(I work in a popular party store, and we sell balloons. We sell them by the package, and individually if you would like to have them inflated. I am working the front counter when a customer walks out from the aisle.)
Customer: “Are these balloons helium free?” *proceeds to hold up a package of latex balloons that were not inflated*
Me: “Yes, they are.”
Customer: “How can you tell?”
Customer: “I need to book a birthday party. How much advance notice do you need?”
Me: “Okay, we can do that. We need at least one week of advance notice.”
Customer: “Well, that won’t work! I need it to be next Sunday!”
Me: “No, that’s fine. That’s a week, so we can do that.”
Customer: “What time is my party going to be?”
Me: “We have one spot open that day. Our only available spot for [date] is 10:00 to 11:45.”
Customer: “Well, that won’t work at all! We have a very important church event that morning. What other times do you have?”
Me: “There are three other parties going on here that day. The 10:00 am spot is the only one open.”
Customer: “What if we did it earlier in the day? Can’t I do that?”
Me: “We open at 10:00.”
Customer: “You are inconveniencing me! Fine, what about Saturday?”
(I check the system, and see that we have three parties on Saturday as well. I groan inwardly because I can just tell this is going to be a problem for this customer. Also, I shouldn’t be booking a party less than a week in advance, but I figure that since it is nearly a week, my boss won’t mind too much.)
Me: “There are three parties Saturday as well, but there are two spots open. You could book your party from 4:00 to 5:45 or from 6:00 to 7:45.”
Customer: “Ugh! This is not going to work for me! You people are very inconvenient about this; it’s like you don’t even want people to have their parties here!”
This story is part of our Birthday Party Roundup!
Read the next Birthday Party Roundup story!
Read the Birthday Party Roundup!
(A nice elderly lady is paying by check, when her back suddenly cramps and she has to grab hold of the counter.)
Me: “Ma’am, are you okay? Do you want me to grab a chair or something?”
Customer: “No, no, it’s this stupid back of mine. It’s been going out for years. Let me finish this check and get out to the car.” *finishes writing check*
Me: “I’m sorry you aren’t feeling well. I’ll hurry this along so you can get out of here. May I see your driver’s license?”
Customer: “My what?”
Me: “Your driver’s license. I need it to key in for the check.”
(It’s how our store confirms the person doesn’t have hot checks out on them.)
Customer: “Oh, no; it’s outside in my car.”
Me: “Is it far? I can help you out there. Do you want me to get the purse for you?”
Customer: “I’m parked right outside. Would you be a dear and grab it? The purse is right there in the seat.”
Me: “I most certainly will!”
(I run outside, click the button, and reach in. About that time, someone screams at me and I get hit in the back by a fat purse. It hurts a lot, so I scream and fall down in return, only to get hit in the head.)
Stranger: “You’re stealing someone’s stuff! You’d better put that back right now!”
(She is still hitting me as she says this.)
Me: “Ow! Ma’am! Please stop! I’m getting this for the lady inside!”
Stranger: “HELP! SOMEONE! CALL POLICE!”
(She hits me again as I go running back in the store with the customer’s purse. My nose is bleeding, my glasses are broken, and I’m in tears.)
Customer: “Oh, my God! What happened to you?”
Me: “Someone was protecting your stuff for you.”
(I went on break after that so I could clean up. No cops came by, luckily.)
(It’s the start of February, so we’ve begun putting up Valentine balloons around the store. One of my coworkers, in her mid-20s, is placing balloon sets through the aisles when she comes back with a weird look on her face. She comes behind the balloon counter where we are.)
Coworker #1: “There’s some guy stalking me around the store.”
Coworker #2: “What? Who? I didn’t see anyone.”
(Sure enough, around five minutes later, a man in his 60s who looks like he may have some mental complications comes around the balloon counter, trying to look sneaky. He looks at me, then Coworker #2, but can’t seem to find the worker he’s been following, since she’s snuck into the office nearby.)
Me: “Can I help you, sir?”
Man: “Yeah, uh, I was… How much are your balloons?”
