Retail Hell Underground

Stingy Rich People Who Don't Tip, and Douchey von Procrastinator

Little Slave from the Big Northwoods, and I don't have a story - but my hubby does. I've been in front of the public since I was 12 and my family owned a restaurant. My hubs, not so much. He bussed tables at a bar when he was 17, but other then that, he's a carpenter. He builds new houses where there are no people.

He's also a top-notch fisherman and is now starting a guide business. So far, he's been okay with talking to people, scheduling, and the like. He had his first trip last week and had a few questions for me when he got home. I tried to answer him to the best of my ability, but basically, some people just suck was my answer.

#1: Why don't rich people tip? This comes from a couple he took out who did not pay for their trip. It was a gift. So, they have absolutely no money into the trip what-so-ever. They made sure to tell him all about how much they travel, their new 200K motor home, fat house, etc. She caught the biggest (insert fish name here), they both received a care package with a map, spots pre-marked, and had a wonderful time! They also said they will book more in the future. Awesome right!!

The tip: $10

I know, I know, tips are not to be expected. I told him that some people just don't tip well, and he should be happy they gave him anything. No, he was not happy with that answer. BTW, that was a 7% tip but at least it was something.

#2: What could I have done differently to receive a better tip? He had their favorite drinks, the care package, he took them out for 2 extra hours, and was extremely customer service oriented. Again, I told him some people just don't tip or don't tip well. Asking for a tip is not allowed and adding a gratuity is the biggest way to make people ANGRY! I also said not to take it personally; how do you think they got rich in the first place?

Now for the last story he has. It was Saturday, and he was up at his dad's house helping him build a new deck. He received a call around 10 am asking him if he has a boat for rent (not uncommon, it happens).

My hubs, trying to make sure he was hearing him right, asked if he wanted a boat, or to go out on someone else's boat. Someone else's - he wants a guided trip, for that day, in the afternoon, on a Saturday.

Now, I know a lot of people have no idea about fishing guides and that's okay - how often do you need that type of knowledge right? But, most guides are booked up for the summer starting in late winter/early spring.

He told the guy I'm sorry, but I'm out of town. Then he gave him a few names and number of people to call. The guy already called 1 of them and he wasn't answering; probably because he was already out with someone.

The guy was upset that there was no one to take him fishing. But here's the kicker, he had this trip planned for the past 3 months and never called anyone in advance and now he's mad.

My hubs felt so bad he couldn't help him. And that pissed me off. Fuck that dude! He had 3 months to figure this out, and he didn't. It was his fault, not yours - do not feel bad for him.

I advised him to get a tougher skin and remember you can't make everyone happy all the time, but we'll see how this goes.

--LSftBNW

Untrained V'Ger Overlord And Captain Asshole of the Million Changes

Hello RHU,

We all loathe Bullseye, and I had a brief stint under their poisonous thumb. But this isn't a story about that... It's about when Bullseye pulled me off the registers and threw me into the integrated pizza fast food court.

Now I had been hired on to be a cashier at Bullseye. I had been working with them for a few months, so I knew my way around their particular registers. Suddenly a wild manager appears out of the long grass, tells me to turn off my light and walks me over to the food court.

Manager: "We've got a problem. The cashier girls called out. We've got two experienced cookers, but nobody to run the registers. Guess where I'm putting you?" He hands me a food court labeled sun visor.

Me: "Hey! Wait! I've NEVER worked in ANYTHING related to food! Also...." I point to my long, straight, shoulder length blonde hair. "I'm pretty sure this should be put in a net or someth-"

Manager: "You won't do anything but take orders. The cooks will put it on the counter and call out the numbers."

Now RHU, I am well indeed ignorant of how many laws, health codes, hygiene requirements get shoved into the heads of fast food workers, but one thing I do recall is that hair tends to be tied or restrained or something. Perhaps I am foggy in memory, but even the folks at registers at Golden Arches had something, even if it was just a pony tail sticking out the back of a baseball cap.

Again, I've got a sun visor, and my Bullseye red shirt and khakis.

Feeling like a deer in the headlights, I'm deposited in front of a register that works completely differently from the standard Bullseye register.

One of the cooks comes out of the back, bedecked in all the proper hygeine head and hand gear, and gives me the ten second training montage.

Cook: "It's a touch screen. Push these for individuals, push this for a combo, drinks are over here. Hit the total, the tender buttons come up after that. Good luck."

Me: *out loud* B-B-But! (in my head) AUUUUGGGHHH!

Clock: Tick. (lunch hour rush has begun)

I pride myself in being a quick learner. I even pride myself in making very few mistakes once I have the rough hang of any cash register. I absorb training efficiently. Today, I was just chucked off a cliff.

With the desperate speed of the cartoon character flapping two feathers in order to keep from falling off a cliff, I get through the first three custys without incident. They are kind, and patient, because I make it very clear that I am very new.

Then Captain Asshole of the Million Changes comes forth.

Captain Asshole: Okay I want a chicken basket with fries and a medium drink, a slice of pizza... no wait, take the fries off the chicken basket, I want a combo number 4, but substitute the drink for a shake, wait, that slice of pizza, make it the number six instead, hang on, axe the chicken basket and make it a number 1....

His changes are never ending, my fingers are flying trying to keep up with his changes, alterations and deletions, and I'm positive that I'm getting something wrong because he can't fucking make up his mind for longer than five seconds.

The lunch rush is in full fucking swing, people have now lined up behind this douchemobile so far that it's out of the fucking food court, I'm the only cashier, and there's an irate mob muttering behind him.

Captain Asshole: "Okay, that should be everything. What the hell?! It shouldn't be that expensive! What are you charging me for?!"

At this point I give up, poke my head in the back and yell for one of the cooks. She stares at the mess I've made on the screen, voids the whole thing and takes his order anew.

The new order is completely unrelated to anything I'd had on the screen, and he makes several changes while the cook rings him up. Finally, she tells him to get out of line and make up his mind before he approaches again.

With that "fix" she abandons me yet again without even so much as a pat on the shoulder in sympathy and the orders fly.

I get through five people before Captain Asshole has made his decision, steps forward and orders. I give him the total. He swipes his card to pay. "That's better. I don't know why it was so hard for you to get it right."

My eye twitches and I reach for the nearest object to bash him over the head with, but he has already spun on his heel and walked away to sit with his four kids.

