work stories time!!!
So I work at this hotel right. I notice on my arrivals sheet that on last night's reservations that there are six rooms reserved under one name, which means that a very large party is coming in. I brace myself early in the shift and pre-prep all the paperwork for when they came in. Naturally, as is the case when people register online, the bitch neglected to include her address (which we need to check her in) and instead put "N/A," which would've saved me and her a LOT of time. PORTENT! >:
So, whatever. I get all the paperwork out of the way and get everything bundled nice and neat and am prepared, like a good worker, for the onslaught sure to come.
I was expecting a group of college students coming into town for whatever football game we're having this weekend. But I'll get to that.
About 5 p.m., I notice two cars pulling in together. This isn't unusual. Another car follows. This is unusual. Then another.
And they begin to file out. An entire junior league baseball team, and their families. There are seriously at least 20 children. I could already tell it was going to be a hell of a night.
I'll skip the boring paperwork stuff. Needless to say it took upwards of half an hour to get them all checked in, the time pockmarked by Angry Dads coming into the office and asking what the hold-up is. YOU'RE CHECKING IN 55 PEOPLE AT ONCE SO IT'S GOING TO TAKE A WHILE FUCK YOU >: Thankfully my supervisor (who lives nearby) showed up and helped out, and I think we actually checked them in in near-record time considering that only one family paid cash.
Fast forward about two hours. All of the families have headed out to get some food, so aside from a few check-ins, it's been pretty quiet. I have my laptop with me and I entertain myself by watching some MST3K when all of a sudden I hear a strange banging sort of noise from the back of the building. I thought that they were shooting off fireworks across the river again because of the game, so I ignored it. Then I heard it again. I realized that it wasn't fireworks, but the sound of about 3-4 children running around outside.
Normally, I wouldn't give a shit. Kids can run around and be dipshits if they want. However, tonight I wasn't about to put up with it.
Firstly, they were running around on the rather narrow balcony in large groups. If one of them falls, then we're probably going to be held responsible.
Secondly, it's dark by this time. The area the hotel's in is a unique place, located smack in the middle between million-dollar homes just a few blocks away, and Cracktown just a few blocks the other direction. Rough types occasionally drift down from Cracktown and wander our property at night.
Third, these kids are making a FUCKTON of noise, and by the time it got bad enough that I felt I had to stop them, there was a group of 7-8 kids running around. The balcony makes a lot of noise from people just walking on it, so you can imagine what the group sounded like running. I had guests, regulars, sleeping downstairs, and one of them I had just put in a 2:45 AM wake-up call for. So, this is pissing me off.
Another family got back from dinner, and their kids immediately took off to the stairs. I grab my keys and head outside, and shout to them (they're upstairs already) that they need to stop the running. The father, apparently drunk, walks over to me and informs me that they "just got here, we've been out getting food" and asking me why I'm yelling at his kids. I tell him I can't have them running, that it's a safety hazard, and I have guests trying to sleep. Again, he explains that he "just got here" and waves his 18 oz beer can around. Again, I tell him I can't have it. Thankfully, the father of another family (who I liked the most out of all of them, and had given me no trouble) showed up and changed the subject when he saw his fellow dad getting irate. I headed back in the office.
About half an hour later, I grab my keys and head out to do my rounds of the property. I usually do them once every few hours, but tonight I wanted to catch the little shit kids so I was doing them every 45 minutes or so. I was walking around the balcony when I heard a group of them coming. Three of them rounded the corner and stopped when they saw me and signaled to the others around the corner (I have no idea how many, but at least two, because I heard their voices) to go the other way. So they all run the other way. I'm not about to go running after them, lest one of the drunken fathers assault me, so I begin walking briskly. One of the guests staying downstairs yelled at me that there were a bunch of kids running around. Fuck.
They finally stopped running when the group of drunken dads standing outside on the balcony saw me coming after the kids and yelled at them to stop. I went back to the office.
