Customer: “Excuse me…where is your dog cookbook section?”

Me: “Um…dog cookbooks?”

Customer: “Yes. Where are they located?”

Me: “We don’t have a dog cookbook section in the store. I don’t think we have any dog cookbooks at all.”

Customer: *stares blankly* “You can’t be serious.”

Me: “I’m sorry, miss. I might be able to order-”

Customer: *interrupting* “YOU DON’T HAVE ANY DOG COOKBOOKS? THIS IS RIDICULOUS! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO GET MY DOG FOR CHRISTMAS?”

Me: “Have you considered a nice set of dog cookware?”

Customer: *storms out*

Me: “Thank you for calling **** Realtors, this is ****, how may I help you?”

Customer: “Hi, I’m interested in 734 **** Street. Could you tell me more information about it?”

Me: “You must mean 732 **** Street?”

Customer: “No, 734.”

Me: “Does the house have a sign in the yard that says **** Realtors?”

Customer: “No, but the one next door does. I figured I’d just call you guys since you sell houses.”

Me: “Has it occurred to you that somebody probably lives in 734 **** Street?”

Customer: “Well, yeah, but can’t you just, like…give it to me?”

Me: “You want me to call the family and tell them that they have to leave their house because I’m selling it to you?”

Customer: “Yeah, that would be good. And can I move in by Thursday? I’m all packed.”

(It took a good 15 minutes to explain to him that I couldn’t just sell random peoples’ homes.)

(When special order books come in we call the customers, but we don’t normally say the book’s title over the phone. A man came in one day to pick up his special order - some book about 9/11.)

Customer: “I have a complaint about my order.”

Me: “Yes, sir?”

Customer: “When the woman called me, she said the title of my book in the message.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, is that a problem?”

Customer: “Well, you see, the government’s tapping my phone. I don’t want them to know that I know what they’re up to.”

Me: “Um…Ok, sir. I’m sorry about that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Customer: “Thanks.”

Me: “…would you like a bag, sir?”

Customer: *starts laughing* “No thanks. I’m not that paranoid!”

(One day, a courier came in to drop off a check. I was using one of our pens to sign it.)

Courier: “Hey, that’s a really nice pen!”

Me: “Yeah, it’s not bad.”

Courier: “Don’t worry, though. I’m not going to steal it!”

Me: “Ha - Ok…”

Courier: “No, for real. I don’t steal things.”

Me: “That’s…good?”

(By now I’ve finished signing, but she isn’t leaving.)

Courier: “My best friend once accused me of stealing her check. Her $300 check!”

Me: “Um…that’s too bad.”

Courier: “We aren’t friends anymore. I mean, I make that much money in a DAY! You hear me?! I drive around MILLION dollar checks. Why would I steal her stupid tiny check?”

Me: “I don’t know…”

Courier: “I let her move into my basement. I told her it was only $500 a month. Isn’t that a great deal? Isn’t it?!”

Me: “Yeah, sounds good…”

Courier: “And how does the little b**** thank me? She accuses me of stealing her money! When I can steal ANYBODY’S million dollar checks! So you know what I told her? I told her to get the F*** out of my basement!”

Me: “…”

Courier: “Now I hear she’s on drugs. What a winner. Not like you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You wouldn’t accuse me of stealing, would you?”

Me: “Um…no.”

Me: “Thank you for calling ****, how can I help you?”

Caller: “How far are you from Las Vegas?”

Me: “233 miles.”

Caller: “So that’s about what, an hour, hour and a half?”

Me: “Only if you drive about 230 miles an hour.”

(A customer purchased a copy of a popular anti virus program. About 2 hours later I received a phone call.)

Me: “Thank you for calling ****, how can I help you?”

Customer: “I just bought a **** anti virus program from your store, and it’s not working.”

Me: “What about it isn’t working? Did you install the program?”

Customer: “It’s not interfacing with my system.”

Me: “Not…interfacing? I’m not sure I understand what the problem is.”

Customer: “I set the box next to my computer, and it’s not doing anything at all. Nothing is happening on my computer! This program is defective.”

Me: “Um…well, you have to open the box and insert the CD into your computer, then install the program before it will run.”

Customer: “WHAT?! How do I do that?”

Me: “…”

Created by our friends at Quitting Time

Original Story

(An angry, overweight female customer approaches me with a Nintendo Wii Fit and hands me her receipt.)

Me: “Hi, what can I help you with today?”

Customer: “I’d like to return this.”

Me: “What seems to be the problem with it?”

Customer: “I think it’s broken.”

Me: “All right, what’s going on?”

Customer: “Whenever it weighs me and calculates my BMI, it labels me as obese.”

Me: “And…”

Customer: “Well, that can’t be right!”

Me: “From what I’ve heard, the measurements on Wii Fits are fairly accurate. Are you sure you want to return this? They’re pretty hard to find.”

Customer: “Are you calling me fat?!”

Me: “No, I’m just saying that…”

Customer: “You just called me fat!

Me: “No, I was just saying…”

Customer: “Whatever. I still want to return it. It’s obviously not working right. And, I think someone should talk to the designer; make them use a different word. It hurt my feelings.”

Me: *soothingly* “Maybe you could contact Nintendo; write a letter or something.”

Customer: “You know what, I will! I’ll let them know that their stupid game called me obese and made me cry for three hours straight. I haven’t eaten solid food for two days because of it. I’m so hungry! I almost fainted last night. Do you think I can sue?”

Me: “Well, you can sure try. Have a nice day.”

Customer: “Hi, what kinds of door knobs do you carry?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t have any door knobs.”

Customer: “What?! WHY NOT?”

Me: “Um…because this is a pool supply store.”

Customer: “This is totally unacceptable! I came here to get a new set of door knobs for my garage, and you’re telling me that you won’t sell me any?”

Me: “Yeah, pretty much.”

Customer: “You are so rude! I demand to know the name of the manager! I’m going to complain about this - I hope you liked your job!”

Me: “I do like my job, as a matter of fact. Here you go.”

(I hand her my business card, which states that I am the store manager.).

Me: “Just call this number and I’m sure you’ll be taken care of.”

(The customer grumbles and walks out. She gets into her car and proceeds to call the number on the business card I just handed her.)

Me: “Thank you for calling ****, this is ****, how may I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, I was just in one of your stores, and the employee was incredibly rude to me. He refused to sell me a set of door knobs.”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way ma’am, but as I just told you when you were in the store, we do not sell door knobs.”

Customer: “I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE MANAGER! NOW!”

Me: “You are, ma’am. I am the store manager.”

(The customer screams and hangs up, then speeds away in her car. In the process, she cuts off a police officer, who promptly pulls her over.)

(I notice a female customer shoving a few acne treatments into her purse.)

Me: “Excuse me, miss; you’re going to have to pay for those.”

Customer: “For what?”

Me: “For the treatments you just shoved into your purse.”

Customer: *sounding offended* “I did no such thing!”

Me: “Fine. Will you please show me there aren’t any stolen items in your bag?”

Customer: “No! You’re only doing this because I’m ugly!”

Me: “…what?”

Customer: “I can’t believe an ugly person can’t go out into public anymore without be accused of stealing!”

Me: “…”

Customer: “I’m never coming here again! *storms out, setting off the alarm and alerting security*

Co-worker: “Maybe we should have just let her have them.”