The entire lunch rush --three hours-- is just me, my flying fingers, and the lines. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder. The 2 pm shift has arrived, and a sweet-faced angel gently shoos me away.

My head is filled with an image of my glomping her and sobbing my relief into her comforting shoulder. Instead, I leave and return to the registers of Bullseye for another hour before my break.

May all your customers be nice,

Loud Crusty Silences Entire Store

In this corner we have the huggable lovable Canadia eh. In the other corner we have a not so happy Crusty, unfortunately. The setting of this match takes place at P.C.C.C or Popular Canadian Coffee Chain for those that are unfamiliar. I've never had to deal with crusty's much, but like any other people I treat them as nice as I can.

This story takes place when I have about 3-4 years under my belt so by this point nothing really shakes me off my rocker.

I was working alone on counter, my supervisor was in drive thru and it was just us running the floor. This is a typical night for me, both of us are awesome at the job and we throw in some laughs here and there. I'm on counter happily taking orders when a girl in her late teens orders a sandwich.

Already I'm praying for the customers to please be patient as there is a line up of about 5 people still and it's slowly growing. I run over with her to the sandwich counter and start at it. I'm literally wrapping this ladies completed sandwich in a good amount of time when all I hear from the cash is;

"CAN YOU SEND ONE OF THE OTHER GIRLS DOWN HERE TO THE CASH?!"

Everyone in the store turns to stare at him and I politely call back with a normal tone of voice, because by now the entire restaurant is silent;

"I'm sorry sir I'm just finishing up her sandwich, I will be right there."

"NOT MY PROBLEM!"

In the next few seconds I hand her the sandwich, and she leans over and whispers; "Good luck..."

I nod with a smile and go right into it. The next orders are punched out in under 30 seconds. I get to the customer, and by now he's agitated.

"Large double double WITH MILK."

"Yes sir-"

"Make sure it's with MILK NOT CREAM!"

Okay normally I'm completely nice, this guy has been a complete ass. So I did a little revenge of my own. A common mistake that I've seen TONS of workers do at other branches. Not stirring coffee. I swirled it around with the spoon and put a lid on it. With the biggest smile I could give I handed it to him. What happens is if the coffee isn't stirred you end up with a huge pile of sugar at the bottom. Making it very sweet. I've never seen this guy before so I never expected to see him again. Guess again.

I spotted him in the line up again about a few days later and this time when he came up he gave me a knowing smile and happily placed his order which I gladly made correctly. Since then he requested me when I was on shift to personally make him his coffee if someone didn't make it to his standards. We have had friendly conversations and he became a regular at the store. I looked forward to seeing him everytime he came in and he would always have the biggest smile. A complete 180 from that night. Or maybe that swirl really was all his drink needed...

WARNING: Attempting revenge on a crusty is not recommended. I got lucky with a 1 in a million chance.

--Canadia

Four Crustys In Four Hours, A Miserable Record

I'm too tired to think of a name right now so just call me Exhausted Aussie. I work at a fairly small supermarket that belongs to one of the largest chains in Australia. Between what happened at the store around the corner from mine last night, and what happened at my store tonight, I'm almost wishing I could just quit. Unfortunately, bills must be paid.

On Thursday night, the supermarket around the corner from where I was working was robbed by a man with a sawn-off shotgun, at 10.50, just ten minutes before they closed. No one was hurt, thankfully, but the man did get away and still hasn't been found. I was working when it happened and I have to say, I'm really glad that all we got were 4 bogans flashing people in the carpark.

So now (and for at least a week) we get a security guard at night. We close at midnight so it kind of makes me feel a little better but somehow I don't think he could do much if we do get held up. Thankfully nothing like that happened tonight but I'm closing Saturday and Sunday so I'm just hoping it stays that way.

Of course just because we weren't held up doesn't mean we didn't have our share of crustys.

First custy (Angry Ticket Man), came up to the service desk with a suspended sale, handed it to me and asked for $35 cash out. Angry Ticket Man didn't say anything else so naturally I just assumed that the other register must have been low in cash. I put the transaction through, gave him the cash out and waited for him to leave. Instead he stared at me and says "Where are my tickets?"

Apparently he had asked for two tickets at the first register and was sent to me as they can only be sold at the service desk. I explained that I hadn't realised he wanted any tickets and said I'd ring them through. Then explained it again as he didn't seem to understand.

Finally I scan the tickets and gave him the total.

To which Angry Ticket Man said "Can't you just do one transaction. I don't want to be charged a fee again."

It took ages but I finally got him to understand that the only way to do that would be to refund everything and put it all through again. Of course if his bank charges a fee for each transaction, that would probably just cost him more.

And of course I can't refund a cash out anyway. So either way it would still wind up as two transactions. Angry Ticket Man grumpily paid for the tickets (using the cash out as his card was declined when he tried to use it again) and left. Still pissed off, of course.

I'm really not sure why he thought the original $42.75 transaction (6.75 + $35 cash out) would include $30 worth of tickets.

Anyway, another hour or so of watching the self checkouts, and I see three people in their early twenties come in. Immediately I get the feeling that they aren't exactly upstanding citizens, so when they headed down the health and beauty aisle, I went and played with the drink fridge nearby so that I could watch them. Sure enough, one of the girls picked up a box of hair dye and as they walked towards the opposite end of the aisle it "magically" disappeared from the girl's hand. I keep an eye on them and tell the security guard that they are shoplifters.

What's funny, though, is that what made them put the dye down was actually the Duty Manager. He walked past the NATs, checking the aisles for out of place stock and, feeling guilty, they assumed he was watching them and promptly dropped the hair dye on the end of an aisle. DM picked it up to put it back where it belonged, and one of the girls got pissed and accused DM of following them (which just confused him) then they all stalked out of the shop. I checked their bags as the left but couldn't see anything.

Of course they probably went straight to another store. Bad night to try shoplifting in this town though, considering we're all a bit jumpy, worrying about another robbery occuring.

A short while later, yet another crusty (Bad Mum) was at the service desk and, as I walked up, clearly asked her son what type of cigarettes he wanted. As he went to walk away, I said I'd need to see his ID as he looked under 25 (looked under 18 actually). Bad Mum got extremely defensive and said that she was buying them so I had to sell the cigs to her. Then said she would just go buy them from somewhere else if I didn't. As I explained that it is illegal to sell or provide tobacco products to people under 18, her son told me to shut up and they both walked into the store to buy other stuff.