20 minutes later, one of the dads comes down and introduces himself. I shake his hand, yaddayadda. He explains that the volume on his TV isn't working. I offer to transfer him to another room. He asks if I can just bring the TV from the other room into his room. I say no, because, firstly, I rather think that would be against policy, secondly, the TVs are bolted to the wall, and thirdly, they're rather large, and I can't carry them on my own. And I'd rather the drunken dads not handle them either. Again, I offer to transfer him to another room. He asks if he can see the other room, and I say yes and offer to take him up there. He insists on taking me to his room and showing me that his TV isn't working. So I go look, and naturally, I don't know why it's not working, so he asks if just his kids can move to the other room while he and his wife stay in this one. I say no, because that would be two rooms for the price of one. We go over this at least three times. He asks if I can give him a discount on the second room. I can give him 10%, because that's all I'm authorized to give. Alternatively, I can move him for free. The mother says that her boys saw a room downstairs with two king-size beds, a TV, a fridge and a microwave, and she wants to know why she didn't get that room. There is no such room. We have rooms with king-size beds, but only one bed, not two. We have rooms with fridges and microwaves, too, but I didn't have any more available (at least, that's what I told them. I wasn't about to move these assholes into a nice room, since they were paying the discounted price to begin with, and for all the trouble they'd given me I should be charging them MORE.) Another question: What were those little bastards doing looking into rooms that aren't theirs?
I explained that there is no such room, so she sighs, says fine, and goes to see the other room. I took her down, she says it's alright, and she sends her boys to get their things and begin moving. She proceeds to explain to me that her room was supposed to be free anyway, because she reserved the other 5 rooms. This very well may have been true, and in fact, probably was. Unfortunately, there's nothing I could do about it, since THIS IS THE KIND OF THING YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO MENTION AT CHECK-IN, BEFORE I CHARGE THE ROOM TO YOUR FUCKING CREDIT CARD FUCK
Her boys begin unhooking their Playstation from the broken TV. ...Wait, Playstation? Lo and be-fucking-hold, as soon as they disconnect it, the volume returns to normal and begins blaring since they had it on maximum.
So they stay in their room. Whatever. I prepare to go back to the office when the group of drunken dads begins to harangue me, asking me why only one of their five rooms has a microwave and fridge. I explain that I do not assign their rooms. The A shift assigns the rooms for reservations long before I arrive. The drunken dad with the broken TV asked me if I took any etiquette or charm classes. I resisted the urge to flip him off. He explains to me that the customer is always right (which doesn't apply at hotels, by the way) and that it would "behoove" him if I could get him into a nicer room, explaining that good things would come to me if I did this favor for him. Fuck no. These assholes have kept me out of the office for at least 30 minutes, and I explain that I have to get back, and he literally stops me four or five more times as I'm trying to walk away, slurring as he attempts to persuade me that it would be the right thing to do to give him a microwave/fridge room. Then he offers me a beer. I just leave.
I don't have a job because im lazy and spoiled
My boss bought us all pizza last week! :)
I give steaks to mexicans all day. they always want a piece of shit sirloin "guell done" with at least four bottles of A-1 or "Al" sauce, as they call it.
god forbid you should try a filet, you uncultured piece of shit.
At Free Geek a guy brought his Dreamcast and set it up on the wall projector in the massive breakroom. Instead of working that day, we had a Soul Calibur tournament.
I got third.
I worked as a merchant last summer, selling strawberies, mushrooms peas and all sort of stuff on a quite good location at the "city square". Work was ok, but my fellow vendors, not to mention one of my bosses, were quite a problem.
There was 4 other people who were also hired to do the vending. 3 out of the 4 were somewhat quiet. No matter how I tried to chat with 'em they wouldn't really want to talk. Now, I don't know 'bout you people, but I'm awfully uncomfortable when I have to spend an 8-hour day in a small stalt with a person not saying a word. But we can count that as my problem, my friends usually say that I talk too much. Anyway, the silence wasn't the only thing that bothered me with them. The fact was that I couldn't leave 'em alone for a second.
