he’s in love with a stripper

One particularly memorable phone call:

Me:  Hi, you’ve reached XXXXXXXX Bank. This is Raquel – how can I help you?
Strange Man:  Hi, this is *who the hell remembers*.  I’m not a customer of yours, but I need you to help me today.
Me:  Sure.  What can I do for you?
Strange Man:  See, I think you’ve been talking to a friend of mine this morning, and I need to help her out, no matter what it takes.  Now, I’ve got to get her out of the country tomorrow morning, do you understand?  It’s super important.
Me:  (looks around for the hidden cameras)
Strange Man:  Are you there?
Me:  Yes.  What is it that you’d like me to do, exactly…?
Strange Man:  It’s Platinum.  You talked to her earlier this morning?
Me:  (silent as I rack my brain for who on earth Platinum is…then it dawns on me that it’s one of our regulars who works the pole and brings in illustrious amounts of cash each week.  I am suddenly thankful she used her signature hair color to create her alter-ego, so I could easily figure out who this man – obviously a close, personal friend of hers, natch – is referring to.)
Strange Man:  Anyway, she lost her keys last night in the parking lot of Applebee’s when I took her out for drinks after her last performance, and both her safe deposit box keys were on there.  And she needs to get into her safe deposit box TODAY, you see?
Me:
Strange Man:  See, I have to get her out of the country TOMORROW, mmkay?  I need to take Platinum to Europe to show her around, you dig, and she ain’t gonna be able to grab a flight without that passport.
Me:  Okay. I do remember talking to… (say her stripper name, not her real name! say her stripper name, NOT her real name) …Platinum this morning.  I DID put in a call for our locksmithing company to come out, and it may be this afternoon, but I haven’t heard back yet to confirm anything.
Strange Man:  Well, that may just be unacceptable.  If I have a friend who is a locksmith and can get into her safe deposit box; can he come in?  I’ll be happy to call him right now.  In fact, let’s do that.
Me:  We can’t do that for security reasons, you understand.  We have to always use the same locksmith for these safe deposit boxes, as a financial institution controlled by various regulatory agencies and laws.  (quickly adds)  Unfortunately!
Strange Man:  Well, that ain’t gonna help Platinum and me, now, is it?
Me:
Strange Man:  So listen, little girlie.  What can we do to get this lock-busting expedited?  Can I bring in my own tools and do it?
Me:
Strange Man:  Or do you have this company’s number?  This is real important to me, miss.  I cain’t postpone this trip, now, and I’ve gotta have Platinum by my side for a real good time.  (sound of what I imagine to be him spitting chewing tobacco into a red solo cup)  You hear me?
Me:  (vomiting in my mouth a little) I will be very happy to give them a call again immediately, sir, and see if I can’t get a response as soon as possible.
Strange Man:  That’d be just great.  If not, let me know and I’ll be happy to come up there myself with my toolbox.
Me:  That will NOT be necessary.

Epilogue:  The “man” called several more times, I was finally able to get the locksmith out under “emergency” conditions, and the stripper got her passport (and her extra money on the side, I sincerely hope).  I spent the rest of the afternoon imagining the potential stage names for her other stripper friends who banked with us.

Epilogue, part two:  She eventually moved away to a nearby city (NOT Los Angeles, which is probably a shocker) where she said she was getting started in film.  I did NOT ASK what kind of film.  And while I still remember her real first name (hint: it’s belonged to someone of English royal lineage), I have no idea what her last name was, so I can’t cheat and look on IMDB for a hint.  Or whatever site you’d use for porn.