DM came up to ask me what had happened but, as I was explaining, they both came back to the front of the store and went to put their drinks through the self checkouts. Overhearing what we were talking about, Bad Mum told us that she's "37 years old, and his mum and its none of our damn business if she wants to buy cigarettes and share them with her son."

The idiot then got pissed off at the self checkout as she couldn't seem to figure out the whole scan-an-item-and-place-it-in-the-bagging-area process. Three items and I had to explain after each that they needed to be placed in the bagging area. I guess she didn't understand that what needs to happen for one item needs to happen for the other. Of course, Bad Mum got more angry with each word I said. They both stormed out swearing.

The last grumpy custy (Yoghurt Man) of the night started off reasonable but changed quickly. He came through my register 15 mins before closing time. Everything seemed to go fine, he paid and I continued to serve the other custys lined up.

However, instead of leaving, Yoghurt Man stood and stared at his receipt. He was patient and waited until the last custy had gone, then calmly claimed that the yoghurt was supposed to be $5 not $6.30. DM went to check the price and once again the man waited fairly patiently. When DM came back with the ticket, he told me that the $5 yoghurt was actually next to the one the man bought but, as the ticket was very close to the $6.30 yoghurt, I should just refund the extra $1.30.

I turned to explain it to the Yoghurt Man and got as far as "The yoghurt is actually $6.30, but…" before he got angry and started talking over me saying that we "have to give it to him for $5 because the ticket said $5."

The idiot wouldn't let me say another word, just kept talking over me. DM finally got him to partially listen to him, but the crusty was still arguing as I walked to the service desk to do the refund.

After he'd finally left Peter said that the whole time I refunding the yoghurt, the man was still complaining. DM kept trying to explain that there was no problem and he would get the refund, but the crusty just responded that, "It was our problem."

Thankfully by that point we were closing and I got to leave. And the kicker, I actually only worked for four hours tonight! So thats one set of crustys for each hour. Please just let the next two nights go more smoothly! For me and all the other retail slaves stuck working.

OK. End of rant. Its late and I'm going to bed.

--Exhausted Aussie

Crusty Wants A Shake From A Broken Shake Machine

Hello! Not really sure how to start this off other than awkwardly, so here it goes. I'm a long time reader, first time poster, and I've finally worked up the nerve to add onto the history of this sanctuary. For the time being, I work in fast food and I am in charge (given free reign) of the graveyard/swing shifts. Everyone calls me Mom Squad.

My stories today involve one common denominator, and that is our shake machine. See, about two weeks ago, our shake machine broke. No one knew how, or why, or who's shift, but it did. It began to cry horribly when powered on and screeched if you tried to dispense any shake mix from it. Seeing as the brokenness of it was beyond my capabilities of fixing (as I am, for some reason, know all for the appliances), we called the manufacturer for some help. Apparently, the repairman informed me during his visit, the machine was broken.

Really.

The unfortunate thing, though, was that he didn't have the part in stock to fix it. It would take another week before he did have it, and a day or two more to fix it. With a sigh, a headache already forming, I signed the notice, clipped it to the status board in the office and went about my shift after posting a big, BOLD notice on the machine. It simply stated, "I'M BUSTED, SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE."

Not half an hour into my shift, two young ladies (Lady A and Lady B) walk in and take a moment to decide their poison. I was pleasantly surprised when I arrived at the counter to serve them, as Lady B asked for a shake, only to be quickly caught by Lady A.

Lady B: "So, you can't sell any shakes at all?"

Lady A: "[Lady B], hon, there's a big ass sign that says it right there. Busted. Bust. Ed. Broken."

Lady B: "I just wanted to make sure."

Because, sure, maybe it is every day that we post a sign up saying something is broken, just so we don't have to serve you. But we'll immediately tell the truth if you ask.

In any case, Lady B wants nothing, but Lady A apologizes, orders a kid's meal for herself (she told me that) and asked for a smoothie instead. Relieved that I wasn't about to have a customer throw a tantrum, I started the smoothie process, only to have three other customers walk in, a woman and two guys.

Immediately, one of them comes right up to the counter as I turn around to serve him and states, without a stutter, "Can I have three medium chocolate shakes?"

I blink, then shake my head.

Me: "Unfortunately, no. We only have regular and large, but our shake machine is down."

Guy 1: "Are you sure?"

Me: *leans over and points to the sign behind her* "Very. Anything else I can get you?"

Before he can answer me, I notice that Lady A has returned for her smoothie (now melting on the counter, my bad) and Guy 1's buddy has come up to my counter, both hands on the surface, and slightly red faced.

Guy 2: "Busted? What do you mean busted?

Me: "Busted...? As in... it's broken? Like, I don't know what happened, a part broke and it won't keep temp."

Guy 2: *gives an angry huff* "Don't you have a second one? What's that right there?" *points to our smoothie machine*

Me: "Smoothies. They're pretty awesome. Not as thick, but still good. Yeah. Still good."

Lady A had apparently caught my Lilo and Stitch reference and begins to snicker behind my irate customers. I offer her a quick smile, apologetic, and silently decide to offer her a coupon for the wait and forgotten smoothie.

Guy 1 has now turned around and faces the female that walked in with them, I suppose to discuss the change of plans, but Guy 2 isn't ready to let this go.

Guy 2: "Well, what do we get now?"

Me: "Um... a smoothie?"

Guy 2: *snorts* "No, we don't want smoothies. I drove all this way to get a SHAKE. Specifically. That's all I wanted was a shake."

Me: "Well... I can give you a coupon, and there's two other [sister restaurants] that have working shake machines within five miles of us."

Guy 2: "NO, you're not listening. I came HERE. I don't want to go to any other [restaurant]. You can't just give me a coupon for my inconvenience, I want my shake or you give me something else for free."

Now, at my restaurant, we do have this weirdo policy called "Yes to the Guest," but thankfully we apply it under the conditions of A) The order was wrong (doesn't matter who's fault), so we replace the accident, B) You're dissatisfied with your item (for any reason), and C) We overcharged you by accident. As he fell under none of these conditions, I squared my shoulders and put on my best Mom Face.

