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I'll try not to cuss here, though the temptation is there.
Back when I worked at NOVA Snack Bar (NOrthern VirginiA Community College), I discovered my workplace kryptonite; when I get flustered, I'm willing to do anything.
Case in Point:
Occasionally, my bosses would have to leave me alone behind the counter while they fetched supplies/went to an appointment/the bank to get more change.
I'm alone one day, trying to get our cookies baked and bagged before they turn to chocolate chip bricks, when a guy comes up with a pre-made cold sandwich from the cooler.
I try not to judge people by their nationality, but first of all, he had an accent so thick I couldn't have cut it with a Ginsu knife and, second, he had one of those walks that said "Ha-ha! There's a woman behind the counter! I can overpower her with testosterone!" He asks me a question and I ask him to repeat that, because, I couldn't understand. I finally caught on that he was asking if we made hot ham sandwiches. At the time, our only hot sandwiches were grilled chicken and microwave burgers, both beef and veggie (our grill was a George Foreman and for some reason it hated our burger meat).
Here's the conversation:
Me: Well, no, sir. We have hot chicken and we have burgers.
SC: (speaking like a robot so's the dumb broad understands) But, I want a HAM sandwich. Can you make it hot for me?
Me: (microwave has been schizo lately, really don't want to fight with it) Well, there's a microwave over at the vending machines, if you'd like your sandwich hot. I can get you a plate.
SC: But, can YOU make it HOT for ME?
Me: (Thinking, is this a come-on?) I'm sorry, sir, but our microwave isn't really working all that well. But I can get you a plate so you can microwave it over there.
SC: (laughing like I'm a rather slow, but infinitely amusing child)Why are you getting an attitude with me?
Now, I'm a bit flustered. The cookies are getting cold and my feet hurt, but I've remained calm and civilized the whole time. So, I chance it and microwave the sandwich, only removing the lettuce so it stays crisp. I hand it back, lettuce in place and he starts to complain about how now the bread's hard and the cheese is melty. I very calmly explain that, when you microwave these sandwiches, that happens. He proceeds to snark about His Country this and Americans that.
Thankfully, my relief showed. I handed him my apron, told him quietly that I was just gonna take my 15 minute coffee break in the powder room and have a meltdown, please call campus cops if this goombah wasn't done ranting before I got back.
We never saw him again.
And that was just in my first month. I worked there for three years.
Back when I worked at NOVA Snack Bar (NOrthern VirginiA Community College), I discovered my workplace kryptonite; when I get flustered, I'm willing to do anything.
Case in Point:
Occasionally, my bosses would have to leave me alone behind the counter while they fetched supplies/went to an appointment/the bank to get more change.
I'm alone one day, trying to get our cookies baked and bagged before they turn to chocolate chip bricks, when a guy comes up with a pre-made cold sandwich from the cooler.
I try not to judge people by their nationality, but first of all, he had an accent so thick I couldn't have cut it with a Ginsu knife and, second, he had one of those walks that said "Ha-ha! There's a woman behind the counter! I can overpower her with testosterone!" He asks me a question and I ask him to repeat that, because, I couldn't understand. I finally caught on that he was asking if we made hot ham sandwiches. At the time, our only hot sandwiches were grilled chicken and microwave burgers, both beef and veggie (our grill was a George Foreman and for some reason it hated our burger meat).
Here's the conversation:
Me: Well, no, sir. We have hot chicken and we have burgers.
SC: (speaking like a robot so's the dumb broad understands) But, I want a HAM sandwich. Can you make it hot for me?
Me: (microwave has been schizo lately, really don't want to fight with it) Well, there's a microwave over at the vending machines, if you'd like your sandwich hot. I can get you a plate.
SC: But, can YOU make it HOT for ME?
Me: (Thinking, is this a come-on?) I'm sorry, sir, but our microwave isn't really working all that well. But I can get you a plate so you can microwave it over there.
SC: (laughing like I'm a rather slow, but infinitely amusing child)Why are you getting an attitude with me?
Now, I'm a bit flustered. The cookies are getting cold and my feet hurt, but I've remained calm and civilized the whole time. So, I chance it and microwave the sandwich, only removing the lettuce so it stays crisp. I hand it back, lettuce in place and he starts to complain about how now the bread's hard and the cheese is melty. I very calmly explain that, when you microwave these sandwiches, that happens. He proceeds to snark about His Country this and Americans that.
Thankfully, my relief showed. I handed him my apron, told him quietly that I was just gonna take my 15 minute coffee break in the powder room and have a meltdown, please call campus cops if this goombah wasn't done ranting before I got back.
We never saw him again.
And that was just in my first month. I worked there for three years.
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