Minarchist posted:

I just wanna believe

Ratjaculation posted:

Fake. Who in the Britain drinks from milk cartons?

Facepalm Ranger posted:

I would occasionally when milk cartons were still a thing before the little pint sized plastic bottles came about.

Goddamn I miss a good carton of milk, that poo poo was aces.

Ratjaculation posted:

I saw bags of milk in Sainsburys. When you return from China buy a bag, and find a box in a lane - let the reminiscing commence.

Facepalm Ranger posted:

Really? Bags of Milk? Has the UK been taken over by Americans??

quote:

My first anti gun meeting was tonight.

I'd never been to one, but decided since it was at my grand kids school, and they were making a stink after the latest shooting I figured I'd go.

So my wife and I arrive, and I get out, walk around and open her car door, she gets out gives me a kiss and takes my hand and we walked across the lot to the school. As we get to the door we are stopped and told we have to be searched, I was stunned since I watched about 75 people ahead of us go in without being searched. I asked why and the officer looked at me like I was from Mars, So I asked again why were being singled out. He shook his head and told me to stand still while he hunted the metal detector. He found it in the bottom of a drawer after a minute and proceeded to search us.

After he was done, he smiled and said, “Sorry, but I had to” I asked again why? He said, “You've never been to one of these before have you?” I replied Nooo but whats that got to with it? He said “we have to search “suspicious people” before allowing them to enter”.... He laughed and said, “You got out of the car and opened the door for your lady, she kissed you and took your hand, she isn't your mother, she doesn't outweigh you and you look like you hit the weights on a regular basis, You're about as suspicious as it gets at a anti gun rally sir” he then flashed a big smile and held the door open for us to enter. He was right, I had thought to apply a little Sun Tzu and get to the “enemy” by attending the meeting, I thought maybe I could learn something and maybe ease a few minds...yeah, like I said it was my first one, and trust me it will be last, WOW. I thought I had heard some dumb statements from anti gun politicians, now I see why they can make such stupid statements about guns and get away with it, their voters know less about guns than they do...

Facepalm Ranger posted:

Really? Bags of Milk? Has the UK been taken over by Americans??

JoeyJoJoJr Shabadoo posted:

I thought bags of milk was stdh but apparently not.

What the gently caress is this? Doesn't it just end up spilling all over the place?

Spalec posted:

You put the bag in a pitcher.

HOOLY BOOLY posted:

Not once during that story did sombody try to stand up to the guy, or burst in applause, people don't get married or start singing Bohemian Rhapsody.

Spalec posted:

You put the bag in a pitcher.

JoeyJoJoJr Shabadoo posted:

Yeah I saw that when I looked for it originally, but how is that better than having it just come in a carton/bottle?

Pththya-lyi posted:

And we never find out what the guy was showing his date on the phone that made her "physically sick." A lesser writer wouldn't be able to resist having the narrator discover what it was, but leaving that detail out makes the story more realistic while leaving a bit of mystery - we're left to imagine just what was on the phone, and whatever we imagine would be much grosser than the real thing.

Minarchist posted:

Probably wedding rings, or his favorite pony fanart.

quote:

a few months back I was trying to get out of downtown onto the highway when a car with two 20-something girls in it tried to drive around all the cars waiting to get on the onramp and squeeze in ahead of me.

well, gently caress that right?

The car behind me let them in though, and the bitch driving proceeds to honk her horn over and over, flash her lights and flip me off. whatever, it wasn't bothering me a bit. Then the passenger chick leans out and chucks a 1 liter bottle of diet pepsi at my car, which thuds off the back and rolls onto the sidewalk.

By this time I was just entering the intersection...NOPE, now it's on. I stopped and got out of the car blocking traffic in every direction. Nobody so much as honked because the bitches had been makign such a ruckus that everyone had seen the whole thing and I assume were eagerly waiting to see what was going down.

So I walked over to the drivers window and said "Let's just pull over to the side and wait for the police to get here".

Now the chick looks terrified as she realizes they've gone way too far. The passenger is saying "we're sorry, we're sorry, we're sorry" over and over and the driver looks like she's about to cry.

Now I've mentally declared victory and am going on my way, when I see the 1liter diet pepsi bottle on the sidewalk, it's full and shaken up enough that the cap is leaking and fizzing. So I picked it up and said "You dropped this" and tossed it into the bitches open window.