I had been at this restaurant long enough that I had gone through 3 store managers, and the current one supported the decisions made by his shift managers (unless they were incredibly stupid). Suffice to say, I felt empowered.

Me: "Sorry, store policy states replacements happen because of A, B, and C. You haven't bought anything and though unfortunate that you came all this way down for one item, that item is served by another of our sister's not two miles away. I can give you a coupon for half off, otherwise, I am unable to ring up anything and give it to you for free. If I do, I will need your name and phone number."

Guy 2: "No, you can't ask for a customers name and number, that's illegal, that's identify theft."

Lady A: "Excuse me, you do realize that your credit card gives them more information than that, right? And she can take your name from your card unless you have the cash? She told you what she can do, take it or leave it, pal."

Guy 2: "Look, I don't see how that broken machine is my problem. I want my shakes."

Lady A: "And I want my smoothie that you've interrupted her making. You're being an entitled ass."

With that, the group of three head out, but not before flipping me off. Funny part, though, was that my heroine returned the favor with a double finger action and a smile. She made my night, and I refunded her order, upgraded her meal, and sent her with as many coupons as I could safely stuff into her lunch bag.

May all your customers be this wickedly awesome,

--Mom Squad

Psycho Custy Throws Tantrum Over Potato, Then Comes Back Later And Surprises Staff

Hiya RHU, I'm yet another in a long list of long-time-lurker, first-time-posters. I guess since I worked at a Wendy's, you can just call me Where'sTheBeef.

I have a ridiculous amount of stories fit for RHU (seriously, I've found my people) but this particular one comes from my last few weeks working at a Wendy's. It is sort of long, but I think worth the read. Little bit of background; I was what they refer to as a 'Team Leader', which is basically the last rung on the management ladder. I would get stuck up front with the regular employees while the real (aka salary) managers sat in the office eating, when one of them happened to be on shift with me. Since I was more responsible than some of my fellow Team Leads, I often got left alone to run shifts by myself (which Team Leads were not supposed to do.) This happened while I was on shift alone, as the only manager.

A well dressed man came in and ordered quite a bit of food fairly late in the evening (around 8:30pm). He was more or less polite, and it didn't take us long to get his food together. Seems like a forgettable experience, right?

It was, until nearly an hour later he came in, fuming, ranting, raving and just generally being a complete crusty. He cuts in front of the line of customers (a group of young-ish, built outdoorsy guys) and literally throws an old baked potato at my cashier's face. By the time I make my way from the drive thru (like, 4 feet away) he already has my cashier in tears.

I excuse her to the back to calm down and take over the conversation like the good fast-food robot I am. "I'm sorry sir, I'm the manager on duty. What seems to be the problem?" I ask, politely even though I really want to kick him out for making my sweet cashier (lets just call her Sugar, because she was a total sweetheart) cry.

"I JUST ordered this potato, look at it? Would you eat this? Do you expect me to feed this to my family? This is disgusting! What are you going to do about this!?"

Now, if you've ever been to a Wendy's you may know that they sell baked potatoes. Unlike some places that might microwave their potatoes, Wendy's actually does bake them - and they take a freakin' hour to bake, so we really had to plan the numbers ahead of time. That late at night, we stopped cooking potatoes because they usually just went bad, they didn't sell well at night. So by the time the crusty has come back, we didn't have any left.

Attempting to salvage the situation, I calmly look to the crusty's potato (which is pretty black and nasty, but.. it's been an HOUR!) and say "Well, sir, I'm sorry but we don't have any potatoes left. We don't cook them this late at night. I will, of course, be happy to refund the cost of the potato and get you a different side in place. Would you like french fries?"

Pretty good so far; I've kept my cool and not flown off the handle.

Then it goes from bad to worse, crusty explodes. "What do you mean you don't have any potatoes? I JUST BOUGHT THIS. I DON'T WANT YOUR NASTY FRIES. I AM GOING TO SUE YOU FOR TRYING TO POISON MY FAMILY. I AM GOING TO SUE YOU. I AM GOING TO SUE THIS COMPANY. I WILL OWN YOU."

This is where I start to lose my cool. I grab the receipt that he threw at Sugar with the potato, and hold it up for him to see, and in a very cold tone of voice; "You ordered this an HOUR ago. I'm sorry, but I do not have magical food that will stay good forever. You failed to consume the food in a reasonable amount of time. I cannot be held responsible because you let it go bad. I offered you replacements, and a refund. I don't know what you expect me to do for you."

Cue more ranting and raving about suing me, wanting my name and corporates number. Then crusty crosses my ultimate line. He gets millimeters from my face (leaning over the counter) and yells so vehemently he gets spit on me. That's it for me. "Sir, the door is right there. You have ten seconds to leave my establishment before I call the police and have you arrested. You spit on me, and that is considered assault. I WILL press charges. My name is WHERE'STHEBEEF, the number for corporate can be found on our website - Oh, and by the way, you can't sue me because you let your food go bad. Now. Leave."

Apparently the buff outdoorsy customers behind him thought he was being out of line as well, because when I mentioned the police they cheered and started pelting him with coins. "Really dude? Over a potato? Here's your refund!"

Crusty leaves, they smile at me and are freakin' awesome customers, and the night gets a little better. Seeing that man get hit with change was awazing. So... end of story? Not hardly.

Fast forward 3 weeks, and I am working drive through while an actual salary manager is running the floor. I've put in my 2-weeks notice (because I'm moving, but also because that place was greasy hell) so my give-a-fuck-o-meter is pretty damn low.

Sugar calls over the headset; "Hey Where'sTheBeef... a customer wants you up front.."

She sounds kinda terrified, and all of the other employee's freeze. I walk out front and guess who is standing there? Yeah, you guessed it. Crusty Potato Jerk. I walk up, very cautious and ready for another scene when he shocks me in to utter silence.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior a few weeks ago. It was completely inappropriate, and I feel terrible. I know that my actions were reprehensible and I acted like a spoiled child. I just wanted to say that I am very sorry, I was completely in the wrong." He then offers his hand, for a handshake.

I have absolutely nothing to say at all. Did a crusty just.. apologize? What? Every single employee was just as stunned as I was; most of them had been working the night he'd made his scene. Later on, Sugar tells me he has apologized to her as well, just before she called me to the front. Apparently crustys can see the error of their ways.