There was this one guy, two years younger, who was every day as if stoned. He would start the day by saying something like "I'll take the peas" and after that, he would just stand next to the peas, stare into emptiness and wait for a customer like a zombie. On the first day I worked with him (I was supposed to "train him", since I had been around for 2 weeks already), I went to go get myself a cup of coffee from the pub near the stalt. When I came back I saw a group of people standing in line for strawberries. I hurried myself back and served the customers, while the kid was still standing next to the peas, utterly ignoring the crowd on his left demanding for strawberries.
Then there was this teen girl, god knows how old, who seemed to have huge problems with simple math. I had to keep an eye on a girl who was definitely over 15, and avoid her to give too much change, nor prevent her to bill for too much.
The last one of the three was your typical queen bee, who spent most of her time on a cellphone, talking to her boyfriend or chatting with her friends who came to see her "work her ass off" on location.
But luckily there was this one girl who was almost my age (she was 1 year younger I guess).She was also talkative person, and had similiar interests as I, so we ended up talking when ever there wasn't any customers. Luckily for me, I ended up to work with her almost every day, which made the work hours go by quickly. Only annoyance was that the local drunks usually tried to hit on her, coming up with smooth pick-up lines and so on, which sometimes resulted intoher asking me to drive them away.
Then there was the boss. Well, actually there were 2, and one of them was really cool and nice, but the other one was an old, grumpy chainsmoker who forbid us to sit while in work because "It wouldn't look tempting for the customers". Ironically whenever he was at work too, he would have a chair with him. Did I mention that he's a chainsmoker? I swear to god, he must've spent atleast 1½ pack's in a day. Sometimes he would also mysteriously disappear for hours without any good reason. He would also constantly try to pair me up with the girls, coming up with ideas such as "You should massage her shoulders" and when I'd reply with "I don't think so" he would proceed into doing it himself. He was also somewhat bitter towards the merchants of the rival stalt, with who I used to chat daily.
That's RaNkeri's summerjob 2007 in a nutshell for you :x
I played soccer in the warehouse with one of my co-workers, using a ball of plastic wrap (the kind used for securing pallets of grocery items) once, during a shift. Also, I was moving his metal table, which resulted in this metalic screeching sound, so my boss turned the phone so it would be heard over the loudspeaker.
I used to be a Mercruiser mechanic at a marina on the Hudson rivier. I had coke-head boss named Joe DeMarchis who was a complete monster, even by my standards. To put a long story short, the last straw was when after my brother drowned off the back of my sisters boat. My boss wanted me to work on the day of my brother's funeral. I told him this was not possible and after an argument he threatend to kill me, rather graphicaly. He then stole my motorcycle that night and demanded $200 in lost revenue for the day I took off to attend my brothers funeral. I called the police to get my only vehicle back and they pretty much told me that this was a matter for the civil court even though he admitted to doing everything I just described. I should mention that this is the town of Ossining New York and that none of the responding officers were wearing thier name tags or badges when they showed up, they told me to take it to "town court", yeah right, this is extortion and vehicle theft since I had no contract with him that says he can steal my shit out of my driveway. This is fucked up to think that a police department can do things like this in New York of all places.
I should also tell you that nobody pulls this kind of shit on me. I waited until the bosses son was gone and then I went in with two of my freinds and my surviving brother to confront a 72 year old man. Not being as stupid as his son he "happily" agreed to unlock the warehouse door and allowed me to get my motorcycle.
Then..... four months later... They fucked up my W-2 so it said they didn't pay anything into social security. When I confronted them about this his other son threatend to kill me. He withdrew a pair of bolt cutters from the rack and started walking towards me. I shouted to him "what the fuck are you going to tell your kids after you go to jail for assault? huh? are you going to pay the mortgage from county? what the fuck is wrong with you fucking iditiots, why do you do this to yourselves?.