Where it hit and exploded.

The bottle took off like a rocket inside the car, bouncing off the windows, the seats, the bitches...it looked like a brown car wash inside the car.

I thought "oh gently caress, now I gotta GO!" and headed back to my car as a homeless dude yells at me "gently caress yeah man, that poo poo was awesome!".

and it WAS awesome, really, really awesome.

someone on /r/talesfromretail owns a dictionary posted:

Everybody knows a grinch. A scrooge. A C. Montgomery Burns. Somebody who, for whatever reason, makes it their mission to ruin the happiness of others.

In normal, everyday life, we can ignore the scrooges, or if they're particularly horrible, just punch them in the face and be done with it. But when you have a Scrooge for a customer, you can unfortunately neither punch nor ignore him.

Such is the case with my store's Mr. Green (Name edited to protect the innoce-well, assholish). Mr. Green is on the winding down side of a mid-life crisis; his anatomy has reasserted itself and is slowly but steadily pushing the hairplugs out of his head. He seems to have developed a tolerance for diet pills, because his spare tire has returned with a vengeance. The credit cards he was issued to finance his new childhood are coming up declined more and more, and his 2008 Mustang Convertible has ancient birdshit stains on the leather from the numerous times he's parked it without putting the top back on.

Were it not for his pugnacity, Mr. Green would be a pitiable fellow.

Mr. Green comes to our clothing shop at least three times a week, always following the same routine. On Monday, he will come in and purchase a lot of clothing.

On Tuesday, we'll get a call from Mr. Green, informing us that he's dissatisfied with the clothing.

On Wednesday, he'll come back to the store to return the items he's dissatisfied with.

On Thursday, we'll get another call, in which he insists that one of his many soon-to-be-defunct credit cards was not credited back the proper amount.

He gives us a day off on Friday, though we don't know why.

On Saturday, he'll come back in to argue and haggle with our manager to try to get more money than he is owed.

Week in, week out, this is how it goes with Mr. Green.

Unto itself, this would not be reason enough to hate the man. A customer may be very difficult, even demanding, but that alone doesn't make him an rear end in a top hat.

Being an rear end in a top hat about it is what makes him an rear end in a top hat.

He has, on numerous occasions, insulted our staff, even using the n-word on one of our cashiers when the total of his purchase exceeded his original estimate. He parks in handicapped spaces. Spaces, plural; he will drive his gross Mustang in, facing the store laterally. Whenever he's confronted about it, he shrugs, saying "The sooner I'm done here, the sooner the spaces will be free again. Chop, chop!"

He's been asked to leave several times after sexually harassing female (and usually underage!) customers, each time vowing to sue if he was manhandled.

And he would always get away with all of it, because the owner was his best high school buddy.

That is, until recently.

Last week, our owner sold out his franchise to the corporate company from which he had purchased the license. We (the employees) had feared this meant that the store would simply close, and we'd be out of jobs. But mercifully [Teenage Hipster Clothing Store Inc.] decided to keep our location open. They promoted one of our floor managers, Tony (who had been called the n-word by Mr. Green) to the position of General Manager. AND our hourly wage was raised by twenty-five cents. Suffice to say, we're all ready to give a salute to our beneficent corporate overlords, but the best was yet to come.

The night before his first shift as General Manager, a Friday (and obviously, after his promotion had been announced to the rest of us employees), one of the guys asked Tony what he planned to do about Mr. Green.

Tony, already the model of a corporate-type, said only, "Just do your jobs like you already do, and don't worry about it."

The next day (Saturday) Mr. Green showed up just like always to try to eke more money than he was owed out of us. He parked across the two closest handicap spaces, just like always. He marched into the store, and asked to be shown to the Mens' section, even though he knew where it was by heart.

But before anyone could even approach, Tony was already there. Tony had positioned himself between Mr. Green and the rest of the store proper, on the tile 'foyer' directly in front of the automatic sliding doors. Tony had an object in his hand which I didn't immediately recognize. I feared momentarily that it might have been a weapon.

I couldn't hear what Tony said to Mr. Green, but the voice with which he said it was low and menacing. My fears grew. Is Tony about to shoot Mr. Green??