--Where'sTheBeef

Awesome Manager Puts His Foot Down To After Hours Dad

Hello RHU,

(Discovering RHU was like discovering a support group of other damned souls, condemned to wander the earth with "Do you work here?" echoing into eternity.)

Since several of my stories revolve around my years in an ice rink, I'll dub myself FrozenTerror.

I was hired near the end of the hockey season, so my training was done on the fly. Basically, I was a warm body who could do menial tasks, and if I could actually last, that was an added (and unexpected bonus).

With the hockey season tapering down, the rink was closing down earlier in the day than usual. On one Saturday, I was there with two others about 20 minutes after the last event came off the ice. Our Zamboni driver was doing a final resurfacing before closing up, I was out front putting rental skates away, and the manager on duty (MoD) was finalizing office work.

There was a table in the lobby that faced a TV, and a man and his son (about 10 years old) were watching a basketball game while eating pizza and drinking pop. I asked if they were going to be heading out soon since we were closing up, and the dad said, "Right as soon as the game ends."

I glanced up at the TV and saw that there were 11 minutes left in the 2nd quarter. Yeah, that wasn't going to fly.

MoD came out of the office to ask me something, and saw the guy and the kid sitting there. He asked me what they were doing, and I repeated the conversation that we'd just had.

MoD says, "Come with me," and we go over to where they were sitting.

MoD looks down at the kid and says, "Hey buddy, do you want a refill?"

The kid said, "Sure!", and MoD told me to take the kid and refill his cup. I take the kid over to the concession stand, refill the cup, and hand it to the kid.

No sooner is it in his hands than his dad grabs him and hustles him out the front door, muttering under his breath the whole time. The front doors slam, and MoD yells across the lobby that, "That took care of that!"

I asked him what had just happened, and he recounted the following conversation to me:

MoD: So how long are you staying?

Dad: Until the end of the game. Hey, can I get a refill too?

MoD: No.

Dad: Why not?

MoD: I'm not a waiter, and we're closed anyway.

Dad: Why'd you give my kid a refill?

MoD: Because I didn't want him standing right here while I tell you to get the fuck outta here!

That's when the dad stood up, grabbed the pizza and his kid, and left.

--FrozenTerror

Shameful Disney Custys: Rich Moms Rent Disabled Guides So Their Kids Don't Have To Wait In Line

Huff Po: It’s a smaller world for some of us than for others, apparently.

The New York Post reports that the latest “must have” for wealthy parents, is a “disabled” guide at Disney World, so that their darling children don’t have to wait on lines for rides. According an exclusive by reporter Tara Palmeri, Manhattan “one percenters” have been passing around the name of a “black market disney guide” -- an adult who needs a motorized scooter for mobility, and whose presence can take advantage of the rule that “handicapped” guests can go directly to the front of the line and bring up to five other people along.

“Renting the handicapped” Pilar Clark calls it in her reaction on Babble.com, a piece titled “Not Disabled at Home? Then You Don’t Get to be Disabled at Disney.”

And, as Beth Greenfield write at Yahoo! Shine, it is part of a trend, also seen at airports where “travelers request the use of complimentary wheelchairs... as a technique of getting pushed to the front of security lines, only to leap up and sprint to their gates once they have clearance.”

I’ve spent the afternoon trying to find a silver lining in this one -- something that doesn’t mean that the end of civilized society is indeed upon us -- and here’s the best I’ve got:

*This might lead to growing acceptance of people with disabilities, because, kids, look how lucky people in wheelchairs are!

*These parents are teaching frugality, because, at $130 an hour, these guides are a bargain. After all, the “offiical” Disney “rich people don’t have to wait on line with everyone else” pass (that’s my name for it, btw, Disney just calls it a “fast pass”) costs between $300 and $400 an hour.

 

“When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are,” Jiminy Cricket sings. Unless, of course, you are wishing to bypass the line.

Then it helps to have a lot of money. And very few scruples.

via www.huffingtonpost.com

Fleabite With A Trio Of Stories

Hi RHU, Fleabite here.

Up till this week I hadn't had any memorable Crustys. Then the shit hit the fan (3 times), and I forgot to duck once. The first one up is The Two Women:

Two women came down the aisle, with two kids bouncing big bouncy balls. My friend ShelterDoll asked them if they wanted a bag for the balls. She believes that they didn't hear her that time. As they came down the aisle, the kids were bouncing their toys. We have breakables, and our neighbor has a glass case, right across the way. So ShelterDoll asked them again if they wanted a bag for the toys. She was ignored. The brown haired woman came over to the booth to look at some stuff. As she looked I went over to help her.

Brown Hair asked me, "Do you have a thieving problem here?"

I answered "Not to my knowledge, why?"

Brown Hair said "Well, every booth we went to people were hovering over us. I just-"

Blonde Hair(the other woman) "Mom I can't take it any more, that bitch is all over the kids' business."

Brown to Blonde "Just take 'kid', and go to the car, I'm almost done here."

Brown Hair said to me,"I cant believe this: I only get so much time to spend with my daughter, and now that girl offended her."

Me handing her, her change "Do you know when the next full moon is?"

#2 of the week is sort-of-Hellspawn, Purgatoryspawn?

Anyway, ShelterDoll had a transformer toy she had put down, before she went off to visit other vendors. Purgatoryspawn came by and asked how much it was, I said not for sale, he walked off, then came back a little latter asked how much? I said "still not for sale". ShelterDoll came back, and we were chilling. Purgatoryspawn came by again and said "Darn I should have bought it when I saw it."

#3 It gets a little specific so I'm going to give you the watered down version, ShelterDoll and I got into it with a crusty who did not want to be told no. We have had this conversation with at least 20 other people none of whom complained. It goes like this:

"I'm sorry that booth is closed."

"Oh, okay." And then they walk off.

Not this one, he decided to tell me how I should talk to and treat Custys, and how I should feel after telling him no. I lost my temper, after he insulted me. He then took it upon himself and his printer to inform ALL the other vendors and management how I fucked-up his day. Well, other that getting a talking to from management, it kind of had the opposite effect, his letter is now the laughing stock of the flea market.

Well that's it for now, I'll see you again same RHU channel, same RHU time,

--A very tired Fleabite.

