It's About Liberty: A Conservative Forum
Topics => General Board => Topic started by: KittenClaws on November 22, 2013, 09:22:41 PM
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I have no idea why I think the things I do when I think them.
Some 40 years ago, a boy I had a crush on talked me into working at a car wash during the summer. A lot of the "cool kids" worked there. Back then it was cool to have a job. Weird huh?
Well, of course I applied and of course I got the job..Johnny had paved the way. (BTW, Johnny and I never got together)
The car wash sat on a main thoroughfare in Santa Cruz, CA. The cars were lined up at 8 am and didn't stop until 7 pm. All kinds of cars..nice cars. Cadillacs, Corvettes, Lincoln Continentals. Cars I knew I would never have, could never afford.
Back then, you did the job and you did it well. It was a matter of pride. We had all been raised to do our best at whatever we did. Plus, the owner would yell at you if you screwed up - a great motivator.
It was grueling work. My job was windows. I cleaned windows all day long. My shoulders ached at night. At the end of the line there was always some old coot, pointing out wet spots and streaks, we smiled and fixed the problem.We didn't give attitude. Attitude was not our job. Taking care of the customer was our job. We all received 2.75 an hour plus tips and back then, you were rolling in dough with that wage.
On to the big 'D'.
When the cars first came through the line, they'd wax-write preferences on the windshield. WWM was wash, wax, mats-SP was "special" which, was the works, that sort of thing.
I know I am long winded. Almost done.
Remember I'm on windows. While the car is making its way through the wash I'm on the inside, then I jump outside to finish the job. I have to communicate the code to the finishing crew before I complete the windows. (Find a car wash crew to do that simple job these days, but I digress).
So, once I forget and wipe the window down before communicating the code. I look for the owner to confirm what he had asked for and I identify him quickly. He looks old to me, at least 70, but, anyone over 20 looked 70 to me back then. He had his hands in pockets, strutting chicken like as he peers at the work the lowlies have performed.
I politely tried to confirm what he had ordered. " I had a Big 'D' " he says.
Well, I had never heard of this code, but I'd never tell a customer that, it just wasn't done. " A big D sir?"
" Are you stupid, or what?" He says. "Yes. A big D"
I was mortified. I ran to Johnny and told him I had upset a customer that had a big D on his windshield.
Johnny laughed. He not only laughed, he told others on the end of the line what I was upset about. They laughed as well.
You don't know what the big D code is, he asks. It means the guy is a Dick!
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::hysterical::
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::laughonfloor::
That old coot sounds a lot like my uncle who managed the town IGA grocery store. Lemme tell ya, never ... ever will I work for family again. ::bashing::
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::laughonfloor::
That old coot sounds a lot like my uncle who managed the town IGA grocery store. Lemme tell ya, never ... ever will I work for family again. ::bashing::
When you work for family, you can not get away with a big d on the windshield, or any other harmless but helpfull employee outlet; family knows you too well.
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Awesome story!
Speaking of employee outlets reminds of just last year. My fishing partner and I stopped at a rural Hardee's on the way to a tourney. The kid behind the register and his young 20-something female manager obviously had some issues. He was pushing her buttons the whole time. He took the orders and the cash, and entered our names into the system, and she supervised getting the food together, and then calling out the name on the sales receipt for food pickup at the counter.
The two of them were barbing one another the whole time. He was laughing at her, and she was calling him an idiot. (BTW, she was smokin' hot, and he was a pimply little dweeb). Anyway, she called out our names - Paul, and Bruce.
We went to sit down, and as is my habit, I looked at my receipt to make sure it was mine and it was right. The name on the slip was "Pall". I thought the kid must be a moron who couldn't spell, but then we looked at Bruce's slip. It said "Broose".
We laughed our heads off. He was entering the names in phonetically and making her figure out how to yell them. That kid clearly had her number in any and every way he could (except her PHONE number lol!) He was having a great day at work! Her... notsomuch.
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Awesome story!
Speaking of employee outlets reminds of just last year. My fishing partner and I stopped at a rural Hardee's on the way to a tourney. The kid behind the register and his young 20-something female manager obviously had some issues. He was pushing her buttons the whole time. He took the orders and the cash, and entered our names into the system, and she supervised getting the food together, and then calling out the name on the sales receipt for food pickup at the counter.
The two of them were barbing one another the whole time. He was laughing at her, and she was calling him an idiot. (BTW, she was smokin' hot, and he was a pimply little dweeb). Anyway, she called out our names - Paul, and Bruce.
We went to sit down, and as is my habit, I looked at my receipt to make sure it was mine and it was right. The name on the slip was "Pall". I thought the kid must be a moron who couldn't spell, but then we looked at Bruce's slip. It said "Broose".
