Hey, I found this website in a drunken stupor a few nights back and got here by clicking on random websites until the internet gods got bored and dumped me here to entertain myself.I used to work at a supermarket here in the UK as a professional chicken cooker. :) Basically I worked on "oven fresh" and although I didn't get accosted by custys on the shop floor (I rarely strayed out from behind my protective counter) people seemed to leave their brains in a basket on the floor before talking to me.
I had one woman point at a chicken breast (in a big metal tray, with about 5 other chicken breasts) and ask what it was.
I stared at her and said "um...it's a chicken breast"...like the sign in front of it says, numbnuts.
She then said "oh...whats that one then?" and pointed to ANOTHER CHICKEN BREAST IN THE SAME GODDAMN TRAY.
"....that's a chicken breast as well."
* * *
We mainly sold plain chickens (on white papers), but we also had extra-tasty ones (on orange papers) and garlic chickens (on yellow papers). Some moron woman asked for a chicken and specifically said she wanted the one at the back on the yellow paper (this is important).
So I hoiked it out and bagged it up, stuck it on the ticket machine to get the sticker and rang it up as a garlic chicken.
The moron then said "Oh! it's garlic? I didn't want garlic, I wanted plain! why did you give me a garlic one?"
I glared at her and was mentally screaming "You wanted the one on the yellow paper! There is a fucking sign in front saying garlic chicken! I don't put the chickens on different colored paper to make my goddamn counter look pretty you halfwit!"
* * *
We had an idiot manager as well, who never once pronounced my name right.
My name's Rhiannon and said so on my nametag (eventually - the first 2 nametags were spelled wrong, and I had to argue with the daft bitch in personnel that I knew how my own damn name was spelled).
He would always call me Rhianna, no matter how many times I corrected him (I know it's not a huge difference, but its my name dammit).
He came over one day trying to be the "big boss" in front of the new manager and asked, "Rhianna, have you put any chickens in the oven, you're running out on the counter."
Before I could say "Yes, if you would turn your fat head 10 degrees to the left, you would see 3 damn ovens behind me, full of fucking chickens."
The conversation went like this:Cool Manager: Rhiannon.
Fuckwit Manager: what?
Cool Manager: Rhiannon. She's called Rhiannon. It says so on her nametag. There's an N at the end, not an A.
Fuckwit Manager: *mutterssomethingincomprehensibleandfucksoff*
I then transferred to a different store where I was on the salad bar, so I didn't have to deal with people at all and could hide round the corner where they couldn't get at me.