A Drug Hunting Hag, And An Awesome Custy Bearing Tasty Herbs!

Hey y'all, it's Evie again! I've actually got two stories today; one scary, and one sweet.

Story number one:

We started a new program at our business for people who want to lose weight. Unlike some fly-by-night clinics, our program is very strict and requires tests and a physical. For people that are used to places that just hand you a prescription, this can get... annoying, I guess.

One particular client came in, got checked out, and started the program. She apparently had some "red-flag" issues that made the doctor want to be cautious. Doc put her on a trial med and asked her to come in bi-monthly to check-in. Cue nutso behavior: the lady called every 3-4 days saying she needed her dosage increased and trying to bully the front desk into getting her way (to no avail, obviously). Finally, it was time for her first check up.

She showed up half an hour early, got pissed that the provider was busy, and started laying in to my secretary. She obviously knew how to be as nasty as possible without actually violating any policies (no cussing, no physical intimidation), but even so she was so hostile that I almost kicked her out. Before I could, the provider came up and collected her, presumably calming her down.

Unfortunately, her progress did not merit an increase in dosage. When she found out she was still on the same dose, she LOST HER SHIT. Showed up at the clinic and drove around the parking lot threateningly, not letting any employees leave and making obscene gestures through her windows until the cops showed up.

We promptly banned her and sent a note to her insurance company, but jeez.

On a happier note, Story number two:

We have this one guy who's been coming here forever, and he LOVES to talk. Just chats nonstop every time he comes in, but he's adorable so it's cool. A lot of time he brings his "friend" (code word for boyfriend) with him. The boyfriend is an old-school hippy with tons of anecdotes about herbal medicine and holistic lifestyles, which is pretty sweet. I'll call boyfriend RM (for Reiki Master).

Anyways RM comes in by himself the other day, apropos of nothing, with a massive flat of herbs from his garden and tons of glass bottles full of seeds. Apparently he was harvesting last week and thought of us.

We're always tickled when patients bring us presents, but this was above and beyond. There was enough stuff for every employee to get seed packets and plants.

Thanks, RM. Next time a hosebeast comes in and makes our lives hell, we can go home to our gardens and make ourselves some herbal tea. You're the best!

May all your custies be sweeties!

Love, Evie.

Bigoted Scum Uses Gay Slurs Over A Refused Return

The Last Archimedean again. This happened on Friday and made me pissed off going into the weekend.

Now, I'm normally a cheerful person. I don't take things too seriously, and I tell jokes about everything -- man jokes, women jokes, Polish jokes, black jokes, white jokes, gay jokes, Challenger jokes [less than a month after its tragic end, I was telling them], etc. I don't tell them at work, but off the clock and to my friends I'll always try to lighten the mood. People know that I do this so that I don't get overwhelmed from the torrent of negative news [why aren't there any positive news stories anymore?]

Only one thing will make me turn angry: when scumbag custys act bigoted. I'm particularly sensitive to homophobia: when I was young and wild me and my [late] cousin, on nights we couldn't score with the pretty ladies when we went clubbing, would retreat to a gay bar in the heart of San Francisco's Castro that had really good beer and pretend to be a couple. The other, actually gay couples made us feel welcome. I still have friends from that time even though I no longer live in the Fog City.

So....

Bigoted Scum: "I'd like to return these. Here's the receipt."

Me: [looks at receipt] "This is 8 months past the time when we can take the return, sir." [points to date and copy of return policy on receipt]

Bigoted Scum: "I don't care about your stupid policy, you asshole. I want my return NOW."

Me: "No, sir. You had 90 days to decide that. It's way too late."

[I don't mind being called an asshole: I hear that word 20 times a day from frustrated crustys. It rolls off me like water off a duck.]

Bigoted Scum: "Look, you dick-eating faggot, you WILL give me my fucking return."

[Okay, THAT pushed my buttons. You just stepped over a line.]

Me [cold, cruel voice]: "Leave now before I have you thrown out."

Bigoted Scum: "MANAGER! NOW!"

[Jerk comes over, but I'm not worried. You see, Jerk's brother happens to be gay, and calling an employee of his a dick-eating faggot will push HIS buttons too.]

Jerk: "I am the manager: How can I help you?"

Bigoted Scum: "This dick-eating, ass-licking faggot won't process my return."

Jerk: "Consider yourself banned from the store. Leave now before I call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing."

Bigoted Scum: [stunned look]

Jerk [as he guides Bigoted Scum towards the exit]: "By the way, that employee is straight. And even if he was gay, you don't call him a faggot."

May all your customers be sane....

--The Last Archimedean

Un-CoOperative Shares Retail Holiday Hell Amidst Custys

Goooood evening fellow RHU’ers,

Un-CoOperative here; writing as a customer, rather than a retail slave today. After a trip to my local Big-T [the UK’s main rival to the re-branded UK version of Walmart], I came to a realisation; supermarket retail slaves suffer through a whole level of retail hell that I had never truly appreciated before.

Perhaps it was the recent reading of ‘co-worker hell’, or the hellspawn e-reader release that I just happened to be reading on my phone while shopping, but I really started to pick up on some of the shit you guys put up with.

Coming from a retail-background of working in a fairly small store – having 10 members of staff on over a sixteen-hour day, or more than a thousand customers being a darn busy weekday at the Un-CoOperative – I always thought big retail store slaves had it fairly easy in comparison.

I mean, on a busy Saturday at the Un-CoOperative, we’re expected to handle sixteen to twenty cage deliveries into a warehouse that fits about five cages, whilst manning the tills, stocking the shelves, cleaning, doing reductions, stock rotation, dealing with NAT’s and whiney-ass colleagues, between two of us [yes, TWO] on an afternoon/ evening, when we can quite easily get between 20-30 people queuing for only one till, as our only other staff member is accepting a delivery.

I always thought that the Big-T staff – hired to work on a specific section, or even on till – getting to sit on their asses all day whilst being paid a full £1-3 more an hour CSA rate than I get team-leading.

Boy, was I bitchslapped in the face for that stupid assumption today!

I walk in to my local Big T. Only planning on grabbing a couple of bits, ready for my three-day weekend of back-to-back ten-hour shifts – mini candy bars, some ice cream, a little soda [so healthy, right?]. I make a bee-line for the Halloween isle; all the big retailers have picked up on the marketing hype brought over from the US [thanks, guys!] surrounding the candy-filled, hellspawn sugar-high holiday.