Epilogue, part three:  If that filmography site does not exist yet, DIBS.

why you’re not allowed to get sick…..ever

Actual transcripts of my sad life:

6:58  Me: (texting between dry heaves) Boss, it’s Raquel. I’m sick with what I assume is a sinus infection and nasty sore throat, plus very nauseous. I still plan to come in today, but my doc is only open a few hours, so I’m going to wait here and call when they open at 8:30 to see if they can fit me in today before the holiday weekend. They’re about 3 minutes from my house but 30 minutes from there, and they can usually fit me in pretty fast.
7:12  Boss: Ok
8:06  Boss: Wait
8:06  Boss: Are you coming in at 8:30 or staying home and calling at 8:30?
8:07  Me:
8:08  Me:
8:09  Me: I’m staying here. They usually squeeze me in early, and they’re right here, so it’s a 30 minute drive from work.
(Six minutes pass)
8:15  Boss: What time can the team expect you to be at the office today? Your coworker is covering another branch.
8:16  Me:  (screaming obscenities into my pillow)
8:19  Me:  (still muttering terrible things into the toilet)
8:22  Me: My doctor’s office opens at 8:30. So I don’t know yet.
8:32  Boss: Did you call?
8:33  Me:
8:33  Me: Yes, and I keep getting a recorded message saying they’re closed, but they open at 8:30. If they don’t answer in the next few minutes, I’ll go to the local clinic a few minutes from my house. They take walk-ins.
8:41  Boss: Ok
8:44  Boss: Please do the best you can if you can make it. [Two people from an entirely different department who don’t share even one job duty with me and just happen to share the same building space] are out sick also.
8:45  Me:  (throws phone across room and lays down on bed)
9:30  Me: So I’m still waiting at the local clinic for a doctor, but I’m in a room. I have a fever of 101 and my blood pressure was 162/111, so I’m not sure how great it’s looking for me being able to come to work today.
10:03  Me: Your voicemail is full. I just left the doctor. They wrote me out because of the fever and the fact that I’m contagious and having chills with nausea.
10:03  Me: But I can lay down and take two Advil and see if that fixes everything.
10:04  Me: If you really need me to come in later.
10:04  Me: Just let me know.
10:08  Boss: I let them know you are not going to make it in today.
10:08  Boss: Wait
10:08  Boss: What is contagious?
10:09  Me:
10:10  Me:
10:10  Me:  Upper respiratory infection, turning into sinus. Glands, ears, and throat are all swollen.
10:12  Boss: Ok

(Three hours pass)
1:27  Boss: How are you feeling? I added 8 hours of time off for today. You are at 38 hours for the week. Do you want me to add hours for your dentist appointment earlier this week, or just leave it as is?
1:28  Boss: Or actually just an hour and a half, you have overtime from last week.
1:29  Me:  (sleeping)
2:16  Me: You can leave it as-is at 38 hours. That’s fine with me.
2:17  Boss: Ok, up to you
2:32  Boss: What did you decide?
2:33  Me: (turns phone off)

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the tmi edition, collection 1

Overheard conversations by coworkers in general everyday interactions:

Teller F:  (pointing to her friend, who worked in a different department) “People think she’s a ditz because she has big boobs. But they’re fake. I knew her when she still had small ones. The new ones are great, though. She loves showing them off. You can ask her for a peek if you want.”

Teller B: (returning from the bathroom with a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey in hand) “Holy s**t, y’all, this book is freaking hot. I hope you bitches have the other two books in the series here to take home when I finish this one. But I was just pooping right now, and that’s why I was in the bathroom so long. I wasn’t touching myself, I swear. You can go smell if you want.”

Overheard conversations between two tellers who were both trying to get pregnant:

Teller 1:  “Did you know that cough syrup can work on the mucus in your hoo-ha too?”
Teller 2:  “Wha….what?”
Teller 1:  “Yeah! You can use, like, Robitussin and it’ll thicken the mucus in your vagina just like it does the stuff in your nose when you’re sick and trying to get better.”
Teller 2:  (eyes widen) “Do you…how do you get it into your vagina?”
Teller 1:  (looks disgusted) “You don’t STICK IT UP THERE, dumbass. You DRINK IT. God.”