Mr. Green's eyes grew wide as Tony spoke. At first, I attributed this to being threatened with bodily harm, but I watched the expression grow from one of surprise to indignation.

"What the gently caress are you talking about?" Mr. Green screeched. "I want to see [Former Owner's Name]! Right now!"

More rumbled conversation from Tony, who had begun to draw himself up to his full height of 6'3". I was now certain that Tony was about to murder Mr. Green right there on the tile floor.

"gently caress you!" Mr. Green roared. "I've been coming here for years! You can't just throw me out! I haven't even done anything!"

At which point, Tony produced the item. He held it in front of his own face, and I finally recognized a Polaroid camera. It flashed as Tony held it steady, momentarily confusing Mr. Green who then launched into a full-on conniption.

Tony walked away from Mr. Green. As he passed by me, toward the offices in the back of the store, he growled, "Don't let him have poo poo. And make sure he doesn't steal anything."

Not far behind him, jogging and all-the-while cursing a blue streak was Mr. Green, demanding that picture Tony had taken was his property, that he had no right, etc., etc.

When he got to me, I politely interspersed myself between him and the entrance to the office, explaining, "I'm sorry, Mr. Green. Employees only."

"Bullshit!" he declared, trying to walk around me.

I quickly backed up, putting myself direclty in front of the doorway to the offices. "I'm really sorry, Mr. Green, but you can't go back there."

He looked about ready to body check me at this point, so I shrugged and moved out of the way. Mr. Green gave me a filthy look as he moved and tried to open the door, which was locked.

Mr. Green began to pound on the door, making threats legal, bodily and metaphysical. He went on like this for about a solid minute before Tony opened the door and stepped out.

Mr. Green steeled himself as Tony returned, ready for a fight. But Tony side-stepped him and walked straight to me. He handed me a stack of papers; each was a flyer, which bore the words "PERSONA NON GRATA," above a photograph of Mr. Green in mid-tirade.

"Put these on all of the entrances and behind every cashier's station," Tony said, speaking slowly, his voice an andante bass of angry determination.

Mr. Green had leaned over to see what it was that Tony had handed me, and started anew his protestations. Tony paid him no mind and brushed past him back into the office. Mr. Green continued his howling and pounding on the door, looking like the Big Bad Wolf, if the Big Bad Wolf had let himself go and tried to cover it up with hipster clothing.

He spied me turning to walk to the entrance and came towards me, saying "If you put those up, I will sue you for defamation of character and discrimination."

I was unsure of what to do, because I don't want to get sued (even if it's pretty unlikely), but relishing the idea of humiliating Mr. Green.

I was saved from hesitation by an announcement over the store's PA. It was Tony's voice, calmly announcing, "To the driver of the Yellow Mustang Convertible, your car is being towed."

There was a moment of silence as both Mr. Green and I came to understand what that meant. And quicker than I've ever seen him move, Mr. Green skittered down the aisle towards the entrance.

I followed, and looked out the large glass doors at the entrance to our store to see Mr. Green hemming and hawing at the tow-truck operator who had already begun to load his car into the bed of the truck.

When I turned around, there was Tony, with a grin a mile wide on his face, the same grin which blossomed on my own face.

We haven't seen Mr. Green at all this week, and I'm starting to think that we never will again. 2014 might be a very good year, indeed.

TL;DR
Jerk customer doesn't get what he wants for Christmas. Tow-truck driver meets the grinch.

Gaunab posted:

I'm glad they add the tl;dr since they know everyone doesn't want to read their novella length ego boost.

Dis posted:

...in which they don't even star. I guess that's to make it seem more authentic?

RenegadeStyle1 posted:

I always interpreted that kind of post in a more "Look at the cool poo poo that happens in my life" way.

Dis posted:

...in which they don't even star. I guess that's to make it seem more authentic?

quote:

Not Quite The (Ice) Cream Of The Crop
RETAIL | UK | BIZARRE, FOOD & DRINK
(I work in a very popular chocolate shop that also sells ice cream in the summer. It is a particularly busy, hot Saturday. I am serving ice cream. There was a huge line of customers. Suddenly, a customer strolls into the store, leaving her bicycle outside. Eventually, it is her turn.)

Customer: “Finally. I’ll have a hazelnut.”

Me: “Sure, a double or a single?”

Customer: “Double.”

