(I am visiting a fast food restaurant near my job. I’m there several times a week for lunch or dinner, and on this day there’s a new employee.)

Me: “I’d like the new [new sandwich that is being heavily advertised and is displayed on a huge banner behind the counter] with a Coke to go, please.”

Employee: “What the f*** is that?”

Me: “The [new sandwich]… it’s on the banner behind you.”

Employee: “Ain’t nobody told me about a new sandwich.”

(Eventually, with the help of a coworker, she rings me up. I wait a while for my food, and it doesn’t seem to be coming. I’m the only one in the restaurant, so clearly something has gone wrong.)

Me: “Hey, can you check and see if they forgot about my order in the back? I’ve been waiting a while.”

Employee: “I’m not in charge of making the food.”

Me: “Well, yeah, but can you just walk over there and ask them if they’re working on my order? I only have a short lunch.”

(The employee stares at me like I’ve asked her to go to the moon.)

Employee: “I just said, I’m not in charge of the food.”

Me: “All I’m asking is for you to walk over there, or just shout over, and see if they’ve forgotten about my order.”

Employee: “I don’t know anything about the food.”

(I decide to lean over the counter and shout back myself. They had indeed forgotten my food, so they quickly make it, bring it out, and apologize profusely. Thankfully, I never saw that employee again.)

Related:
Not Ever Working, Part 12
Not Ever Working, Part 11
Not Ever Working, Part 10
Not Ever Working, Part 9
Not Ever Working, Part 8
Not Ever Working, Part 7
Not Ever Working, Part 6
Not Ever Working, Part 5
Not Ever Working, Part 4
Not Ever Working, Part 3
Not Ever Working, Part 2
Not Ever Working

(I am from New Mexico and am on vacation on the East Coast. I’ve just ordered at a fast food restaurant and am paying with my credit card.)

Cashier: “Uh, I’m going to have to see some ID.”

(I show the cashier my New Mexico driver’s license.)

Cashier: “I’m sorry, but we can’t take foreign forms of identification.”

Me: “Wait, excuse me?”

Cashier: “We can’t take it; it’s foreign. Do you have another form of payment?”

Me: “I’m from New Mexico.”

Cashier: “Right. And I’m honestly surprised your English is so good.”

Me: “New Mexico is a state. Part of the United States.”

Cashier: “No, it’s not!”

Me: “Yes, it is. The 47th state to be precise. It joined the Union in 1912.”

Cashier: “I think you just made that up.”

Me: “Can I please talk to your manager?”

(Thankfully, the manager is a more knowledgeable than the cashier; he sends her to the back and gives me a discounted meal for my trouble.)

(I tend to be very accident prone. One very early morning, I’m working the front of the store by myself when I hurt myself and get a nasty gash in my hand.)

Me: “[Manager]! Get up here right now!”

(As I pack paper towels around the cut, my manager stomps up to me looking pissed.)

Manager: “What are you screaming at me for? I’m your boss! You can’t talk to me in that tone!”

Me: “But I—”

Manager: “No! I don’t want to hear any of your excuses! Don’t even bother apologizing. I’m writing you up right now.”

(He stomps back to the office and slams the office door behind him, leaving me standing there in shock. Fortunately, my only coworker finds the first aid kit and fixes me up. My manager eventually comes back out of his office, still angry.)

Manager: “I just finished writing you up. [Store Manager] is coming in this morning so she’ll get to hear all about your behavior problem.”

Me: “Okay. I’m sure she’ll love to see this too.” *holds up hand*

Manager: “Oh my God! What happened to your hand?!”

Me: “I sliced it open pretty bad. That’s why I was screaming for you, but [coworker] got me bandaged up so it’s all good.”

(Not only did I not get in trouble, but he sent me home early with a full day’s pay!)

(I work at a popular fast food outlet which uses a simple P, U, D (Prep, Use, Discard) system to time products kept out on the boards. I pull out a new carton of tomatoes and catch my very new coworker staring at it a few moments later.)

Me: “[Coworker], something up?”

Coworker: “It’s not 11 am, is it? Because I came on at 1pm.”

Me: “No, it’s quarter to two. Why?”

(She turns the carton towards me, and I see “P: 11 am”.)

Coworker: “This says it’s 11 am!”

Me: “…[Coworker], that’s not a clock.”

(She stares at it for a moment, and then looks back at me.)

Me: “P means ‘Prep.’ It’s not the actual time.”

Coworker: *sheepishly* “Oh, I thought the P stood for ‘Palmerston North’ time…”

(My friends and are I in three-vehicle convoy, driving a very long distance from Vancouver, Canada, to California in one long go for a big event. We’ve gotten a very late start on very little sleep, have been driving for hours. Tired and hungry, we see a fast food place on the highway and pull into the parking lot. As we walk up to the doors, we make eye contact with a cashier inside. Instead of letting us in, she breaks into a jog to get there first, and locks it in our faces.)

Cashier #1: “The dining room’s closed!”

Us: “D***! We were really hoping to try you guys out. Is there anywhere else close by to eat that would still be open?”

Cashier #1: “No. Oh, but the drive-thru’s still open. It’s just the dining room that’s closed.”

Us: “Okay, thanks.”

(We would have liked to sit down on real chairs, but it’s a warm summer evening so we figure we’ll tailgate it. So, we stroll over, en masse, to order at the drive-thru window.)

Cashier #2: “You have to come through in a vehicle. We can’t serve you if you aren’t in a car.”

Us: “Really? Okay, fine…”

(Because we’ve got two trucks pulling trailers that won’t fit in the drive-thru, we decide what we want and have a single driver pull the remaining car into the drive-thru.)

Cashier #2: “We can’t do an order for people who aren’t in the car.”

Driver: “Are you serious? Seriously? Why the h*** not?!”

Cashier #2: “It’s our policy.”

Driver: “Can you change it? I mean, can you waive it? There’s like ten of us and there’s no way we can all fit in this car.”

Cashier #2: “It’s our policy.”

Driver: “Fine.”

(Our driver pulls around back to the parking lot again. We manage to squeeze enough people in that everyone’s only ordering for about two of them, which we figure they can’t possibly argue with. Once again, we head over to the drive-thru.)

Driver: “Okay, I think we’re good to go. We’d like—”

Cashier #2: “Drive-thru’s closed.”