When I was a kid [a mere decade ago-I’m not that old!], my parents wouldn’t have dreamt of letting me go out trick-or-treating [or begging for candy, as my parents would have called it], though the odd bag of Halloween chocolate from Cadbury’s maaay have made its way into our kitchen cupboard every year.

Anyway, I digress. Big T has one Halloween isle – it’s 3 isles wide, with two ‘walls’ of Halloween goodies – one side edibles, the other merchandise like costumes, balloons and DVDs, with a bunch of big displays in the centre of the isle. This leaves enough room around the edges for two trolleys to pass either side – IF the idiot custys are paying attention. It’s only a Thursday! I tell myself. School hasn’t let out yet! Most people with ‘real jobs’ will still be at the office for a couple of hours, I thought. Somehow, RHU’ers, this made it worse.

One side of the isle is blocked by a group of five adults’ coo’ing over a drooling, sticky crotchfruit that couldn’t have been older than six months. Besides dripping on the floor [drool, thankfully, nothing more...fragrant] it wasn’t screaming or touching anything, so if anything, it was being a better example than the gaggle of idiots surrounding it, who seemed oblivious of those of us who wanted to get in / out of the isle.

Keep calm Un-CoOperative, I tell myself. It’s just one group of idiots...WHAT is that child holding?

I pause, as a hellspawn no older than six runs in front of my trolley.

Resist the urge to run into the little bastard... just because it would look like an accident, doesn’t mean you could stop your evil cackles of glee and you know it, I say to myself.

IdiotCustyMom#1: Put it dooooown. I said no, hellspawn #1!

Its mother whines, not looking up from the extra small slutty witch costume she holds in one hand.

Please woman, that XS wouldn’t fit your pinky-finger. Put it down and pay attention to your little brats, so I don’t have to! I watch as hellspawn #1 puts it down. It finally registers just what the little darling had been waving around; it’s pulled the stick from one of the Halloween balloons out, leaving a deflated and sorry-looking helium bat crumpled next to a guy-Fawkes dummy [another holiday that none of our local hellspawn seem to understand –sighs-], which its’ sibling, hellspawn #2, a good eight years old or so by the looks of it, is PUNCHING. Straw everywhere. IdiotCustyMom still obsessing over her own chance to wear a freaking belt-length ‘dress’ for the holiday season.

I twitch. Calm down, I think, and just grab your candy. Oooh, they have those mini Cadbury’s chocolate bars in again! Mine mine MIIIIINE!

Avoiding hitting either hellspawn, I make a bee-line for my chosen chocolate. That’s when group of idiots number three catch my attention.

Two women – I’d say early to mid twenties – are shrieking at an ear-splitting level usually reserved for infants experiencing air travel for the first time whilst being gnawed on by wild foxes.

Both blond, fake-tanned, and with the maturity of a semi-ripened squash, they are running across both openings/ exits to the Halloween isle – no more than three feet in front of me.

Well, shit. Just keep your head down, it’ll be fiiiine....What the fuck are they doing, anyway?

You know those spray-cans of coloured paint you can get on various holidays? You know, the ones you use on windows or cars that last a couple of weeks? They have decided that these are just SO MUCH FUN! What are they doing?

Having a spray-paint fight. In the middle of Big T. Less than 5 feet from unattended hellspawn#1 and #2 [as IdiotCustyMom is now on her phone, completely oblivious to the rest of the world] and less than 3 feet from me, and a fellow well-behaved Custy in her sixties.

These two geniuses are using green and pink spray paint on each other’s hair, faces, arms, jackets – you name it, they’re aiming for it. It’s already all over the floor, two displays, and a handful of dvds. The fuck, people!

I look behind me – the first group of cooing custys are still there, blocking the left lane. Good Custy? Now blocking the right, her trolley sideways, ignoring the rather weary-looking retail slave who is trying to edge his way past her with a full box of novelty lanterns. I have no choice – it’s onwards, or remain stuck there, with the rising possibility that I may start screaming obscenities at these wonderful potential candidates for the Darwin award.

As I make it to the safety of the dairy isle, I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s only me, three Custy’s, and a retail slave in this isle. Nothing can go wrong – right?

I make it to the soda corner with the usual troubles [all of the good-offer pancake mix is gone, no fewer than 3 pushchairs have bumped in to me or forced me to go the long way around, as they cannot seem to budge over a freaking inch to let me past, my eardrums now bleeding from various screaming and shouting hellspawn running rampant around uncaring parents and equally weary-looking custys and slaves alike].

I watch as a hellspawn goes up to one of the young slaves stocking the energy drinks; he can’t be older than sixteen [the retail slave], while the kid looks around eight or ten. It would seem that hellspawn can’t reach a pack of six soda that’s pushed right back on one of the upper-shelves; he points, and pulls on the slave’s pocket to get his attention.

Silly slave; smiling at the hellspawn, grabs the six pack for it. He can’t have been working in retail for long! He hasn’t yet learned to fear those who have yet to grow beyond midriff-height.

Pack of six cans in hand, what does the little darning to? He throws it at retail slave’s foot. Not drop – throw. Lemonade begins to leak across the floor, as the little shit runs out of the soda-corner, making it way back to the care and attention of the she-devil who spawned it.

Wincing in sympathy, I grab a couple of the Big T brand energy drinks – my Stepdad’s addicted to the things – and make my way to the checkouts. None of the isles are particularly busy, so I just join the nearest queue.

Cheerfully, TillSlave begins ringing me up, only to discover that the energy drinks don’t have any barcodes. No big deal, right? TillSlave apologises, and puts on the red light above her till, to get someone to come down and grab a barcode for her. I offer to go and grab another can, but by this point, there is a queue of around 3-4 people with trolleys full of shopping behind me, and no easy way back past the tills in to the store, so TillSlave asks me to just wait at the end of her area, while she starts ringing through the next person.

Three customers later, around ten-fifteen minutes, I ask again – are you sure you don’t want me to just grab another can? Really, it’s no trouble! Translation: I just want to go HOME!

Tillslave: No, really, it’ll just be another minute or two.

Both myself and TillSlave watch as no fewer than FIVE team-leader or manager-position members of staff walk past, look at the light, and keep on walking.