Teller 1:  “You didn’t stand up after you had sex, right? Cause then all the good stuff falls right out. It’s why you can’t get pregnant if you’re on top. My college boyfriend was allergic to all kinds of condoms, and he taught me that.”

The most disgusting story I’ve ever heard, told to a friend during her first week on the job – you’ve been warned:

Teller 1:  “So, at my old job, we had this regular customer, right? And he was in his eighties EASY, and he would come in almost every single week with a different lady. All of these ladies were SO much younger than he was, and he would request to open his safe deposit box and insist that they be allowed to go into the privacy room together.”
Teller 2:  “Ewwwwww! Were they in there a long time together??? Did you have to like, clean UP afterward? I might vomit…”
Teller 1:  “OMG, no. They would only be in there a few minutes, five tops, and then they would come back out with the box and hand it to me. And that box, Lucy…HOLY CRAP. That box STANK. I mean, like death itself. It was disgusting…me and the other tellers would take bets on what on earth was inside it. And it was one of the big boxes too, a 10” x 10” size…”
Teller 2:  “Did you ever find out what he kept in it?”
Teller 1:  “Oh, THAT’S why I’m telling you this story. So, this one day, me and this other girl are struggling to get it out for him, because it’s super heavy and he usually needs help carrying it into the privacy room. So she has butterfingers and we slip when we’re carrying it in there, and it hits the edge of the table and the top flies open…and do you KNOW what we found inside???”
Teller 2:  (enthralled) “WHAT??? What was it???”
Teller 1:  (whispers dramatically) “PANTIES. Dirty…..panties. An entire, disease-filled, disgusting box’s worth of nasty drawers. Like, DOZENS of them.”
Teller 2:  (dry heaves)
Teller 1:  “This gross little old pervert was bringing in different women every week – we now assume they were hookers – and taking their panties for his nasty-ass collection.”
Teller 2:  (looks horrified and nauseated)
Teller 1:  (looks nostalgic) “I left that job for here not too long afterward. I wonder if he’s still around and bringing those skanks by? And if not, and he’s dead and buried……can you IMAGINE what his personal representative would have done after getting court documentation to open that box?”
Teller 2:  “Omg…I’m gonna be sick.”

adventures in babysitting money

Teller 1 (an elderly Christian man who takes forever to do a basic transaction, and often holds impromptu worship services at the teller line):  “What can I help you with, ma’am?”
Customer:  “I need to know why my account balance isn’t correct! I am off by $40, and you better tell me where my money is because I want it back.”
Teller 1:  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll be happy to help. What did you need me to do?”
Customer:  “I NEED YOU to tell me where my money is! Can you do that?”
Teller 1:  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be happy to go over your most recent transactions with you…” (painstakingly reads each individual transaction as the line in the lobby backs up into the parking lot, and customers start glaring at him)
Customer:  “NONE OF THOSE ARE FOR $40.”
Teller 1:  “Well, it looks like there’s one from $40 from this past weekend, ma’am. A debit card charge.”
Customer:  “Where was that??? I didn’t do that!”
Teller 1:  (hesitates) “It was at a local store.”
Customer:  “I HAVEN’T BEEN SHOPPING LATELY. WHAT STORE??? That’s probably FRAUD.”
Teller 1:  (hesitates again) “It was a local store that’s at the mall. A lady’s store, ma’am.”
Customer: “WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?”
Teller 1:  (gets fed up) “It was at VICTORIA’S SECRET, MA’AM. You spent $40 at VICTORIA’S SECRET. DID YOU BUY ANY LINGERIE RECENTLY???” (all customers in the lobby stare at him with their mouths open)
Customer:  “Ohhhhhhh, yeah. That’s right. I did that.”