As I was driving away from the guinie lunatic I could hear him screaming "I'll knock your block off". My "block"? apparently he is from the 1930's.
They are a bunch of italian retards from the fucking bronx who worship the sopranos and body odor, what could I possibly expect.
If any of you try to top this I will tell the story of when I was caught betweena 50' sailboat and the dock during a severe storm and a customer had to run over and help me even though my fucking dego wop boss was right there and it was his fucking fault I wound up in the river.
SO ALL OF YOU SHUT UP YOUR JOB IS NOT AS BAD AS I HAVENT EVEN TOLD YOU THE HALF OF IT. SHUT THE FUCK UP...
A few years ago, I was working as a dishwasher in a resteraunt. Sweeping under the shelves in the back room one day (Apparently, I was the only one who bothered cleaning there. Ever.), a shriveled up potato rolled out. It looked exactly like a scrotum, so I called it a scrotato.
A completely different time, sweeping behind a completely different shelf, there was another potato. This one wouldn't move though, so I slid the shelf out a little to reach it easier with the broom. It fucking melted when the bristles brushed it. And it was definitely a potato, atleast before I bothered it.
Also, in the scrotato room, I once found raw chicken in a floor drain. There were good sized maggots all over it that squirmed in bleach.
That place was a total shithole.
But one of the managers was wicked cool. He'd take lemons out the back door and throw them across the parking lot at another resteraunt. You can still see stains on the upper walls. We'd also have mushroom and bun fights, pelting each other and defending ourselves with cardboard or pans. It was fun if he was working there.
I worked at a concessions for a few summers. I did the cash register because no one else could stand to deal with the customers (high temperatures + angry parents = trouble). Anyway, I went back to see how the guys working the grill were doing, and one of them accidentally dropped a bun on the floor. We knew we'd have to throw it away, but the guy on the grill did one better: he picked it up, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it up onto the top of the oven hood.
We all chuckled a little because we were a little heatstruck, but I pointed out that we shouldn't make a habit of doing that, so I grabbed the stepladder and went up to grab the bun. When I got up high enough to see where the bun was, I saw that it had landed next to an alarmingly large pile of food sitting in a corner next to the vent.
I was stunned, and so were they. Apparently, they had no idea there was so much food tossed up there. I climbed back down the ladder and told them that we should share this information with no one because then we would wind up having to clean it up ourselves. I don't know if anyone eventually cleaned it up or not.
Also, one time I was cleaning the grill and accidentally shot a gout of grill cleaning into the frier. Nobody got sick, though, so that was a freebie. I've got more stories, like the time I almost got in trouble for calling some woman's kid a retard, but they're just little stories that don't really stack up to some of the stuff in this thread.
Oh man, I wanna hear the retard story :lol
I once worked at a 'respectable' metropolitan library as the computer guy. By 'computer guy,' I was the guy who sat in this lab and helped out people if they had issues or wanted to print something out. Sadly the people who ran this library were retarded to the point of madness, so I could easily pull 24 hours a week simply sitting on my ass and getting paid fairly good money.
But the most interesting thing about this job was that, despite the fancy branches the library would have and the aura of respectability that the whole joint tried to have, most of the people who went there were dirt poor and possibly mentally deranged. Most of them were definitely brain damaged and would expect me to teach them how to use 'the computer.' If you have ever been asked this by anybody, you can expect the situation to turn to shit since most people think 'the computer' is a singular item that you can type in and, much like Star Trek, get a solid answer back. On top of this, most people who went there were poor and horny which meant that occasionally you would have a conversation with an uptight soccer mom whose little shitling would go to grab their homework and come back with somebody's bad imaged black and white--we couldn't afford color--print of Craigslist porn. And it was always gay men. Always.
