Have a lousy job? Friends, family, and coworkers alike tired of listening to you complain? Well, send your stories here and lift some of the burden off of your already crushed soul. No drug test required.
I work as a reporter for a small newspaper, which is actually a pretty cool job. But, because we are small, I sometimes field customer calls. One time a lady called with two complaints. She wanted to cancel her newspaper because there wasn't enough news in the paper, which was, of course, a legitimate complaint. Her other beef? Not enough obituaries.
So, I work at an ice cream shop. I was working the drive-thru intercom, and I had to pee REALLY bad. Pretty much to the point that it was all I could think about. The next car rolled up, and instead of saying the usual "Hi, can I help you?" I accidentally said "Hi, can I go to the bathroom?" The guy in the car said "I don't know, can you?" I ran straight to the bathroom, and didn't tell anyone until a while later. The girl who helped him was a confused why one guy kept making bathroom references at her.
ice cream girl :)
I work at a chain subshop and I am running the store by myself. We have a bell on the counter for people to ring if somebody isn't up front. Usually people ring it once but while I was in the back doing dishes a man decided to ring it over and over again until I appear. He then procedes to tell me "About time you made it up here." With this comment I assume he's in a hurry but turns out he has no idea what he wants. So after staring at the menu board for what felt like forever he starts to ask me how much everything costs. He is staring at the board, at the prices and was still asking me. So I'm annoyed at his stupid question but then he drops a real gem of a question. "Is the $5 footlong and 12 inch or a 6 inch?"
I work in a health food store and I always try to be extra considerate when i see old men in the men's "performance" sextion. While helping one very open customer, he started going into descriptive and highly graphic detail about his troubles with his unit. I sent him on his way with a product to help, and I was left with an overmhelming need to shower. About a month later he comes back with rave reviews about the product, again with great detail about how long he lasted, what it felt like, the quality of his orgasm (ick) and he topped it all by letting me know "I thought of you when I finished".
When I was working at one of the first jobs I had, McDonalds, I received a "fun" chore. My boss comes to me and asks that I throw the rest of the garbage bags that are on the compactor room floor into the compactor.
Doesn't sound so bad, but it was the middle of winter and the compactor had shut down from the cold. So everyone was simply dropping the full bags of garbage on the cold concrete floor (eventualy resorting to throwing them into the room from the doorway) and it had been pilling up for the last week or so. There was so many bags that the floor was not visible and to get to the compactor I had to do the deep-snowbank-step overtop. Garbage hills were raised up on the sides of the walls. Since it was winter and the bags used thin plastic, the McD's excrement that had seeped out of the bags had frozen to the floor and each other. This made it impossible to pick up a bag without a high chance of the bag ripping and its contents spilling out. I managed to get the compactor working again and crushed loads of garbage at intervals, but it kept shutting down from the cold, requiring me to stand there manning the on and activate buttons. My supervisor made regular visits to ask me to hurry up.
I managed to clean the entire rotten, frozen amount of garbage into the compactor in two hours in below freezing temperatures. God I stank after that. Cleaned myself up in the bathroom and went back to work.
I worked at a summer camp over the past three summers and I taught a class to help boys earn a badge of merit focusing on patriotism. A requirement is that you keep up with national news for five days, so we read articles each day of class. One kid wanted to read, so I let him. He used his "black lady voice." This class was all white boys, ages 11-14, so I say "Tell me to stop eating all the chicken in that accent." He looks at me, in front of everybody, and says, "The way we spell chicken is F R I E D, motha fucka!"
He was 12 years old