Acting Like A Big Baby

, , , , , , | Working | January 23, 2018

(I am working the registers when the entire checkout is halted by two women screaming at each other.)

Coworker: “I can’t believe anyone would want to f*** you. You’re a whale. A fat f****** cow!”

Customer: “I’m pregnant! How could you be so mean?! I never did anything to you. I was your friend!”

Coworker: “Friend?! Ha! And honey, if you’re pregnant, then I’m the Queen of England. Now, f*** off!”

(My coworker then pushed the customer. She was actually heavily pregnant and lost her balance, tumbling hard onto the floor. My coworker then tried to walk around the counter towards the customer, but was quickly grabbed by the manager and one of the stockroom staff, who then threw her out of the shop. An ambulance was called and they took the customer away. We later learned after my coworker’s dismissal that she and the customer were friends in school, but instead of going into acting, my coworker ended up in retail, while her friend — the less popular of the two in school — went on to become a doctor. I guess one got jealous of the other’s success.)

The Brown Bags And The Birds And The Bees

, , , | Working | January 23, 2018

(A coworker has finished an informal lunch-time “brown bag” talk on a technology he wants us to adopt. He’s a lively, somewhat loud speaker with a strong Middle Eastern accent. He’s also very friendly with a good sense of humor.)

Speaker: “Ask me anything you want! Anything at all!”

Me: *in a innocent, almost childlike voice* “Where do babies come from?”

(The rest of the room cracks up.)

Speaker: “What?! What?!”

Me: “Well, you said we could ask you anything; so, where do babies come from?”

The Music Police

, , , , | Working | January 23, 2018

(It’s 1997. I work with a 19-year-old who thinks she knows everything about music. Puff Daddy’s “I’ll Be Missing You” is playing on the office radio. As the song ends:)

Coworker: “I love that song.”

Me: “Really? Come here for a second.”

(I play “Every Breath You Take” by the music group The Police.)

Coworker: *listening* “Ugh! I can’t believe someone is already sampling Puff Daddy’s work! That’s so lame! Why can’t they come up with their own music?!”

Me: “Uh, The Police wrote that song… in 1983. I’ll let you borrow my album if you have a record player.”

(She refused to believe that Puff Daddy sampled anything and wouldn’t look at any proof shown to her.)

Your Memory Is Totally Baked

, , , , , , | Working | January 23, 2018

(During a supply order, my manager comes over to ask if we need anything.)

Me: “Oh! I’m glad you reminded me. We need… uh… the… the…”

Manager: “Piping bags?”

Me: “No! It’s the… Um… Crap!”

Manager: “Refills for the airbrush? You were using that a lot today.”

Me: “No! I… It’s a food thing!”

Manager: *laughing now* “Well, I should hope so; we work in a bakery! I’m glad I didn’t hire you for your memory.”

Me: “I can’t believe this!”

Manager: “Well, don’t stress it. If you can’t remember it today, we’ll order it next week.”

(I sulk for a while, frustrated at my brain freeze. It’s like a complete and total blank. Then, five days later, while my manager and I are doing the dishes together and talking about something completely unrelated to work…)

Me: *wide-eyed, shouting and interrupting her* “BAVARIAN CREAM!”

Manager: *looking startled and afraid* “What?”

Me: “That’s what I wanted to say we needed last week! I just remembered!”

Manager: “Oh. Well… Good! I think that might actually be discontinued right now, though. We’re probably going to use something else.”

Me: “But… I remembered!”

Manager: *affectionately and only a LITTLE patronizing* “You sure did, honey.”


Losing Your Wits, But Not Your Job

, , , , | Working | January 23, 2018

(My office has known for a while that any of us could be losing our job at any time. My manager calls me into his office.)

Manager: “Okay, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Me: “I’m the first? I guess that was to be expected.”

Manager: “The first?”

Me: “To lose my job. It’s all right; I’m already looking for somewhere else. I won’t be out of work for long.”

Manager: “How did you know you were losing your job?”

Me: “Well, you sent out HR1 letters three weeks ago.”

Manager: *going pale* “Oh, no. They weren’t meant to be sent out!”

Me: “Wait, so, what did you think when the office got spectacularly clean the other week?”

Manager: “I just thought [Colleague with OCD] had had enough.”

Me: “So, do I finish this Friday?”

Manager: “What? H*** no! I need you here for the next month.”

Me: “But the letter said I would be paid up to the week I’m dismissed.”

Manager: “Look, just forget about the letter… Hold on.”

(He sprints out of the room and returns a few minutes later, flushed.)

Manager: “Okay, [HR Manager] and I want to reconsider the necessity of your position, so for the time being, just forget this meeting ever happened.”

(The next week, several of the HR Manager’s duties were delegated to some of us in the office, and we haven’t seen the HR Manager since. The letters, and the office’s cleanliness, are long forgotten.)

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