

Evolving To Avoid Tipping
EMPLOYEES, HARRISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA, RELIGION, RESTAURANT, USA | WORKING | JUNE 26, 2017

(When visiting a friend we go to a local restaurant. While we’re waiting for our order, I’m telling him about my aquarium and a certain fish I have.)

Me: “So the betta is actually able to breathe air directly. They evolved to survive in a rapidly changing environment. Repeated floodings and stuff.”

(A wild waitress appears with our order.)

Waitress: *glares at me*

Me: “Thank you.”

Waitress: “Hmpf!”

(We’re both rather confused, considering she’d been nice enough when she took our order. When we want to pay up, I decide to pay since my friend had invited me the last time.)

Waitress: *still glares at me*

Me: “Is there a problem?”

Waitress: “You’re very rude!”

Me: “Excuse me? How am I being rude?”

Waitress: “You’re trying to impose your beliefs on me!”

Me: “I what?!”

Waitress: “I don’t believe in evolution! And you’re yelling about it all the time!”

Me: “Are you serious? First of all, I wasn’t yelling. And second, I wasn’t even talking to you!”

Waitress: “Well, you should consider that there are people who don’t believe in that stuff, so you shouldn’t talk about it!”

Me: “I don’t even… Are you serious? Look, just let me pay up and we’ll leave.”

Waitress: “Fine!”

(She gives me the bill. I cross out the tip part and pay.)

Waitress: “What? You didn’t write down any tip!”

Me: “I find it very rude that you’re trying to impose your beliefs on me!”

Waitress: “What? What beliefs?”

Me: “I don’t believe in tipping.”

(She was furious but shut up. We left.)

ishikabibble posted:

Even if it did happen, there's still pointing and laughing at the most insufferable loving person on the planet

Elysiume posted:

India and some other countries uses lakh, which are 100,000, annotated as 1,00,000 and up. So a million is 10,00,000, ten million is 1,00,00,000, etc. Could be regionalized for one of those countries.

quote:

All She Sees Is A Costumed Villain
Department Store | Toledo, OH, USA | Working | May 26, 2015

(I’m a training costumer and have gone to a Goodwill-type store to look for pieces for my newest project. I strike gold with the first store and find a beautiful dress just perfect for the piece. Practically giddy at my good luck, I hurry to the register to pay for it.)

Cashier: “Well, you seem awfully chipper.”

Me: “Sorry. I was expecting to search all over town for a dress like this, but found it on my first try!”

Cashier: “Well, I’m glad you were able to find something. Big dance or something?”

Me: “Oh, no, I’m a costumer. I’m going to use this for a costume project.”

(Right then, the cashier’s face turns stormy and she promptly reaches out and snatches the dress away from me.)

Cashier: “You snotty little s***! How dare you come into this store?!”

Me: “Huh?!”

Cashier: “I guess it never occurred to you that poor people come into this store and buy clothes they desperately need! And here you come flouncing in to buy their clothes for a stupid costume!”

Me: “But… I’ve been doing this for years.”

Cashier: “That’s even worse! You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you, you little thief! Get out! Don’t you ever set foot in here again! Get out before I call security! NOW!”

(By this time, the whole store has gone quiet as everyone stares at us. The swift sound of footsteps approaching alerted us to a manager hurrying over.)

Manager: “What the bloody h*** is going on?”

Cashier: “This pathetic little snob was stealing our clothes, [Manager].”

Manager: “Huh?”

Me: “I swear I wasn’t, miss! I was about to pay for that!”

Manager: “Then where did she get the idea you were going to steal it?”

Me: “I honestly don’t know. I just mentioned that I was going to use it for a costume and she flipped out.”

Cashier: “See? She even admits it! She admits to stealing poor people’s clothes to use in ridiculous costumes!”

(The manager gives her an incredulous look, sighs, and pushes her aside.)

Manager: “Will that be cash or credit, miss?”