We laughed our heads off. He was entering the names in phonetically and making her figure out how to yell them. That kid clearly had her number in any and every way he could (except her PHONE number lol!) He was having a great day at work! Her... notsomuch.
Hilarious!
Did you tell her at the register that he was the first one who EVER spelled your names right?
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Awesome story!
Speaking of employee outlets reminds of just last year. My fishing partner and I stopped at a rural Hardee's on the way to a tourney. The kid behind the register and his young 20-something female manager obviously had some issues. He was pushing her buttons the whole time. He took the orders and the cash, and entered our names into the system, and she supervised getting the food together, and then calling out the name on the sales receipt for food pickup at the counter.
The two of them were barbing one another the whole time. He was laughing at her, and she was calling him an idiot. (BTW, she was smokin' hot, and he was a pimply little dweeb). Anyway, she called out our names - Paul, and Bruce.
We went to sit down, and as is my habit, I looked at my receipt to make sure it was mine and it was right. The name on the slip was "Pall". I thought the kid must be a moron who couldn't spell, but then we looked at Bruce's slip. It said "Broose".
We laughed our heads off. He was entering the names in phonetically and making her figure out how to yell them. That kid clearly had her number in any and every way he could (except her PHONE number lol!) He was having a great day at work! Her... notsomuch.
Hilarious!
Did you tell her at the register that he was the first one who EVER spelled your names right?
NO!!!
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Normally, I'm in a hurry and don't spend any more time in a big box store or supermarket than I have to. One day, I noticed this customer giving a clerk a hard time. The clerk was very polite and never escalated the bitchy tone of the customer. (I have seen people like this before: They have such a miserable life, they have to take their frustrations out on some hapless servant. They piss me off big time.) So, I'm behind this irate customer in the line and I notice that she marches over to the customer service desk when she checks out, so I follow her. I listen to her recount the alleged transgressions of the clerk, telling the clerk's boss how rude and uncaring the clerk was. I let her finish and then stepped in front of the lady and said, (in my best "My Cousin Vinney" voice) "Everything that that lady just said is all bullsh*t." The lady leaves in a huff and I tell the manager that the guy was very polite and well-mannered.
The next time I was in the store, I saw the clerk and told him what I did. We had a good laugh.
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Normally, I'm in a hurry and don't spend any more time in a big box store or supermarket than I have to. One day, I noticed this customer giving a clerk a hard time. The clerk was very polite and never escalated the bitchy tone of the customer. (I have seen people like this before: They have such a miserable life, they have to take their frustrations out on some hapless servant. They piss me off big time.) So, I'm behind this irate customer in the line and I notice that she marches over to the customer service desk when she checks out, so I follow her. I listen to her recount the alleged transgressions of the clerk, telling the clerk's boss how rude and uncaring the clerk was. I let her finish and then stepped in front of the lady and said, (in my best "My Cousin Vinney" voice) "Everything that that lady just said is all bullsh*t." The lady leaves in a huff and I tell the manager that the guy was very polite and well-mannered.
The next time I was in the store, I saw the clerk and told him what I did. We had a good laugh.
Good for you! More of us need to take a stand when it is called for. Good job!
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Normally, I'm in a hurry and don't spend any more time in a big box store or supermarket than I have to. One day, I noticed this customer giving a clerk a hard time. The clerk was very polite and never escalated the bitchy tone of the customer. (I have seen people like this before: They have such a miserable life, they have to take their frustrations out on some hapless servant. They piss me off big time.) So, I'm behind this irate customer in the line and I notice that she marches over to the customer service desk when she checks out, so I follow her. I listen to her recount the alleged transgressions of the clerk, telling the clerk's boss how rude and uncaring the clerk was. I let her finish and then stepped in front of the lady and said, (in my best "My Cousin Vinney" voice) "Everything that that lady just said is all bullsh*t." The lady leaves in a huff and I tell the manager that the guy was very polite and well-mannered.
The next time I was in the store, I saw the clerk and told him what I did. We had a good laugh.
::clapping::
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My buddy (now a Chicago cop) and I were in a Radio Shack during one of our lunch breaks at a former job, and a guy "of color" was screaming at the clerk and threatening him. Gene - the now cop - walked over and told the guy to go outside, calm down, and return when he could talk like a human being.
The guy made a big mistake, and turned to Gene to attack him. Gene made a fist, raised his arm, and came down hard right on top of the idiot's head. He went down, out like a light. (Gene is 6'3", 260 pounds, and has arms like my legs.) He just said to the clerk, "Call 911 and get his ass dragged outta here.
Gene's muh FRIEND!!!! ::bustamove:: ;)
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You sure Gene's nickname isn't "Donk"?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-aYxs91X4U (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-aYxs91X4U)
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You sure Gene's nickname isn't "Donk"?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-aYxs91X4U (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-aYxs91X4U)
Nope. Gene came down from above the idiot's head and smacked him on top of his empty noggin!