There is one idiot customer that keeps walking around the store barefoot.
Me: “Sir, you can’t walk around the store barefoot. We sell lumber, nails, porcelain and glass items.”
Customer: “You’re infringing on my rights to not wear shoes!”
Me: “Sorry, sir, it’s policy.”
He got banned from the store after he said he was going to sue us.
It’s a typical day where it’s not exactly power hour but it’s not like I’m walking around without anything to do. An old Asian lady walks ups to me and gets my attention. She had broken English but I’m going to be putting the proper grammar here.
Me: “Hi, how can I help?”
Customer: “Yes, I’m looking for this.”
She holds out her phone to me. Now this happens quite often as people either want to show a picture, or perhaps they don’t speak good English. I live in an area that has a lot of Spanish speakers but also a hefty Asian community (mostly Chinese-Mandarin).
She’s brought up a text message, and I cannot read it. It starts with “La” and is then followed by a word that I believe is something like “Cabilla”.
This wasn’t the actual word used, but it’s what my coworkers thought maybe she was trying to look for (more on that later).
My Spanish is mediocre at best. I took Spanish in High School but forming sentences is something I’m not confident in. Only thing I’m good at is numbers and recognizing certain characters.
Me: “Oh, sorry Ma’am, I don’t speak Spanish. I can find you an employee who does.”
The Lady then looks at me like I just took my shirt off and started screaming while she watches me from the other side of a street.
Customer: “Do you speak English?”
Me: “Uh… I do, ma’am. I’m speaking it right now. I just spoke to you in English before.”
Customer: “So do you have this? Read it! It’s English!”
She holds out her phone again.
Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I do not know what that is. That is not English, or at least any word that I have heard of. I can try to find another employee who might know what that is.”
Customer: *Shakes her head.* “Why does no one speak English here?!”
She walks away in a huff. Eventually I’m able to maneuver myself to some coworkers who speak Spanish, and I tell them about what happened. When I ask them what those words meant none of them could identify what she wanted. They reaffirm to me though that use of “La” was most likely Spanish.
I eventually find a coworker who theorizes that perhaps she was looking for rebar – which they tell me “Cabilla” is an iron or steel bar – but the customer (or someone else who sent that to her) had wrote it down wrong.
I can only assume perhaps they mistook the use of the Latin Alphabet to automatically assume it was English.
I work in a construction store in the paint department. Our process is pretty simple: pick a swatch with the color you want, hand it to the paint person, and they mix the paint for you.
I am ringing out a customer who has two cans of red paint. Just as I was about to ring them up, she stops me.
Customer: “Are those red?”
Me: “Yes!”
Customer: “I don’t want them. Why did they give me red?”
I notice her swatch.
Me: “Is this yours?”
Customer: “Yes.”
Me: “Did you pick this out and hand it to the paint people?”
Customer: “Yes.”
Me: “Did you ask them to mix it for you?”
Customer: “Yes.”
Me: “That’s why they gave you red.”
Customer: “But I don’t want red! I want white!”
After some more back and forth I concede and set the paint aside. I start trying to call up to the front to have someone bring her up some white paint (all the paint before it’s unmixed is white) figuring maybe the paint had been mixed by accident? At this point the customer changes her mind again.
Customer: “I want beige.”
Me: “Beige? Not white?”
Customer: “I want beige, not white.”
Me: “You’ll have to go back to the paint department and pick out another color then.”
Customer: “Why can’t they bring it up here?”
Me: “Because there’s different shades and they’re not going to keep mixing paint if the color is off. That’s why they let you choose in the back.”
Cue more back and forth of this same nature with even another customer stepping in to explain to them how swatches work. Eventually, my supervisor steps in, having overheard what’s going on.
Supervisor: “Ma’am, you need to go back to the paint department and pick out your color.”
Customer: “But I just want beige!”
Supervisor: “We can’t help you over here. My cashiers have other customers waiting to be helped and I’m not sending them back and forth to get you paint. Now you can either purchase the paint you already had mixed or go back there and figure out what color you want.”
The lady makes a bit more of a fuss before eventually my supervisor herds her away. I learn later she had the same confusing back and forth conversation with one of the paint people who eventually refused to mix any colors until she either paid for the paint she’d picked out and requested earlier, or settled on a color.
She refused to buy the red paint and eventually left after kicking up a fuss down at another register.
I am stationed around the heaters and fires section. We have the modern electric types and conventional coal and wood burners.
Customer: “I’m looking for white coal. I don’t want that regular black coal for my fire because I’ve seen those white ones in the electric ones and they look nicer.”
Me: “Sir, those were actually pebbles. They’re more for aesthetics and display purposes and don’t actually burn.”
Customer: *Missing the point.* “I’ll take some of those then, and I can put them in my real fire!”
Me: “Sir, we can’t do that. We don’t sell what you’re asking for.”
Customer: *Increasingly angry.* “Fine! Where’s your paint aisle?!”
Me: *Suspiciously.* “Sir, what are you planning to paint?”
Customer: “If you won’t sell me white coal then I’ll just paint some black coals white instead!”
Me: “Sir, please don’t do that! Burning those will give off toxic fumes!”
Customer: *Huffs.* “Stupid little girl.”
He walks away. A few minutes later I see him approaching me again but this time with my manager in tow, pointing at me and mouthing:
Customer: “There she is! She wouldn’t help me!”
I calmly explained to my manager what had happened, and he swiftly took the bag of coals and white gloss paint out of his basket that he’d unwittingly helped him track down! The customer then started ranting and raving about how we didn’t want his custom and was escorted from the shop.
Related:
How Is This Person Still Alive?, Part 2
How Is This Person Still Alive?
My wife’s son and daughter-in-law built a new house in the country not far out of our town, a few miles south. I earned a living as a carpenter shortly after graduating from college with an accounting degree, so because of my skills, [Son] asked me to finish their basement with a family room, bathroom, office, and bedroom, along with putting down an oak floor in the kitchen and dining room area.
[Daughter-In-Law] became a full-line insurance agent. Initially, she had to work under her company’s regional manager. Usually, the first “clients” that are contacted by new agents are family. Yep. We are up.
When we get to [Son]’s house, we are met by [Daughter-In-Law] and the regional manager.
Regional Manager: “[Wife], you are so fortunate to have such a talented son. [Daughter-In-Law] gave me a tour of this house and explained all the things he has done to the house and in the basement and that wonderful shop that he built. I have to say, I am impressed at the quality of work for an amateur.”
I bit my tongue and didn’t say a word to refute that and reveal that her son had no skill and was my gopher. Her daughter-in-law only agreed, and my wife just smiled.
At the time. I was irked at my wife for not speaking up about who really did all the work. I laugh about it now because I still have my skills, and her son still does not know how to use a coping saw.