Me: “Cash.”

Cashier: “WHAT?! You’re still going to sell it to her? She’s STEALING it from people who NEED it!”

Manager: “[Cashier], I highly doubt that every poor person in the city is lining up to buy fancy ball gowns. Whatever you’ve been smoking on break, you’d better toss it before I toss you.”

(She bagged the dress and I thanked her quickly, scurrying out while the cashier proceeded to scream after me again. I didn’t go back for a few weeks, but when I did, I found out she’d been fired for her antics, which included trying to have a little boy buying a stuffed animal arrested because he didn’t look ‘poor’ enough. I still shop there and the bargains are always awesome.)

Aleph Null posted:

One of the Goodwill's near me seems to cater to well-off, thin people. Can't find clothes for a typical goon or goonette and they had a $50 purse. At Goodwill.

quote:

An Unsanitary Attitude
Medical Office | Scotland, UK | Right | May 11, 2017

(I am a doctor at a GP. I’m rather unconventional for a doctor, with tattoos and piercings. Almost everyone is fine with it after meeting me, but it does sometimes spook some newer patients.)

Me: *walking into the lobby* “[Patient]?”

(Everyone quickly glances, but no one responds.)

Me: “I’m ready to see [Patient]?”

(Again, no one. I go back into my office and wait for a short while to see if they arrive. After 20 minutes I move on. I step out of my office and hear a woman shouting.)

Patient: “I’ve been waiting! This is my first appointment.”

Receptionist: “He didn’t call you?”

Patient: “No!”

Me: “What’s the name? I could maybe squeeze you in. I’ve had a no show.”

(The patient turns and recoils at my appearance, muttering “disgusting” under her breath.)

Receptionist: “It’s [Patient].”

Me: “Ah, you were my no show.”

Patient: *agog* “He can’t be a doctor!”

Receptionist: “He actually opened [GP].”

Patient: “But just look at him! F****** horrid! You look like a junkie! I want to see someone else!”

Elderly Patient: “Good! I guess it’s my turn, then!”

(The elderly patient makes her way past me when the other patient speaks up.)

Patient: “You aren’t serious! He’ll probably stick heroin in you or something! It’s f****** disgusting! Those stretched ears!”

Elderly Patient: “Shut up! I have lived long enough to know that the time and effort someone puts into their schooling is more important than the colours and holes they put in themselves, and if you can’t see that then I pity you. Dr. [My Name], come on. This hip is killing me.”

(The patient decided to make another appointment on a day I wasn’t working and is still with us. She is forced to see me regularly now, though, as her son has started suffering from asthma, and I’m the most experienced handling the condition. He likes to ask me lots of questions about my appearance and sometimes tries to pull on my ears when I’m not looking. His mum practically faints whenever he tries, and when finished sprints to the hand sanitiser, using so much of it she gets sticky, before sprinting out of the GP altogether.)

quote:

Your Health Is Bananas
home, Medical Office | USA | Friendly | April 17, 2017

(I’m going to make this straight right off the bat. I LOVE fruit. If my friends have an apple or orange, I WILL ask them for it and if they say no, I WILL try to take it from them. My friends are all very close and they are all aware of my addiction. One day, we are all just hanging at my friend’s place, watching TV and eating ice cream while I’m eating a banana. Note: I am almost 25 years old, and my friends aren’t far behind.)

Me: *to [Friend #1]* “Dude, I swear, I love bananas.”

Friend #1: “What, is there like a rating chart for your fruit fetish?”

Friend #2: “Yeah, like, #1 is apple, and #2 is grapes, and so on?”

Me: “No, it’s because bananas have such a different taste from other fruit. It’s so tingly, and sour.”

(Cue 4 out of my 5 friends looking at my in disbelief; the fifth one is still watching TV.)

Friend #4: “Uh, I’m pretty sure bananas aren’t supposed to be sour.”

Friend #1: “Or tingly. You sure that’s a banana?”