Customer:  “Listen, I need to know what a specific charge is on my account. My account number is ______…what on earth did I buy for $24.99? I swear I don’t remember getting anything for that amount.”
Me:  (sees the purchase is for a penis enlargement pill and immediately wants to fall into a hole) “Um…I’m not sure. It’s a debit card purchase?”
Customer:  “Yeah, but from WHERE?”
Me:  “I’m not really sure…looks like it was done last week?”
Customer:  “But what did I buy??? What store is it from?”
Me:  “Well……it looks like it was an online purchase, or maybe done by phone? Did you order something online? Or call a number you saw on TV, or heard on the radio, perhaps?”
Customer:  “I really don’t remember. You can’t see who got my money???”
Me:  (thinking HOLY S**T, there’s got to be some way of saying this without blurting it out like the Victoria’s Secret moment!) “Well…maybe some kind of medication? Or vitamin, or SUPPLEMENT of some kind?”
Customer:
Me:  “Did you order a free sample of some kind of vitamin or supplement, or something? Because sometimes that’s only a trial, and then they start charging you when they send you bigger” (stifles a giggle) “shipments.”
Customer:  (clears throat) “Oh, yeah, yeah. I remember now.” (hangs up)

Me:  (interviewing loan customer)  “Now do you have any additional sources of income besides the disability payments?”
Customer:  “Unfortunately, no, not right now. After the accident I’ve had a hard time finding something else I can do physically.”
(Two hours pass, and I call the customer back to let her know she’s been declined.)
Me:  “Unfortunately, we wouldn’t be able to do a loan of that amount with your income and your already existing financial obligations. Underwriting has determined that it just wouldn’t be affordable for you.”
Customer:  “Well, I HAVE additional income.”
Me:
Customer:  “You didn’t ASK ME about that, did you?”
Me:  “Yes, ma’am. I actually asked you in the initial interview if you had any additional income that we could include, and you said that no, you hadn’t been able to find or obtain employment after the accident.”
Customer:
Me:  “Is there anything else I can help you wi-”
Customer:  “YOU NEED to add my other income in.”
Me:  “Okay. How much additional income do you receive each month?”
Customer:  (covers the phone and yells someone’s name. Muffled talking ensues)  “I’m actually not sure of that right now…I can let you know next month?”
Me:  “Of course you can. What is the source of that income?”
Customer:  “Pardon me?”
Me:  “Where are you receiving the income from?  What business, or company, or industry are you receiving the funds from?”
Customer:  (muffled whispering for thirty seconds)  “I can’t tell you that right now.”
Me:  “How often do you receive this income?”
Customer:  (more whispering, some slight yelling)  “I dunno.”
Me:  (fed up) “Listen, for us to be able to include it, you have to provide us with proof, and it has to be an official tax or court document. Once you have that, please give me a call back and we’ll do a new application, okay?”
Customer:  (hangs up)

i live to serve. apparently.

At work today:

Coworker from another location:  (sends instant message)  Hi – are you available to help Mrs. King?
Me:  I’m actually on the phone right now, and will probably be a while.  What is it that she’s needing?
Coworker:  She wants a copy of the document she signed with me last week.
Me:
Coworker:  Do you have it?
Me:  ….No?  Do you?
Coworker:  Well, I mailed it to you because she’s your customer.
Me:  You mailed me the docs that YOU filled out with a customer last week?
Coworker:  Yes.
Me:  Um, no. I haven’t gotten them yet.
Coworker:  Well, can you call her when you’re available?
Me:
Coworker:  She really would like to be helped quickly.
Me:  The customer standing in front of you?  The one that you helped last week? Who is physically in one of our locations, asking you for assistance?  You’d like me to call her later?
Coworker:  Yes, please.
Me:  (closes conversation window)
Coworker:  (one minute later)  So do you know how long you’ll be? And do you think you can get her a copy of the document?
Me:  I don’t have any documents to give her a copy of…?!?!?!
Coworker:  Darn.  Those should have arrived by now.
Me:  Oh, I know!  (sarcastically)  Won’t you have scanned copies of those documents on the server, since, I dunno…it’s REQUIRED to file copies of every single document we have customers sign…?
Coworker:  I wonder where they went…?
Me:
Coworker:  OMG, they are still here in an envelope. What the HECK. Stupid mail. Guess I can help her after all…ha ha! Thanks!
Me:  (closes message window, throws pen across cubicle, screams internally for an entire minute, ponders the risk of starting to drink on the job)

