I, too, work at a deli in an upscale supermarket in Mequon, Wisconsin and I swear to God if it's not the customers pissing me off it's my stupid co-workers who are a bunch of whiney gossippy old biddies. What is it about these types of jobs that just attracts these people like flies?
Anyway, most of our customers are very, very nice and polite, which is wonderful. If I could tell off the 10% of people who are retards, my job would be perfect. Unfortunately, we have to kiss as much ass as we can possibly plaster our lips to no matter how much abuse we take, or the customers will complain and we will get hauled before the main store manager and bitched out/written up/fired. My boyfriend and I both work in the deli, and I actually got into trouble because someone LIED and said I'd supposedly proudly announced that he and I were living together and that that's "inappropriate". No, what's inappropriate is hearing some deli peon asking her boyfriend what he wants for dinner, assuming they're living togetherunmarried, and then based on that assumption attempting to get us into trouble at our jobs. What's even worse is that instead of telling whoever did it to mind their own damn business... he pulled us, the deli manager, and some higher-up into the back and we got bitched out about how we interact with each other.
Other things that piss me the hell off:
1. Wearing sunglasses. Are our dim overhead lights blinding you? No? Then take your ugly oversized sunglasses off. I'm tired of looking at them.
2. Cell phones. This has already been mentioned but we can't ignore people who are on their phones. They'll bitch, we'll get in trouble. We have to try and get their order right while they're yakking away and ignoring our requests for clarification.
3. People who don't say hello. People who pass each other on the street say hi sometimes. Why in the HELL is it somehow too much to ask for you to say hello to us before launching into your stupid request for meat or salads? The second you walk up and just say "A third of a pound of egg salad" and then stand there looking sulky I decide that I hate you and while I can't risk inconveniencing you and getting busted should you whine, I sure as hell can let all my coworkers know what a bitch you are and maybe one of them who isn't relying on rent money will have the balls to screw up your order on purpose next time.
4. People who let their kids mess up the glass. You have no idea how much I want to hand your darling little poopykins a bottle of Windex and some towels and make him clean up his mess. I'd get fired on the spot for doing so, unfortunately.
5. People who mess up our salad bar. For the love of God, if you take a spoon out of a container, put it back. Don't use it to catapult carrots/peas/olives/whatever all across the counter and into the other containers and then toss it on top of the lettuce. I am 20 years old and the vast majority of you morons are over 40. If my hillbilly, socially retarded parents managed to raise a kid who cleans up after herself, then what the hell is your excuse not to?
6. People who come in late and expect service. I want to go home, eat, and get to bed before 11 PM so that I can get up and go about my household routine before I come in to work again. Yes, I know you probably think I stay up all night partying. I'm a college-aged kid, that's what they do, right? Wrong, dickheads. I have rent to pay, cats to take care of, a boyfriend to cook for, and an apartment to clean. Don't keep me at my job late just because you can't be bothered to get in here at a normal time and just HAVE to have your Boar's Head roast beef tonight rather than waiting till morning. We open at 7 AM. Come in early.
7. People who pronounce things wrong. It's havarti cheese. Not Havar-ratti. Same with provolone. Ends in lone, not loney. Also, the words arugula and gorgonzola are almost never pronounced properly. This doesn't bother me nearly as much as it does my boyfriend.
8. Anything to do with the number system infuriates me. I swear to God the next person who stands there like an idiot while we're calling numbers and then huffily announces "I didn't take a number. I'd like..." I'm just going to interrupt you and say "Well maybe you should." Actually I won't, because like I said, I need rent money and it's actually pretty satisfying when someone who was actually before you snaps "Actually, I was next." and then presents the correct number and I get to skip your impatient ass. Do you stand outside lines for a movie theater or bank and then expect service? Of course not. Don't do it here, jackass. This also coincides with an entire group of 5-10 people standing waiting for service and not one has a number, but all of them want to be next. Play rock-paper-scissors, then. Have an entire tournament, for all I care. I don't get paid enough to mediate your petty squabbles over who's next. Figure it out, or better yet just take numbers like that giant sign right in front of you says to. One other thing: If I've already asked you what you want, I'm officially serving you. You don't need to wait until then to take a number and hand it to me.
I hate this damn job so much, and it's not because I can't stand people, it's that I can't stand having to be sickeningly nice to people who are being absolute retards. If only I could give these people actual consequences to their actions, then I'd be a very happy person. But no. I have to spoil them like the overgrown children they are because I cannot afford to lose my job.
Bartender here. At a restaurant, I start at 20 percent and go from there. I will tip out zero for absolutely horrific service, however.
At a bar, a buck per drink at the minimum. Also, pre-tipping: If you're sitting down for a long evening of consumption at a single place, drop your big tip right at the start. Your bartender will see you first in a crowd every single time.
And to you no-tipping assholes, fuck you. And you'll get your comeuppance one day. I had a weekend at my bar where 147 completely drunken Irish fucks descended upon the hotel (hotel bar, The Irish Cottage in Galena, IL) for a Thursday-Sunday bender that would have made Brian Boru himself say, "Holy fuck." Packed the place (162-person capacity in the bar, and the hotel had other guests too), were loud, boisterous and obnoxious the entire time (the owners wound up buying 30-some guests' meals because of the debacle), and the whole lot of 'em tipped the bar and the servers shit. Five guys drank $330 worth of Miller Lite and Amstel Light bottles, and then tipped two bucks in quarters.
It's people like you guys and those jackasses that make bar rag shots get served. That $12 tip I leave on a $15 bill at the bar across the street from my office is why my wife and I don't get charged for the actual $40 worth of stuff that we get.
fake edit: This isn't up there in FUCK YOU territory, but for all you goons who use the tip to round up to an even dollar on a credit card slip, take a second and think about it. It's not too bad for one or two of them, but during a ten-hour bar shift, when you've got five charge slips in an hour that have done that rounding, that is a fucking shit-ton of loose change that we now have to deal with. Just think about it next time.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
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