On top of that, I usually had to stop really stupid people from donating their weekly paycheck to the evangelist of the week. Since I really couldn't stop them, I had to help these people--who always smelled of piss and such--from wasting their money. I had a heart to some extent, and these people were just the worst. They probably should have spent their money on themselves.
But the best story I ever had from that joint was this white trash family who, like everybody else in the world, thought that you could go into the library and gain knowledge through osmosis. If you were in a lie-berry, you were doing some learnin' even if you were just sitting your fat ass in front of a computer for hours on end. Literally, hours on fucking end. This family was made up of a fatass mom who looked thirty-five, a daughter who dressed exactly like a Maury tramp who was aged fourteen, and the younger son who was easily ten. Since I was in the lab most of the time I would see the mom the most and the kids would vanish. One day I found out where they vanished to.
In the branch I ran, there was a bathroom in which the door could lock. This was the handicapped stall so people who were disabled could use it with some privacy that the other bathrooms did not afford. What was revealed is that this white trash family's daughter was fucking a group of ghetto kids from public housing a few blocks away and she was using that bathroom for her business. She was finally caught when the current branch director caught them heading into the bathroom one after another and walked into possibly the grossest orgy ever.
The best part was that one of the ghetto kids just happened to have his grandmother reading in the library as he was paying the white trash girl $5 to get it on. That's right. He was getting laid in a bathroom of a library while his grandmother was reading a book and maintaining the other 'cousins's' she was raising from Detroit. And this loser had the honor of being escorted from the library while his grandmother turned this into the best scene ever. The lines 'waz u in that girls cootchie, wuz u, wuz u??' echoing throughout the building is when I lost my shit and I had to take a break.
But the coup de grace came not two hours later at close when I saw the white trash family head out of the library. The girl was flushed but defiant in her embarrassment (which was foreshadowing for her later life, I would imagine) and her brother was giving her hell. They were playing the dozens for nobody's amusement but their own and when they were walking out, this exchange scarred me for life:
SISTER: You're a retarded butthead.
BROTHER: Whatever, crotchcheese.
SISTER: At least I don't have a half-circumsized dick!
BROTHER: At least I don't have crabs!
SISTER: I DON'T HAVE CRABS ANYMORE!!
The mother looked at me, shugged, said 'Kids!' and walked out the door as proud as ignorance can make one. And I stared over at the desk she was sitting at, left a note for janitorial, and left without saying another fucking word.
I didn't do anything at work Sunday besides watch the Eagles/Cowboys and Green Bay/St. Louis games and play Sudoku. For five hours. I love my job.
zbu, that was fucking great.
Like I've said before, I work at a Value Village, "The Thrift Department Store". If you've been in one, you've been in all of them. They're all pretty much laid out the same.
On the side of the building is a little shed thing, with orange cones. That's the drive up donation, and that's where I work. We take in bags and boxes of peoples crap, stack them on carts, and put them in back for our production people to price and stuff. One cart for clothes, one cart for everything else (excluding furniture and books). These carts, when full, easily weight 900 - 1200 pounds each.
While I do do Drive Through, I also help in the back, and may be getting transferred there soon. Back there I price furniture, and throw out crap furniture. My stories are going to rotate between the two.
