Hello! Long time reader, first time poster. Very pleased to be offering my first story.
I work for a small chain of veterinary hospitals as a courier/ bookkeeper/ checksigner. Mostly I do the books and ferry the money and medicines, but I also double as a supervisor type if things get out of hand, and an extra hand for whatever's needed, usually transfers or shipments. Essentially, the owner doesn't want to travel to the hospitals constantly, so I do it for him.
I don't have frequent encounters with customers, but when I do, it's because they're upset. So I didn't have to think back too far to offer up a story.
This one is my favorite so far. The manager snagged me, saying she had a furious lady at the front who wanted to talk to "the boss". Wouldn't speak to anything less. Technically I can speak for him (and let him yell about it later), so I come to see what's what. All the manager'll say is she's got a complaint about the cashier.
So, it turns out the cashier, taking advantage of a slow day in down season, decided to have lunch at the desk. Not the brightest idea with four legged critters running about, but hardly warning worthy. I try to explain this to the customer (a tiny little lady with blue hair). But no, it's not the lunch that matters. No, eating lunch is fine. It's that the lunch is fried chicken.
"Fried chicken is murder!" she chirps. "You are a vet office! You care about animals, but you allow murder in your wait room?! Think of the face you are presenting your customers! You would do well to find more caring staff members!"
I bite the inside of my mouth in attempt to not snigger. "Fried chicken... is murder."
"Yes! What do you have to say for yourself?"
I glance at her leather jacket. "Nice coat."
She did the open mouth scoff thing for a moment, then whirled, nearly lost her balance, and strutted for the door.
The cashier (sweet, sweet gay guy) bats his eyes at the manager. "You're not going to discipline me, are you?"
She snorts. "No, but I'm stealing your roll. Bread is murder, you know."
I work for a small chain of veterinary hospitals as a courier/ bookkeeper/ checksigner. Mostly I do the books and ferry the money and medicines, but I also double as a supervisor type if things get out of hand, and an extra hand for whatever's needed, usually transfers or shipments. Essentially, the owner doesn't want to travel to the hospitals constantly, so I do it for him.
I don't have frequent encounters with customers, but when I do, it's because they're upset. So I didn't have to think back too far to offer up a story.
This one is my favorite so far. The manager snagged me, saying she had a furious lady at the front who wanted to talk to "the boss". Wouldn't speak to anything less. Technically I can speak for him (and let him yell about it later), so I come to see what's what. All the manager'll say is she's got a complaint about the cashier.
So, it turns out the cashier, taking advantage of a slow day in down season, decided to have lunch at the desk. Not the brightest idea with four legged critters running about, but hardly warning worthy. I try to explain this to the customer (a tiny little lady with blue hair). But no, it's not the lunch that matters. No, eating lunch is fine. It's that the lunch is fried chicken.
"Fried chicken is murder!" she chirps. "You are a vet office! You care about animals, but you allow murder in your wait room?! Think of the face you are presenting your customers! You would do well to find more caring staff members!"
I bite the inside of my mouth in attempt to not snigger. "Fried chicken... is murder."
"Yes! What do you have to say for yourself?"
I glance at her leather jacket. "Nice coat."
She did the open mouth scoff thing for a moment, then whirled, nearly lost her balance, and strutted for the door.
The cashier (sweet, sweet gay guy) bats his eyes at the manager. "You're not going to discipline me, are you?"
She snorts. "No, but I'm stealing your roll. Bread is murder, you know."
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