Category: Language & Words

This category features customers whose mishandling of vocabulary and grammar are so bad that we literally have no words to describe them!

From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 6

| Calgary, AB, Canada | Bad Behavior, Family & Kids, Language & Words, Top

(I work at a hockey stadium ticket booth. A customer is using the ‘F’ word a ridiculous amount of times. Everyone is getting tired of this guy, but none faster than the six-year-old girl behind him in line.)

Little Girl:  “My Mom says if ya can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all!”

Crowd: *various sounds of agreement and thanks that she said what they felt they couldn’t*

Customer: “Well your mom must be a [10-second string of words and phrases that should NEVER be spoken to a child, EVER].”

Little Girl:  *crinkles her face up* “If you followed that rule you’d never talk again!”

(The crowd laughs loudly at the remark, and the foul-mouthed customer and his friend are shamed out of line. I comped half her father’s order.)

Related:
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 5
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 4
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 3
From The Mouth Of Babes, Part 2
From The Mouth Of Babes

A Cash Flow Returns To The Source

| Lenoir City, TN, USA | At The Checkout, Crazy Requests, Language & Words, Money

(I’m working the customer service desk and have a problem with a customer who keeps calling, in spite of being told the answer to his question several times. Frustrated, when he calls again I ask my coworker to answer. She puts him on speaker.)

Coworker: “Customer service. How may I help you?”

Caller: *slurring his words* “I need to return my fridge!”

Coworker: “Okay.”

Caller: “Yeah, and I paid $400 for it, and I found a used one for $200. I want my money back!”

Coworker: “Okay. Do you have your receipt?”

Caller: “No, but I have my credit card.”

Coworker: “Okay. We can put it back on that.”

Caller: “No! I want that in cash!”

Coworker: “Sir, that’s impossible. You paid for it with a credit card, so you get the money back on your credit card.”

Caller: “But I paid it off with CASH!”

Coworker: “Even so. The money has to go back on the card.”

Caller: “Well, f*** it, b****!”

Coworker: “I’d rather not. I don’t think you’re my type.”

(The caller swears again and hangs up.)

Coworker: *to me* “See? With idiots, you have to be clever. It confuses them.”

Not What They Claim To Be

| Adelaide, SA, Australia | Extra Stupid, Language & Words

Me: “Welcome to the [Insurance Company]. You’re speaking with [My Name].”

Caller: “Oh, hi. I don’t have my policy number or anything, but I have my name and address and I need to ask some questions.”

(Usually if they need to ask questions it’s for a claim.)

Me: “That’s fine. Is this for a claim?”

Caller: “Oh, no. It’s just a few questions about my policy.”

(I proceed to find her on the system.)

Me: “Okay, so this is for your home insurance policy. What can I help you with?”

Caller: “Okay. Well, a lil’ while ago a few tree limbs and branches fell on my house and I took out a claim and I wanted to know how it’s going?”

Me: “… Let me transfer you to claims.”

See Her In Her Cah

| Lafeyette, LA, USA | At The Checkout, Language & Words

(I’m ringing up a man and a woman. The woman is wearing a shirt and a couple of rubber bracelets that reference running in Boston.)

Me: *indicating her shirt* “You from up north?”

Woman: “Hmm? Oh, no. That was just a run I was in.”

Me: “Ah. I used to live about an hour out of Boston.”

(I finish ringing them up and hand the woman her change.)

Man: “You don’t sound like you’re from Boston.”

Me: “Well, I pick up accents pretty quick, and I’ve been in Louisiana for a year, so I guess I wouldn’t sound much like I’m from Boston anymore.”

Man: “I mean, you’re polite.”

Me: *laughing* “You haven’t seen me in the car!”

Getting A Man-Handle On Your Words

| Flagstaff, AZ, USA | At The Checkout, Food & Drink, Language & Words, Rude & Risque

(I am a woman, and I am cashiering at a grocery store that is conducting a charitable fund drive. I am packing a chatty man’s groceries into his backpack.)

Man: “Look at how you just get that all in there! You’re really man-handling that stuff!”

Me: *packing the last two things, which are pieces of fruit* “Oh, but I don’t want to man-handle your peaches.”

Man: “I don’t want to man-handle your peaches.”

(I splutter and stare at this, torn between outrage and hilarity.)

Man: “I’m sorry.” *as if to himself* “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Me: “To make it up to me, you will donate to our fundraiser.”

Man: “Deal.”

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