Me: “H*** yeah, I’m sure. What is it supposed to taste like?”

Friend #3: “You may want to get that looked at…”

(At my friend’s insistence, they all drive me to the doctor’s where this following occurs:)

Doctor: “You’re allergic to bananas.”

(Yes. Almost 25 f****** years did it take me to realize that I was allergic to a type of fruit that I’ve been eating almost every day.)

quote:

Scar Still Causing You Issues
Medical Office | OK, USA | Working | February 22, 2017

(I have an I.V. scar on the inside of my arm from surgery when I was twelve. I am now thirty-two. The scar is barely visible and it should be clear to anyone who has ever had a shot or blood draw or knows basic anatomy that it is not a fresh needle mark. I routinely donate plasma at a center in my town. While the money is nice, I donate because of what I went through as a child and because my blood type is not compatible with most others but my plasma type is fairly universal. On this day I have just come from work and I am dressed quite nicely, though my hair is colored a vibrant shade of blue, which is new. I have just been called to the back for my physical exam and iron test.)

Nurse: “Hold out your arms, please.”

(I do.)

Nurse: *while poking my scar* “What is THAT?”

Me: “It’s an old I.V. scar from when I was a kid. It’s noted in my paperwork.”

Nurse: “Hang on.”

(She gets up and walks away, and I can see her talking to another nurse. She then gathers some papers and returns.)

Nurse: “Okay, we can’t let you donate with visible track marks. You’re going to be red-flagged in our system. Here is some paperwork about what that means, and the process you need to go through to be able to donate again. You will always be red-flagged, so the next time you come in with track marks or if you come in tweaking or showing any other sign of your drug use, you will receive a lifetime ban from donating plasma anywhere in the country.”

(She is very loud, especially each time she says “track marks.” Since the back of her cubby opens to the waiting room, people are now staring.)

Me: “Ma’am, this is not a track mark. It’s a SCAR. I’ve had it all the other times I’ve donated, and it is noted in my file.”

Nurse: *crossing her arms* “You can leave, or I can call security. Your choice.”

(I suddenly recognize the woman.)

Me: “Is your daughter [Name]?”

Nurse: *going pale* “How do you know that?”

Me: “You don’t recognize me. Must be the blue hair, which I assume is also why you jumped to the conclusion that I’m a drug user. I was your daughter’s eighth-grade English teacher before I moved exclusively to subbing while I get my doctorate.” *I hand the papers back to her, her face is now quite pink* “You can keep these. I won’t be back.”

quote:

A Dizzying Number Of Doctors
Medical Office | Portland, OR, USA | Working | December 8, 2016

(After returning from a vacation in 2008, I had no equilibrium. I walked and felt like I was highly intoxicated. I felt a rocking sensation as if I were on a little boat on big waves, and the floor felt like a trampoline. I was dizzy and confused. After 2 months, the symptoms faded away. In 2009 and 2011, each after another trip, I had another episode. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong and bounced me from otolaryngologist (or ENT: Ear Nose Throat doctor) to neurologist and back again. In 2012, I had another episode and saw a new neurologist, hoping to finally get some answers.)

Me: *after describing the bizarre symptoms* “…and my ear sensitivity tests and [other tests] have all come back normal. My ENT wanted me to see another neurologist and see if I might have Multiple Sclerosis.”

Doctor: “MS? Obviously you don’t have MS so I don’t know why you’re here.”

Me: “What do you think it is then?”

Doctor: “I don’t know. You probably should have an EEG and an MRI, but I’m not going to order those for you.”

Me: *getting upset* “What should I do then?”

Doctor: “You should go back and see your ENT. This is clearly an inner ear problem. I don’t even know why you are here.”

Me: “I’ve had all the tests at the ENT. Everything is normal.”

(I am tired of being passed around from doctor to doctor, overwhelmed by being sick for years without a diagnosis, and the doctor is not even trying to help me. I begin to cry.)