Stacking is the name of the game. If you don't stack a cart with donations properly, it'll
(1) Look like shit
(2) Potentially collapse and hurt someone (these things are at least 6, 7 feet tall)
When you have a full cart of boxes filled with dishes and pots and pans, you don't want it falling on you. My cart was almost full one day when someone donated a box of glasses. Cheap glasses mind you, but still glasses. So, I put them up on the cart, but a box behind the one I put up pops out a bit, and drops it on my head. Glass fragments shower over me, and send me to the ground with a few cuts on my face and hands. The person who donated it starts bitching at me, saying "I DON'T LIKE THE WAY YOU HANDLE MY THINGS, HOW WOULD YOUR MANAGER FEEL ABOUT THAT?" Politely, I said I made a mistake and I REALLY FUCKING HURT MYSELF. They went in to talk to my manager, and apparently got told off by them, saying that employee safety was priority number 1. They gave me a snarky kind of look when they got back in their shitbucket of bolts, and prattled away
When we get furniture donated, we take it into the back room and price it. If it's a piece of shit, we throw it out into this MASSIVE dumpster we have out back called the Roll Off. Anyways, there was this table with metal legs that I deemed to be craptacular, and unsuitable for sale. The general rule is, when throwing something out, breaking it into the smallest pieces possible so you can fit more in the dumpster. So, I turn up the table so it's legs are in the air (hehe) and pick up the medium handle length sledhammer (we have like, 8). My friend is sitting on a ratty couch watching all this. I give one leg a good whack with the sledge sideways, and it pops right out. Cool. Same happens with the other two. With the last one however, I whacked it, and it stayed stuck. Stubborn bitch. I give it another good whack, and a nut or something flies off of it, shoots right by my friends head, and cements itself in the wall. We were both a little bit antsy for a few seconds, but then we burst into total immature kiddy mode and started shouting about how awesome that was.
You'd be suprised how many people dig through the dumpsters at value village. But, considering the crap we throw out, I can't blame em. I've thrown out a few really good tv's before because there was just no room for them on the floor. Anyways, it was a few weeks ago when I threw a broken desk into the roll off when I heard something shift. I thought it was just from me throwing something in, but then it happened again. Looking in, there was an old homeless guy digging through broken shit. "Why you guys gon break evything, eh?" he shouts to me. I point out it's illegal for him to be doing that, and he goes off on a tirade, saying stuff like "Does it make you feel good to tell a homeless man what to do?". I say no, but it's the law. We even have a big sign posted next to the dumpsters to that effect. I say that if he leaves now, I won't make a big deal out of it (I wouldn't anyways). He begrudgingly leaves, and I throw some more crap out. Not even a week later, it starts becoming a nightly occurance to have people doing this. So now we have to PADLOCK all our dumpsters at the end of the night
Last but not least, some of the fun stuff I've done
- Put a golfclub through the screen of a tv
- Put a sledgehammer that was on the edge of the rolloff through the screen of a tv, dragging me up a few feet with it when it went in
- Busted apart a whole couch with a sledgehammer within 15 minutes (harder than it sounds)
-Put a 100 dollar price tag on at BEST a 50 dollar tv, and watched it sell the very next day
-Took christmas stock down from the top shelf that was covered with dust, threw it down, and watched the literal snowstorm of dust that resulted (And fell on my coworker)
-Had a cigarette on shift right next to my supervisor (He doesn't really care)
Years ago I worked at a Toys R Us that underwent revamping into a brand new store. One of our regulars, a fairly corpulent guy whom I'll refer to as Doofus, didn't care for our new store. One reason was that he was in the range of 600-700 pounds and was about five foot two. He was a swell guy but with a horrible weight problem. He didn't walk as much as he waddled and despite the new air conditioning he would sweat like a slug. One of the jokes we had was that if he ever collapsed we wouldn't have to lift him as he would probably slide down any incline with the amount of sweat he put out.
Still, a nice guy.
One day when I was working as a cashier I saw him waddle in faster than usual. I thought it was because we got a new shipment of Spawns in (to be fair, it was probably more Star Wars figures as this was circa 1999) but I saw him disappear into the new bathroom. Since I was working a four hour shift, I didn't think any more about it until closing, when I was checking out the last few people. I then saw Doofus do a double-time waddle out the doors, faster than I ever saw him move.
Not two seconds after that? The floor manager, this hulking mound of sarcasm I didn't care for, ran after him at full speed. Doofus started hauling more ass and got into his car and nearly blew the shocks as he literally roared out of the parking lot, the floor manager still on his tail until he fell down in the parking lot, out of breath.
