This story happened yesterday. I'm recovering from a cold and the worst part of it happened to also be yesterday, the day I had to open the store and be there until 2:30.
I was very weak and mentally clouded all shift long and my voice sounded like a 70 year-old chain smoker. (no offense to any 70 year-old chain smokers out there) It was completely obvious from my voice alone that I was sick, yet I am a trooper who did the best I could. I won't miss work unless I'm throwing up. Plus, I was the only one who could even open that day so I pretty much had no choice regardless.
None of the customers throughout the day gave me any problems about me being sick or accusing me of having "attitude" until Mr. Douchebag showed up.
Characters:
Me: Hi
Mr. Douchebag: MDB
MDB walks in and I get up from my stool surrounded by my tissues in the back room to help him. I ask him in my chain smoker cold voice "what can I get for you?" (at this point it should be apparent to him that I'M SICK)
MDB ends up wanting 3 footlongs and a kids sandwich all on the same bread. He says he wants a "cheese steak" for the first one, and knowing how many people DON'T read our menu boards I pointed out that our PHILLY cheese steak is a 10 dollar sandwich. (just to let him know now to avoid a meltdown at the register)
MDB: You gotta be kidding me! What about the other steak sandwich?
Me: We only have the Philly cheese steak. The other one was discontinued last year.
MDB: *roll eyes* Ok then I will have a meatball.
(at this point I had no idea we were nearly out of meatballs. I open the meatball container assuming we had enough and low and behold there is only enough for a 6 inch in there. It would take almost 10 minutes for a new batch to be ready.)
Me: (after obviously fishing around for meatballs) We only have enough for a 6 inch.
MDB: This is rediculous. *said to himself* (I didn't say anything and just ignored it and waited for him to pick a different sandwich.) Ok give me a cold cut.
(I get out the breads for the sandwiches)
MDB: I want a different bread for that one, that one's all broken.
Me: (says nothing and just silently switches out the bread)
After I get all the meats and cheese on the sandwiches I ask if any of them are going to be toasted.
MDB: Yes. (wow, really specific there, buddy!)
Me: Which ones?
MDB: All of them. (said in a tone as if I was stupid and should have known)
I throw the first two in the toaster as I am unable to fit all of them at once. As they are toasting I'm sort of drooped over the toaster due to my sickness. My co worker asks me if they are all toasted (she had a sandwich that needed to go in next) and I just nodded my head yes. Might as well use other forms of communication if my voice is barely there, right?
Apparently all of this was leading up for Mr. Douchebag to lose his shit. He didn't like how exhausted I looked at the toaster while his sandwiches were toasting. I guess he would rather of had me prancing around the sandwich line farting rainbows out of my butthole.
As soon as the first batch was out of the toaster and I put the second batch plus co worker's sandwich in, I was on my way to finish batch 1.
Me: Mayo or mustard on all of these?
MDB: Yes.
(I put mayo and mustard on all of them. Low and behold something "wasn't done right"!)
MBD: Spread it out more on that one. (if you are that picky, go make your own fucking sandwich)
I didn't say anything and I was getting a knife to spead his majesty's mayo/mustard and then all of a sudden he just blows up and loses it.
MDB: You know if you really don't want to be here then you shouldn't be making people's food!
(Ok, that's it)
Me: I'm actually sick right now!
MDB: Then you shouldn't even be here!
(Yes, let me just use my magical non existant paid sick leave and or not open the store!) (At this point I was pissed. He was essentially kicking me while I was already down and had the "how dare you be sick!" attitude and I was going to have none of it.)
Me: I'm the only one that can open the store today and I can't NOT open the store!
MDB: *GARBLE BARBLE GARBLE GRUMBLE*
Me: (yes, my brain to mouth filter dissapeared at this point) How about I get right on that cure for the common cold as soon as I get home.
Right after I said that he angrily stormed out of the store and left his unproperly spreaded sauced sandwiches on the line. Then outside he whipped out his cell and was having an epic bitching session to whoever was on the other end (wife, kid, dog, whoever, I don't care)
Well he was right in that I didn't want to be there, but that was because I was weak and hoarse with sickness, jackass! How dare I get an illness in November!