Doctor: “It seems to me you have a problem with excessive crying. Superfluous activity of the nasolacrimal duct. Exorbitant weeping.”

(He continues thinking up as many synonyms for my crying as he can, while my frustration turns to sobbing rage.)

Doctor: “…unreasonable lamentation! Incessant lacrimal discharge!”

(I was crying too hard to even speak. He left the room and I went home. It was another year before I even attempted to see another doctor to try to get a diagnosis again. I was eventually diagnosed with Mal de Debarquement Syndrome, which most doctors have never heard of. I was paired with a fantastic neuro-otologist and have been almost two years without another episode.)

quote:

Genderalising The Cause
Bad Behavior, Grandparents, LGBTQ, Retail, UK | Right | June 28, 2017

(I work at a store where customers purchase their items and wait for them to be brought out. It is a hectic day with several staff being absent suffering with gastroenteritis, so we are a bit behind. The store is pretty packed in comparison to usual and the average wait time for collection is 20 minutes. A woman has used the self checkout and walked straight to the counter. My coworker checks her receipt.)

Coworker: “Oh, you’ve just paid. Sorry, but there is a 20 minute wait.”

Customer: “No. I will be collecting my hair dryer now.”

Coworker: “But you’ve just paid. Your order is 83, we’re just on 66.”

Customer: “I’m not waiting. Get my hair dryer NOW!”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. You will have to wait, just like everyone else.”

Customer: “How dare you! This is discrimination. Just because I’m a trans woman doesn’t mean I have to be subjected to this kind of harassment.”

Coworker: “What?”

Customer: “Forcing me to wait behind all these cisgendered people, like a SECOND CLASS CITIZEN! Where is your manager? You deserve to be fired!”

Me: “What is the problem?”

(An elderly woman comes into the store at this point.)

Customer: “WHERE’S MY HAIR DRYER! WHY DOES A TRANS WOMAN HAVE TO BE TREATED LIKE THIS IN THE 21ST CENTURY!”

Me: “Madam, do you think anyone in our warehouse knows that you are transgender?”

Customer: “What?!”

Me: “Or the self checkout machine you used to order?”

Customer: *silent*

Me: “Or any of us for that matter before you started mouthing off?”

Customer: “I am a trans woman, and this is discrimination!”

Me: “No, the only person who is making gender an issue in this store is you, and if you do not calm down I will have you wait outside and my coworker here will bring your purchase out to you.”

(The woman opens her mouth to speak when the elderly woman comes up and slaps her on the back of the head. The woman turns around and jumps.)

Customer: “Granny!”

Elderly Woman: “Again? You miserable, ungrateful child. We aren’t paying for your change just so you can be a c***!”

quote:

A Dress You Can Wear Once A Month
Bridal Shop, Exes/Old Flames, UK | Romantic | July 15, 2017

Woman: “I want a dress in your pastel pink collection.”

Me: Of course. Have you picked out a style?

Woman: “Well, I was wondering if you could drape it like a giant vagina.”

Me: “Umm…”

Woman: “Don’t worry, I’m not insane. But I am asking you to make me a vagina dress.”

Me: “And what is this for exactly?”

Woman: “My ex-husband’s wedding. Lord knows why he invited me. But I’m going to have as much fun with that cheating being-of-s*** as I can!”

(We did attempt the dress, but she wasn’t happy with how the period blood looked and decided to look elsewhere.)

quote:

Spoiled
Security | | Right | August 23, 2008

(On the Saturday night of a weekend-long fan-based media convention, we hold a dance for the attendees. A mother comes up to the security office and voices a complaint.)

Mother: “The music is too loud and it’s running too late. I want it shut down.”

Me: “Ma’am, our dance is scheduled until 5:00AM, and we are not disturbing any other events.”

Mother: “Well, there are kids are in there and if this thing is for kids, then there should not be a dance!”