Me: “Would you like it in a cone or a tub?”

Customer: “A bag.”

Me: “…Pardon?”

Customer: “A bag.”

(I look at her for a moment)

Me: “I’m sorry, Miss, but the ice cream only comes in a cone or a tub.”

Customer: “Well, I need it in a bag. Do you have a bag?”

(We put chocolate in small transparent bags, but they would definitely not fit an ice cream tub, also there are no lids on the tubs to cover the ice cream.)

Me: “It won’t fit in one of our bags, miss.”

Customer: “Yes, it will. Get one.”

(I protest again, but fetch her bag anyway. I present it to her and show her the size, to prove it won’t fit.)

Me: “See, Miss? It’s too small. The tub won’t fit in there.”

Customer: “Oh, honestly, how do you even have a job? Do you even have a brain?”

(I’m hurt by this comment, and am getting quite angry.)

Me: “Look, it won’t fit; I don’t know what you’d like me to do.”

Customer: “Let me do it, girl.”

(She proceeds to take the full-to-the-brim ice cream tub and squeeze it into the bag sideways, smearing her ice cream all down the sides. I stare at her in disbelief. Ice cream is dripping everywhere.)

Customer: “Was that so hard?”

Me: *still staring* “Would… you like a spoon?”

(She held out the open bag and I dropped in a small plastic spoon with the already nearly melted ice cream. She paid and left. I watched her outside the window as she put her bag of squished ice cream into the child-seat of her bicycle, STRAPPED UP THE SEAT BELT, and cycled away down the road. I stared in disbelief for the rest of the day.)

Khazar-khum posted:

Thing is, stores do cut off customers. My idiot stepmother would buy the same thing in several sizes instead of trying it on at the store, then bring the ones that didn't fit back. It got so bad some stores refused her business.

I scream, you scream...

Khazar-khum posted:

Thing is, stores do cut off customers. My idiot stepmother would buy the same thing in several sizes instead of trying it on at the store, then bring the ones that didn't fit back. It got so bad some stores refused her business.

Not Always Working posted:

The Icing On The Cake Is The Icing On The Cake
Bakery | Vancouver, BC, Canada | Employees, Food & Drink, Language & Words

(My mom is at the bakery buying a cake for a special occasion.)

Employee: “Here’s your cake. Would you like anything written on it?”

Mom: “Well, yes, but I was wondering if I can do it myself?”

Employee: “Oh, no, that’s quite all right. I can do it myself.”

Mom: “No, this is something only I can write. I don’t think you can do it.”

Employee: “Rest assured, ma’am, I am very confident in my ability to write with icing. I’ve worked here for over 15 years, and I’ve gotten quite good at it.”

Mom: “Look, I’m pretty sure you’re really good at it, but please humour me just this once. If you can just give me a piping bag and some icing, I’ll do it myself and be on my way.”

Employee: “Okay, ma’am, but only on the condition that you pay for the cake even if the writing doesn’t turn out to your liking.”

Mom: “Fine by me.”

(The employee hands a piping bag full of chocolate icing to my mom. She takes the piping bag, and starts masterfully writing on a 10-inch cake, in KOREAN. She writes small enough to put at least three sentences on such a small space. The employee just looks at this spectacle, dumbfounded.)

Employee: “Okay. You’re right, and I’m wrong. That’ll teach me for doubting a customer.”

Pththya-lyi posted:

Here, to make my up to you, have the current most popular story on Not Always Working:


That'll teach me for doubting a customer.

FrozenVent posted:

Seems like a pretty sound assumption that the cake decorator at bumfuck groceries, USA, wouldn't know the Korean alphabet.

Pththya-lyi posted:

And we never find out what the guy was showing his date on the phone that made her "physically sick." A lesser writer wouldn't be able to resist having the narrator discover what it was, but leaving that detail out makes the story more realistic while leaving a bit of mystery - we're left to imagine just what was on the phone, and whatever we imagine would be much grosser than the real thing.

Khazar-khum posted:

Ratspeaker posted:

While the forums were down I resorted to getting my daily dose of internet culture from Imgur (), but for some reason I couldn't stop thinking about this thread...

Ratspeaker posted:

While the forums were down I resorted to getting my daily dose of internet culture from Imgur (), but for some reason I couldn't stop thinking about this thread...