jobson groeth posted:

Of course this didn't happen but suck poo poo anyway jobless loser.

Jerry Cotton posted:

The real reason Michael Monroe can't get a gig in healthcare is he keeps getting mistaken for one of the patients.

Some guy who watched too much DBZ posted:

Shut Down a Karen by being SUPER LOUD

On mobile, yadda yadda, you know the drill.

I left retail a few years ago and noticed a dramatic improvement in my physical and mental health, largely due to the reduced contact with the listless cattle you see in the stores.

However, it seems that the Customer Service Vibe never completely washes off, because I was recently accosted in a liquor store by a woman with a Jean jacket and the all-too-familiar haircut we all know and hate.

The particular store in question is part of a chain set up like a reduced-size Sam's Club but the only things they sell are booze and cigars. Great place to blow a paycheck.

I got to leave work a little early due to working some extra hours at the beginning of the week, and I was completely fried. The plan was to grab a craft beer I'd never tried and maybe some slightly pricier bourbon and just chill. My work's dress code was flexibly business casual, so I was wearing dress shoes & slacks with a dark polo.

Which is regrettably similar to the store's uniform, only some of the associates wore aprons and all of them had the store name embroidered on the polos.

I was knelt down near the end of a beer aisle when I overhear a woman talking to her boyfriend one row over. They're trying to find a nitro stout and aren't seeing it because the aisle they're in sorts by local beer and the one they want is from out of state, conveniently about 2 shelves over from me.

I speak up and wander around the corner to let them know where I saw it, and they thank me and ask if I've had it before. We chat briefly about one or two others that we've had that are similar but not as good, and then I get back to my browsing.

Then I feel a tap on my shoulder.

Karen: Excuse me.

Me: Sorry; am I in your way?

Karen: No, but can you help me find where the [brand of whiskey I'd never heard of] is?

Me: Uhhh, what kind of liquor is that?

Karen: I think it's a whiskey?

Me: ok, do you know if it's a bourbon or an Irish whiskey or-?

Karen: pulling a mock sad face I don't; sorry.

Me: well, the whiskeys are 3 aisles that way with the bourbons on the left side and everything else on the right. Unless it's scotch, which is over there.

Karen: ...aren't you going to take me there?

Me: Sorry; I've got to pick up my own stuff and get home. There should be someone around here who knows the selection a bit bette-

Karen: I can't believe you won't help me! That's really rude!

Me: Lady, I don't work here; I just drink a lot.

Karen: I want to talk to your manager!

At this point, I was yet unseasoned to the ways of the mid 50s Entitled Boomer Trash, so I shook my head and turned around to keep looking for my own stuff. I hear a soft, scorned little gasp behind me, and feel the nails digging into my shoulder.

Preface: I am not a well-adjusted individual. I have a family history of untreated conditions and I was lucky to get out of primary/secondary school with PTSD and all of my teeth.

My bodily autonomy and personal space are very important to me, and while I am patient and understanding in almost every other regard, this is one issue that you do not push with me.

The split second between feeling her dig in and realizing what's going on, my brain's RPMs have buried the needle and I am half a restrained impulse from biting off her manicured princess fingers and gouging out her eyes.

I opt instead to take a lesson from our primate cousins and Dragon Ball Z. When poo poo gets bad, YELL TO ASSERT YOUR POWER.

Me, with a roar so loud it left me hoarse for like 2 days after: GET. YOUR HANDS. OFF ME!

The store goes dead loving quiet.

I grab her hand, wrench it off me, and shove her away with both hands. She stumbles, bumps into a shelf, but doesn't fall over. She's looking at me the way a cow looks at an oncoming train; eyes saucer-wide in disbelief and incredulity, the fear not quite managing to take hold yet.

She opens her mouth to say something that was probably "how dare you" or something similar, but I'm already frothing at the mouth; every D&D Barbarian player has a Rage Boner for what my face looks like right now.

Me, still screaming and stumbling over my words a bit: NEVER loving TOUCH ME, EVER! I WILL RIP YOUR CHEAP rear end IN HALF! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE!