Me: “Yes, this convention is an all-ages event, but the dance is one of our most popular events and we have no intention of shutting it down.”

Mother: “Well, I’m the customer and I’m always right! You should do what I say and shut the dance down! Where is your supervisor? I’ll get him over to shut the dance down.”

Chairman: “Ma’am, what is the problem?”

Mother: “I want you to shut the dance down! There are kids here and they should not be in a dance at this time of night! And this man is not helping. Make him shut the dance down!”

Chairman: “The dance is one of our biggest events. Closing it down would disappoint thousands of our attendees who look forward to it each year.”

Mother: “THIS IS NOT FAIR! I WANT THE D*** DANCE SHUT DOWN AND I WANT IT SHUT DOWN NOW!”

Me: “Ma’am, raising your voice will not help your case. Please calm down.”

(I figure that there is something else going on, and offer her a seat and a glass of water. She sits down calms down a bit.)

Me: “Is there something else going on?”

Mother: “My daughter sneaked out of our hotel room and I know she’s in the dance. I went in there and I couldn’t find her.”

Me: “Is that all? So you wanted us to shut the entire dance down, just to get your daughter out?”

Mother: *timidly* “Yes…”

Me: “Did you actually think that we would do it?”

Mother: “Yes…”

Me: “Why?”

Mother: “Because I always get my way!”

Zelder posted:

I got to the part where his brain was blown by the concept of ableism and peaced out

Zipperelli. posted:

Of all the STDH in this thread, the track mark one didn't happen the most. gently caress, it's painful to read that poo poo being in the medical field. These people have zero knowledge of anything we do.

No, it's not a loving IV scar. Shut up.

Bertrand Hustle posted:

2. Wasn't that little window open? These made up stories are always so confusing. That kind of conversation should be happening in a private room, not at the front desk, which is not staffed by a nurse.

quote:

Putting Themselves Into A Bit Of A Pickle
FAST FOOD, FINLAND | RIGHT | JUNE 9, 2017

(I’m the manager and my coworker comes and asks me to handle a cranky customer at the drive-thru.)

Me: “Hello, you were having some trouble, I hear. What can I do for you?”

Customer: *who is sitting beside the driver, making it really hard for me to hear her, especially since the driver is fidgeting and moving about* “Yeah, I’m fed up with getting pickles in my son’s burgers, even though I always order them without!”

(Ordering hamburgers without pickles is unfortunately very popular in my area. It slows things down in the kitchen, creates more wastage, and such customers are loathed all over town.)

Customer: *getting quite agitated now* “I demand to get some kind of compensation!”

Me: “Ma’am, I am truly sorry that we haven’t provided pickle-free burgers for you. Pickles are unfortunately part of the recipe and especially during rush hours they might slip through the kitchen staff’s fingers. However, since we’re not talking about any allergies…”

(The customer is about to cut me off, but I won’t let her.)

Me: “…all our mayos contain the same sort of pickle and you have ordered extra of that. Besides, pickles are the only item we put in our burgers that are easily removed, unlike ketchup, cheese, or salad. I hope you understand that I cannot provide you with a huge compensation due to this. I am however willing to give you the extra mayo for free.”

Customer: *who now have adopted a more docile tone* “Well, can I at least get another hot cocoa for free?”

Me: “Certainly, ma’am, that I can do for you.”

(Best part — when I told my boss, she said that the customer in question had a few days earlier asked for a refund and compensation!)

Trash Boat posted:

You can't delete my decade old memory card! That's more important to me than my dead family members!

Anyway, get a load of this gross manbaby crying over his banned game account.

Ein cooler Typ posted:

like it was written by someone who has never been in a gym

Byzantine posted:

I feel like the biggest part of the problem is anybody who implements that poo poo always goes for a graduated scale, but only accepts perfect scoring.

HOOLY BOOLY posted:

You're right, you don't NEED to stimulate your kids in any meanful way, they just need a pair of boobs to look at!