’cause it’s just another day in the life of the (dumbass) boss

Hand-to-God true tales of working with the craziest (and sometimes most entertaining) retail bosses ever…part one:

Female Manager:  (showing her phone to one of her female subordinates)  “And here we are, at the _____________ city’s S&M parade. I dunno if they get some kinda permit, or if the cops just look the other way, or what…but there were naked dudes EVERYWHERE.”
Employee:  (looks horrified)
Manager:  “OMG, look at that one’s balls…HA HA.”

Same manager:  (talking to a very conservative female subordinate in her sixties)  “But there was this scene in the movie, right? And it’s this lady masturbating…and I THINK the only reason it got an R rating was because it was a chick, you know?”
Employee:  (face turns red as a stop sign)
Manager: “I mean, if it was a dude, it wouldn’t have been able to pass for an R rating, I think. But ladies masturbating is, like, totally okay for the big screen.”

Same manager:  “Gawd, it’s like SOOOO SLOW here today. Wanna talk about the most public places you’ve ever had sex? I’ll start…”

Different male manager:  (during my first week at his location)  “Did I ever tell you about the time that I went to this local bar and hooked up with a lady I met there?”
Me:
Manager:  “It was super cool, I think. I was kinda drunk. But she was hitting on me, like ALL OVER ME, you know???”
Me:  (still in shock)
Manager:  “She practically had her hand down my pants, and then she points at this dude down the bar, and whispers in my ear, ‘That’s my husband. He likes to watch.’ I practically s**t my pants, but when she invited me across the street to their hotel room, you bet your ass I went. One of the weirdest moments of my life. But the sex was great.” (brief pause) “So, did you get your keys and combos yet?”

Same male manager:  (talking to a new female employee)  “So, you likin’ it here so far?”
New employee:  “Yes! It seems great! I’m learning so much.”
Manager:  “You know what the most important thing I’ve ever learned before?”
Me:  (groans)
New employee:  (leans in excitedly)  “What’s that?”
Manager:  “That sex with strippers is just TOTALLY off the charts. I mean, like a whole different dimension of hot.”
New employee:  “Wh….what???”
Manager:  (grins lewdly)  “I’m serious, man. It’s just a much higher level than with a regular chick.”  (walks away)
New employee:  (turns to me)  “What……in the everliving f**k.”
Me:  (shrugs apologetically)  “By the way…..he’s a perverted ass. And yes, his boss knows. Sorry I didn’t warn you beforehand. I thought for sure he’d have enough godforsaken sense to leave a new employee alone.”
New employee: “Jesus. How in the hell do you work with him? I’m SO glad I’m not going to be at this location.”
Me: “Oh, he’s never here…he takes like 5-hour lunches everyday. You can almost forget what a loser he is when he’s likely spending his entire afternoon in strip clubs, and having sex with married couples in bars.”
New employee: (looks at me like I grew a second head)
Me:  “TRUST ME, you do NOT want to know.”
New employee:  (walks away)

EPILOGUE:  The female manager was, of course, fired.  The male manager was not.  We will not go into specifics about which one of them was known for breaking sales goals left & right and bringing in all kinds of new business, versus which one of them closed like one sale in two years, because I’m sure you could guess.

convos with coworkers edition: why do i bother?