I'd been in retail for a few years and I knew that usually meant that the person being chased had stolen something. Yet I knew Doofus and he wasn't that type. He was so straight-laced that when he knew stuff was in like many of the other collectors, he wouldn't even bribe me or attempt to. He would simply wait. Anyway, I went back to helping out the customers and finally the store closed. And that's when I saw the floor manager over by the customer service desk, talking in terms with hand gestures that I knew meant 'big.'
Curious as all hell, I went over to see what was going on. The floor manager was pissed as hell and muttering 'it's not my concern, I'll fucking quit before I do that shit' and walked off in a huff. So I started asking what happened. The floor guys--really cool guys as well--basically told me the story:
Doofus ran into the bathroom at around 5pm. At 7pm one of the managers was alerted by a customer that someone in the handicapped stall in the men's room was 'having trouble.' Concerned, the manager asked if anything was wrong and Doofus responded with a 'no.' But apparently the groaning and grunting betrayed that fact. The manager took him at his word and let Doofus to his peace.
At 8:30pm, the manager was notified of another incident in the men's room of an overflowing toilet. Again the manager went in to see Doofus still on the can, unresponsive. The manager started making some noise about calling an ambulance and Doofus managed to utter something about 'being out in five minutes, I'm sure' and asking to be left alone. The manager again went out of the bathroom and started putting out Wet Floor signs and a mop. He also gave a call to 911 about this issue.
Three minutes later, Doofus made his run for freedom. He apparently caught the eye of the floor manager, who then saw the water leaking out of the bathroom, went inside, saw the damage, and took off after Doofus and narrowly missed him getting out of the parking lot. Apparently one of the side effects of Doofus's weight problem was a 'severe intestinal blockage' that had, after many weeks, had finally come loose while Doofus was on the way to TRU. Three and a half hours later, his problem was over and he decided to make a run for it.
From what the Roto Rooter guy said after he finished vomiting at the site, what Doofus had done is probably shit himself on the way there. After exerting himself to get to a toilet, he probably unleashed most of his waste there in a painful fashion and kept on 'going' well after the incident due to his system 'purge.'
Still, props to Roto Rooter for being the nicest and funniest guys at work that week. They are truly the bravest of the brave. :rock
No one but Zbu gets to post in this thread from now on.
I have to remember to never go to Michigan :<
Yeah, it's nothing but library bathroom whoring and explosive bowel obstructions up here. ;)
Zbu: Ceiling tile? Christ.
And wow, you've led a horrifying life. Please continue.
I hate work.
My first job was at a Zellers Store, (For you Americans, its the K-Mart to a Wal-Mart and for you Euro's, its a big store). My job was rounding up shopping carts from idiots trying to steal them and Stocking shelves. I sucked at it, but there was one part of my job that i excelled at, because i was the only person who would do it. It was washing the bathrooms. This is a story of one such cleansing.
Now, there were always two people in my position working, one to stock and one to fight fat people for the posession of the stores carts. I always got the carts, but that meant that i would be cleaning the shitters between cart runs.
So i get back from my 3rd run of the day, and one of the customer service ladies runs over and just screams at me to clean the womens washroom. Now i just did it when i got there, and it was only my third hour in (Washrooms get washed every 4 hours btw) and it was about time for my break. But sure, i do grab my bucket of bleach, a sponge and go in.
I walk through the door, and it hits me. The stink was unimaginable, like a mixture of shit, vomit and rotten potatoes. The air was fucking thick, i am not joking when i say that i could feel the air, it had weight and mass to it. So i trudge forward, and i see, seeping underneath the door of the stall, a bunch of Shit mixed with blood and slowly floating on top of that pile of mess, a used maxi pad.
That was the day i gave them my notice.
That is the most grottiest thing ive read
But still awsome
this one time years ago i got fired for slapping a customer in the face with a bag full of clothes, but that kid totally had it coming to him
and another time at a shop
i amputated my fingertips and i was really embarrassed
do you type with your nose now
i make my mom type it for me now
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