Every time it looks like she's going to interject I cut her off with another "LEAVE ME ALONE."

By now management and one of the other associates are booking it over to defuse what they're sure is going to be imminent violence, and by all appearances they're right; my face is red, my body is shaking and while I'm not that big of a dude, I'm poised for a fight against a comparatively small woman.

Manager: sir, you need to calm down-

Me: I am calm; she needs to keep her hands to herself!

Karen: he assaulted me; call the police!

Me (not as loud; voice cracking) Go ahead, lady; I'll wait. You started this.

Associate: Sir, I need you to come with me.

Me: I'm buying my beer and leaving. Check your security tapes; she came after me first.

Karen, to manager: I want him fired!

Me: I told you; I DON'T WORK HERE! The gently caress is wrong with you?

Manager: sir, I told you to calm down-

Me: LOOK AT THIS!

I pull my shirt collar over and show them where her nails dug in. There's no blood, but it's pretty obvious the marks are fresh and that I didn't do it to myself.

Me: You wanna get the cops involved, fine; pull the drat tapes and we'll talk about pressing charges.

It seems to have dawned on Karen that she might have hosed up. She hasn't said anything.

There's a crowd watching us at this point. I see at least one cell phone recording.

I turn to a random person standing nearby.

Me: Did you see what happened?

Young guy: not all of it. I saw her holding you and you push her away.

Me (voice cracking like a teenager's): Thank you.

At this point I grab the 6 pack I was looking at and start to leave.

Manager: sir, you need to-

Me: I'm leaving. You want to call the cops, I'll wait for you to check the security tapes, but then I'm pressing charges.

I walked towards the tills and set my beer on the counter. The attendant at the desk was looking over my shoulder at the manager but he must have given her the OK, because she scans me out and I leave with my beer.

I made it about halfway home before I had to pull over and weep; the adrenaline crash hit me super hard and I ugly cried for like 5 minutes until I could get enough composure to drive.

I didn't go back to that store for a few months. Either they don't remember me or it was settled after I left.

Moral of the Story: embrace your inner howler monkey. Don't give them a chance to think or wind up their usual indignant tirade.

quote:

There's a crowd watching us at this point. I see at least one cell phone recording.

Jurgan posted:

This is a great example of a guy not realizing what an rear end in a top hat he looks like. It starts with the narrator calling customers cattle and just keeps getting worse.

Jurgan posted:

Moral of the Story: embrace your inner howler monkey. Don't give them a chance to think or wind up their usual indignant tirade.

Dirt Road Junglist posted:

I'm reminded of some familial fragility that I witnessed a couple Thanksgivings ago. I was having lunch out with my right-leaning aunt and uncle. My aunt went to the bathroom, and as soon as she was out of earshot, my uncle leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "Did you notice how Obama mandated that there are more black and Indian people on TV?"

I replied, loudly enough for other tables to hear me, "Yeah! It's loving fantastic! I get to see people on the teevee who look like the people I work with and hang out with in real life! It's so cool that they're making fiction look like reality these days! Also, I dunno why you thought Obama mandated that. He doesn't do poo poo in Hollywood. That's creators figuring out how to hire people who don't look the same."

He sat back in his seat as if I'd slapped him with a damp leaf of romaine and kind of spluttered until my aunt returned.

Why he felt the need to wait for li'l miss, "I voted AGAINST HILLARY, not FOR TRUMP," to leave to share his hot takes, I have no idea.

Len posted:

Huh there's a snopes entry for it.

https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/pole-dancer-shovel/

Len posted:

Huh there's a snopes entry for it.

https://www.snopes.com/fact-check/pole-dancer-shovel/

Lightning Sloth posted:

Lightning Sloth posted:

Aleph Null posted:

I, too, knew someone this insufferable, but she was a vampire. And a witch. And maybe a dream goddess, too.

LITERALLY A BIRD posted:

I'd be shocked if there even was a friend, that reads like OP desperately needing to share their profundities with the world

walrusman posted:

For the 200th time in this thread, lemme just say that I'm glad social media wasn't around when I was a teenager.