Actual (out-loud) conversations happening in my workplace today:

Coworker A:  Did you just get upset about me printing all of my files from the past month to search for one report?
Coworker S:  Well, you printed like 25 pages.  That’s a huge waste of trees when you can just literally look at a report in Excel.
Coworker A:  God, you’re so bamboozled, just like all of those tree-hugger hippies.  Trees are fine – waste all of them that you want.
Coworker S:  (incredulous) … Did you seriously just say “Waste all the trees you want”…???
Coworker A:  Recycling is such a waste of money.  We’ll never run out of trees.  That’s just BS the system wants you to believe.
Me:  (under my breath)  Breitbart-sheep-says-what?
Coworker A:  Huh?
Me:  Close enough.

Coworker P:  (most annoying man on the planet) Good morning, sunshine!
Me:
Coworker P:  How ya feeling, sweetie?
Me:  (shortly) Fine.
Coworker P:  You got your reports pulled up yet, hon?
Me:  No.  I’m actually on the phone.  (points to headset in ear)
Coworker P:  Okee-dokee, you just get those to me when you can!
Me:  I’m sorry, what…?  I’m on the phone……
Coworker P:  Oh gosh, I’m sorry.  I’ll bug you later, dear.
Me:  (manages not to throw a cup of coffee at his head, which is a success in my book before 9 a.m.)

Coworker P:  (who apparently thinks he’s my manager, and also apparently is super-bored)  So!  Goals for the month.  Volume, dollar amounts.  What do you think we should set as our target for October?
Me:  Well, you know how I feel about setting arbitrary goals.  We’re both very hard workers who work at capacity.  I mean, both of us have overtime every week, and we’ve each already skipped lunches this week to help our customers.
Coworker P:
Me:  Because having a numerical “target” set as a “goal” doesn’t in any way increase my ability to exceed our current volume numbers or sell any more products.  You know?
Coworker P:
Me:  Um.  What do you think…?
Coworker P:  So.  (pauses)  40 sales each, you think?  Half a million total in USD?
Me:   Sure.  That’s fine.  Whatever.

I look over and realize that the grocery bag I hastily packed full of random things this morning (in lieu of a purse) is lying open on my desk, and pantyliners are visibly scattered everywhere. A lightbulb goes off above my head.
Me:  Do you think if I left a box of Tampax sitting out on the middle of my desk, annoying coworker P will stop coming by my station?  Like, I can period-shame him away from bothering me each morning?
Coworker B:  No. He’s like a puppy. He probably wouldn’t even notice.
Me:  (sighs)  Dammit.

Coworker A:  (on the phone with a customer)  Well, listen, Mrs. Rightfully-worried.  We just can’t fix that problem for you at this time, so we’re going to have to be patient, aren’t we?  Yes ma’am.  We will just have to be patient!  …What?  Oh….no, I don’t think you’re a dog.  Why do you ask?

Coworker A:  (walks by and notices my bright pink earbuds)  Hey, whatcha listening to?
Me:  Oh…..you know. The latest Maroon 5…some Taylor Swift.  (smiles sweetly)
Coworker A:  Sounds great!  (walks away)
Me:  (whisper-singing “Straight Outta Compton” angrily)  “You too, boy, if you f**k with me…the police are gonna have to come and get me, off your ASSSSS…that’s how I’m going out…”

As a bonus – some general social awkwardness:

Manager: (hands me a trophy that looks like a cross between some sort of astronomy award, and a kid’s cheap soccer participation award)  Here’s the trophy for most sales in the company for the month!  Congratulations!
Me: Great!
Manager:  What do you want to do with it?
Me: (at a total loss…suddenly improvises tipping it back near my mouth)  Can I drink from it?  Ha ha ha…
Manager:
Me:  (pointing at the tiny cup-like part in the middle)
Manager:  Um…I wouldn’t.  (takes the trophy out of my hands and walks away)

Map Key:

Coworker P = overeager Puppy dog
Coworker A = Annoying AF
Coworker B = Bestie at work
Coworker S = miss Sarcastic
Me = I hope to Jesus you understand this one without an explanation.