By the time it hits fifteen minutes, I’ve had enough. I manage to squeeze my trolley past the final remaining customer in TillSlave’s queue, intent on leaving my stuff there while I just grab the damn barcode myself. Finally, one of the runners comes over, asks what TillSlave wants, and goes to get the barcode.

As I FINALLY pay for my shopping and shuffle as fast as I can past the obstacle course of lurking Custys and abandoned trolleys to make it to the exit, I really start to contemplate the crap Big T slaves have to put up with;

Custy’s who think that blocking isles to chat is the best use of their day

Parents who don’t give a damn about what their hellspawn are doing – or who they’re doing it to

Hellspawn who wilfully destroy stock and make attacks on retail Slaves that any adult would be prosecuted for

Idiot Custy’s who use stock in dangerous ways before dumping it – unsellable, surrounded by a mess that some poor slave will have to clear up later

Incompetent managers

Incompetent co-workers

And stressed out Custy’s and fellow-slaves who’s sympathy wears thin as the slave’s co-workers and their fellow Custy’s make the whole experience even worse.

So yeah; things may be pretty shitty at the Un-CoOperative, but you guys in the big retail stores put up with entire levels of crap we can’t always imagine. Yes, you may be paid more for it. Yes, you may be allowed to sit-down without the threat of being fired. But you guys seem to attract a whole new level of crazy that us small stores are lucky to avoid [for the most part, anyway].

So, I salute you, retail slaves of Big T; you deal with more crap than we realise.

--Un-CoOperative

Newbie Slave Gets A Gross Encounter At The Library

From: ClockworkKid

First an introduction. Hi, I have been a lurker for probably two years now and while I have worked at summer camps and many volunteer positions, I haven't had a real job until recently.

Not for lack of trying, but in my area those who can't drive and afford car insurance are pretty much stuck at home and both my parents worked all day. But now I am in college and got a fun thing called work study. Now, it is great don't get me wrong, we get a little above minimum wage, and the library (where I work) is the only place on campus that guarantees 8 hours work a week.

Personally I wish I could have more hours, but they can only pay out as much as the government has given so it makes sense. Anyway in my year there so-far I have met patrons and other student co-workers I wish to strangle and ones that I want to at times propose to.

The past week has been finals week at my college, and the library is staying open all day to accommodate studying. This of course led to about 3 tents being set up in the library, something that has become something of an annoying tradition.

So I am sitting peacefully behind the circulation desk, going over some notes for my art history final the next day. A girl comes up, shoves a pair of headphones at me and then walks away. Of course the cord is knotted and not neatly wrapped, which is always fun to do. So I pick up the headphones and start wrapping them, and then I pause....

My hand was now covered in what I can only hope was sweat. The worst part about this was I had to finish wrapping the headphones and put them back in the drawer so some other smuck could check them out. But luckily my supervisors let me go wash my hands.

I have more fun stories about Townies, teens, snobby college students, and stupid co-workers as well, but I think I shall save them until after I finish my finals.

--ClockworkKid

Charity Shop Volunteer Hell Has Its Share Of Custys

Hi,

It's CrazyCatLady here, although I haven't submitted anything for about a year!

I've now left my job in retail, although I volunteer at a charity shop. I've only just started but already I've met some crazy customers.

One woman wanted to look at a necklace in a display cabinet, so I got it out for her. It's quite a nice necklace, with rather large beads. She said to me that she wanted to "test it" which I assumed meant try it on to see how it hung. No, she lifted it to her mouth and bit the beads - and then decided not to buy it, so I was left holding a necklace covered in custy slobber. Lovely.

Recently there was been a TV programme which has suggested people try haggling in charity shops. Clearly, many customers have seen this. We had one customer offer £20 on a selection of items that should have been £22, which was fair enough. Then someone offered £1 on a £6 item that had only just been put out and would probably sell for the £6 price. The customer sounded really offended when this was refused.

It also annoys me when people think volunteers get loads of perks. We do get first pick at anything sorted during our shift, but that's it. We don't get first pick at everything, because there's too much stuff for everyone to have a look at before it goes out for sale. We also don't get any kind of discount, and there's certainly none of the "I want this, so I will price it at 10p!" behaviour that people think goes on.

Anyway, that's enough for now,

--CrazyCatLady

Walmart Dumbass Deli Crusty Doesn't Know "Sliced" From "Shaved"

From: Red

After working for the worst place in the world, I have come across many customers and co-workers that continued to shock me at how utterly stupid they are.

I was hired as a temporary Produce worker. Being a temporary associate, you don't get any kind of discount. Even though your are helping the store make more money, you aren't even allowed the profit share that comes around. No benefits either.

Anyways, I liked Produce. I didn't have to wait on anyone, just direct people to the garlic. Easy. After New Year's Eve management informed me that I would not be on the new schedule, giving me the two weeks notice. At first I'm a little shocked because in my orientation they told everyone that 99% of the time, they hire people on permanently because of the huge turn-over rate.

They "let me go" and I was without a job for three months. Needless to say, I almost lost my apartment and had to borrow because no one would hire me. I applied back (having no other choice) and they put me in the deli as a permanent with about 50 cents more per-hour. Sounds good, right? Wrong.

The Walmart deli is hell.

Along with trying to maintain nasty fried food, we have to wait on THE PICKIEST PEOPLE IN THE WORLD. Here is ONE of the hundreds of stories. (Mind you, I've only been working in the deli since February).

There's this older guy that comes to the deli later in the night and always gets the same type of ham. He always wants it "THINLY SLICED". So, I think I'm a pretty intelligent person, I know what shaved is and what isn't, so I slice the 1/2 pound he wants. I give him the priced package and he throws it back on the counter. "This isn't what I wanted. I always come here, and you always do this to me. I want it sliced at least half that!"

Seriously. I just stand there and take in a breath. "Sir, if I slice it any thinner than that, it will be shaved."

"Fine, I want it shaved then." So I do a little experiment and slice it like one millimeter thinner. Meanwhile, he's bitching to his daughter and grandson. I give him the meat and he says "That's better."

I'm just glad there was a tall counter separating us or I would have whipped a slicer at him.

--Red

P.S. I used to be a nice, calm person. After working at Walmart, I would be perfectly fine being stranded on a desert island.