Generic Job Post!

First, sorry sorry sorry! I accept my title as the worst blogger ever, no, EVAR, and that it has been far too long since my last update!


But to make it up to my whole two readers, I am making an extra long post, about work!




I don't want to name names, so as far as you all know, I work at GENERIC SUB STORE. GSS is an easy, easy job. Slice meat and cheese, put mayo on it, ring it up, bam. Done. Hardest thing is coupons.

In theory anyways. Sometimes customers make the reality a bit more difficult, sometimes the surroundings are to blame, and other times it's my own stupidity.

Recently, we had one of those difficult customers. An older man asked for a kids meal, with chicken on it. Now, we have a cheat sheet for all our sammichs that shows how many slices of cheese and meat to do for every single size of every single sammich. Near the bottom there is

KIDS MEAL

No chicken. Hm. I figure I'll let it slide and make the guy a chicken sammich anyways. But... how many slices?

Kid's equals half of a medium so... 2 1/2? I decide to be generous and give the guy 3.

To which he FREAKS out. "THAT"S NOT RIGHT!!!" I am told. "I GET FOUR PIECES!!!"

I explain to him that if he wants four pieces, he needs to get the small. He retorts with the fact that I even sliced the chicken too thin.

I. Never. Touch. the thickness of the slicer. Ever. Not once.

After that, he says, "I want light on all the spices except salt."

Which is a very tricky statement. I'm sure, again, I was just trying to mess up his particular sammich, but I took that to mean light on everything and normal salt. Boy was I WRONG. Also, I think people are under the impression that mistakenly putting salt on something is an offense punishable by death.

Maybe I was... asalt-ed.

But I'm sure I saw him, and decided to really screw up HIS sandwich. I mean, I must have zeroed in on this guy, and been like,

Another fun customer... Upon entering the store, asks me,

"Miss? Could you please pull out your hair?"

No, no I had not misheard her. She really did just ask me to pull out my hair. I brushed my hair back, but that wasn't good enough. "No, miss, right there, you have hair that is going to get in my food!"

"I'll uh... Go to the bathroom and pull them out then."

"Thank you!"

And I did. I pulled out my hair. Now, this same lady, whenever she comes in, compliments my now not-as-messy hairstyle. Asking me where I got it done, (Greatclips?) what I asked for, ("Short?") all these questions. I suppose that is her way of saying that, post pluck, my hair is very nice.

Now, as a general note, if you go to a sammich shop, please, PLEASE do not walk away in the middle of telling your poor, under paid, over worked, sammich artist what toppings to put on it. Not only is this rude, but now I don't know if that means you're done (and whenever I decide this, of course, you wanted vinegar on it and now I have to unwrap your sammich...), or if I should wait for you to return (and whenever I take THIS course of action, you were done and why am I wasting your time...). Another thing.

If you say you want everything on it.

Get. Everything.

The sentence "I want everything except onions, pickles, tomatoes, and peppers" IS ACTUALLY "I just want lettuce and olives!" You can't have everything EXCEPT. That makes NO SENSE!!!! If you are making exceptions then it is NOT REALLY EVERYTHING.

Now, something to keep in mind-- I work with knives. Really sharp knives. And a slicer. Bet that would hurt...

Speaking of!!

When I first started working, my boss felt the need to share with me the fact that a few unfortunate workers had actually sliced off the tip off their fingers while working the slicer.

So I have always been really careful working with the sharp pointies. It doesn't matter though. I suffered my first injury within my first week of work. Now, before I was trained on anything else, I was trained on middles. Which is basically just topping and wrapping the sammich. I'm not allowed near the slicer or register. Which seems like a good way to get workers used to everything before doing more important things, but in reality it is so stressful! People walk in, expecting to be helped, and I have to stand there with a huge grin on my face while waiting, (praying) someone else comes to help.

This is important to know, because I was already feeling terribly inadequate going into the lunch rush. I was trying to cut the sammich, and that's when I sliced into my pinkie finger. It didn't hurt too bad (adrenaline? Or God-like pain tolerance?), and I didn't want to drop everything and run into the back, because then it would be *MY* fault people had to stand in line. So I did the thing any reasonable person would.

I hid it.

I tucked my finger into my palm, and continued the lunch rush. I figured as long as blood was not pouring everywhere, I was good. I made it through the whole rush, then on the last sammich was like, "Oh no, I cut myself, better go bandage that...."

But those were not my fault. I blame it on the sharp pointies. The next one was totally just me being a newb at life.

It was early in the morning, and it was just me and my boss working. He needs to go run and get a coffee from starbucks three doors down (heh), and says no one should come in, but to hold the store down while he's gone, for maybe three minutes.

SO! As soon as the door closes, the oven goes off. INSTANT PANIC ATTACK.

My boss loves the bread. In fact, I think he cares more about the bread then some of the workers. He likes the bread exactly perfect, and I think people have been fired for burning it. So when the oven timer is informing me the bread needs instant attention, I am almost instantly filled with fear. I open the oven and the bread seems... bread like. It's wheat, so I can't really look for the 'golden brown' color since... it's that color all the time. I decide that it needs maybe one more minute. Maybe two. As I'm closing the door to the over, a customer walks in. Now, I am barely trained on slicer, not at all on register. But I figure I can stall while topping, at least until boss gets back.

Oh dear. All she wants is a soda. She hands me a dollar and is now waiting expectantly for her change. I must have looked so intelligent, staring at the register.

After a few seconds, she decides she can't wait any longer for miss incompetent to hit the "CANNED SODA" button, she starts to walk out, when I see it! I tell her, wait miss! I found it! I hit it, and then try to input that she gave me a dollar. On the old registers I worked on, you hit the number and it assumed dollars automatically. If they gave you something like 1.50 you had to hit the decimal button. Going with that knowledge, I hit '1' then cash. Hmm, I just gave her a one cent discount.


At this point, she's gone, and my boss walks in. I try to explain to him what happens, and he says, "Well, as long as she gave you a dollar and you gave her a cent change, then it's all good."

BUT I DIDN'T EVEN DO THAT BECAUSE SHE LEFT!!!!!


Last story:


A worker from another store came in, telling my co-worker about a surgery she was having done. Apparently, I looked too interested, because she decided to explain to me what she meant.

"My lips are so frustrating, I'm getting them shortened."

I look at her face and well... They look fine?

That's when she laughs and says, "Oh! Not the ones on my face!"

I needed mind bleach for that one, figured I would share the love. <3