After I got home I was in a big "humanity is disgusting and a disease" mode for a while. People like him are why I want to leave my house less and less.
I was very weak and mentally clouded all shift long and my voice sounded like a 70 year-old chain smoker. (no offense to any 70 year-old chain smokers out there) It was completely obvious from my voice alone that I was sick, yet I am a trooper who did the best I could. I won't miss work unless I'm throwing up. Plus, I was the only one who could even open that day so I pretty much had no choice regardless.
None of the customers throughout the day gave me any problems about me being sick or accusing me of having "attitude" until Mr. Douchebag showed up.
Characters:
Me: Hi
Mr. Douchebag: MDB
MDB walks in and I get up from my stool surrounded by my tissues in the back room to help him. I ask him in my chain smoker cold voice "what can I get for you?" (at this point it should be apparent to him that I'M SICK)
MDB ends up wanting 3 footlongs and a kids sandwich all on the same bread. He says he wants a "cheese steak" for the first one, and knowing how many people DON'T read our menu boards I pointed out that our PHILLY cheese steak is a 10 dollar sandwich. (just to let him know now to avoid a meltdown at the register)
MDB: You gotta be kidding me! What about the other steak sandwich?
Me: We only have the Philly cheese steak. The other one was discontinued last year.
MDB: *roll eyes* Ok then I will have a meatball.
(at this point I had no idea we were nearly out of meatballs. I open the meatball container assuming we had enough and low and behold there is only enough for a 6 inch in there. It would take almost 10 minutes for a new batch to be ready.)
Me: (after obviously fishing around for meatballs) We only have enough for a 6 inch.
MDB: This is rediculous. *said to himself* (I didn't say anything and just ignored it and waited for him to pick a different sandwich.) Ok give me a cold cut.
(I get out the breads for the sandwiches)
MDB: I want a different bread for that one, that one's all broken.
Me: (says nothing and just silently switches out the bread)
After I get all the meats and cheese on the sandwiches I ask if any of them are going to be toasted.
MDB: Yes. (wow, really specific there, buddy!)
Me: Which ones?
MDB: All of them. (said in a tone as if I was stupid and should have known)
I throw the first two in the toaster as I am unable to fit all of them at once. As they are toasting I'm sort of drooped over the toaster due to my sickness. My co worker asks me if they are all toasted (she had a sandwich that needed to go in next) and I just nodded my head yes. Might as well use other forms of communication if my voice is barely there, right?
Apparently all of this was leading up for Mr. Douchebag to lose his shit. He didn't like how exhausted I looked at the toaster while his sandwiches were toasting. I guess he would rather of had me prancing around the sandwich line farting rainbows out of my butthole.
As soon as the first batch was out of the toaster and I put the second batch plus co worker's sandwich in, I was on my way to finish batch 1.
Me: Mayo or mustard on all of these?
MDB: Yes.
(I put mayo and mustard on all of them. Low and behold something "wasn't done right"!)
MBD: Spread it out more on that one. (if you are that picky, go make your own fucking sandwich)
I didn't say anything and I was getting a knife to spead his majesty's mayo/mustard and then all of a sudden he just blows up and loses it.
MDB: You know if you really don't want to be here then you shouldn't be making people's food!
(Ok, that's it)
Me: I'm actually sick right now!
MDB: Then you shouldn't even be here!
(Yes, let me just use my magical non existant paid sick leave and or not open the store!) (At this point I was pissed. He was essentially kicking me while I was already down and had the "how dare you be sick!" attitude and I was going to have none of it.)
Me: I'm the only one that can open the store today and I can't NOT open the store!
MDB: *GARBLE BARBLE GARBLE GRUMBLE*
Me: (yes, my brain to mouth filter dissapeared at this point) How about I get right on that cure for the common cold as soon as I get home.
Right after I said that he angrily stormed out of the store and left his unproperly spreaded sauced sandwiches on the line. Then outside he whipped out his cell and was having an epic bitching session to whoever was on the other end (wife, kid, dog, whoever, I don't care)
Well he was right in that I didn't want to be there, but that was because I was weak and hoarse with sickness, jackass! How dare I get an illness in November!
After I got home I was in a big "humanity is disgusting and a disease" mode for a while. People like him are why I want to leave my house less and less.
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