Me: “The mylar hearts are 99 cents apiece. Would you like some?”
Man: “Oh. No… well, yeah. Um. Was there a girl earlier? Long blonde hair?”
Coworker #1: “Do you mean Sandy?” *name of another coworker that isn’t there that day* “She had to go run an errand.”
Man: *suddenly grins like he’s just heard the most beautiful thing ever* “Yeah, is that her? Does she work here? Can I get her phone number from you guys?”
Me: “Sorry, no. We don’t give personal information out.”
Man: “Oh… I get that. Can I have her schedule, then?”
Me: “No, we don’t give those out to non-employees.”
Man: “Oh. Sandy is her name? Okay.”
(He walks out to his car and sits there. We watch him for a few minutes before getting back to work. Coworker #1 finally comes back out, getting back to work. Thirty minutes later, he comes back in, and makes a beeline for the balloon counter while we are all helping customers.)
Man: “Sandy! Hey, Sandy!”
Coworker #1: “That isn’t my name. I’m a little busy right now, sir.”
Man: “Sandy, I made something for you!”
Coworker #1: “Thank you, sir. If you’ll leave it there, I can look at it later, but right now I’m busy.”
Man: “Will you go out with me, Sandy?”
Coworker #1: “Sir, I’m busy.”
(He stood there for five minutes, then walked back out to the car and drove off. Apparently he had stolen one of our Valentine cards, had used ketchup to draw inside of the card, and had used a pencil to write his phone number with ‘I love you’ written on the back. A week later, on Valentine’s Day, he came back up to the shop to give her a note. I was off that day, but I was told the letter was about how he was in love with her and wanted to marry her. He wanted to know if she wanted to go on a date sometime and to call him. He wrote for her to call him a few times in the letter, and had written ‘I love you’ around the corners of the paper, as well. He came back an hour after delivering the letter, dressed in a tux, to ask her again for a date and to tell her he was in his car, waiting. They said he waited three hours out there, then drove off. After that, we never saw him again.)
(It’s my last day at my store, so I’m more relaxed and friendlier with customers than usual, making off the wall jokes that most have appreciated. I’ve mostly been filling balloon orders while my coworkers work the registers and man the aisles. It’s fifteen minutes to closing when a grumpy older woman comes in and slaps a pack of balloons down.)
Customer: “I need these filled up now. How much are they?”
Me: “We usually charge the normal rate for balloons bought outside our store. However I can blow them up for a dollar instead.” *this is thirty cents cheaper per balloon*
Customer: “That’s too much. I’m not paying that.”
Me: “I’m afraid we can’t blow your balloons up, then. We do have a tank over there for twenty five dollars that you can use, though.”
Customer: “WHAT? I need these done right now! I don’t have time to go anywhere else. I need them done! I have a party I’m supposed to be at. Fine, I’ll pay; just hurry up!”
(I’m one of the faster people on the helium tanks, but she’s yelling at me the whole time I’m blowing up all fifteen balloons. As soon as I’m done, she pulls out another pack that has glow-in-the-dark lights inside.)
Me: “Oh, sorry, we can’t blow those up. They have metal pieces inside, and if one of the balloons were to pop, it could hurt someone.”
Customer: “That makes no sense at all! You blew all of those up without popping them. You’re just being lazy! Blow those up or I’m reporting you.”
Me: “One of those can pop and hit me in the eye. I’m not losing my eyesight because you want them blown up.”
Customer: “Listen to me. My grandson wants these balloons blown up. You are going to blow them up, or I swear, I’m going to make your life miserable.” *shoves the balloons at me again* “Now get to blowing them up! I am not going to wait around while you make any more stupid excuses.”
Me: “So, it’s okay for me to lose my eye because your grandson really wants these blown up, huh?”
Customer: *stuttering* “That’s not what I said at all! You’re putting words in my mouth now. I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal out of blowing up ten balloons, all because some metal might shoot out at you or not.”
Me: “That’s a big chance of might. Are you going to pay for my doctor bills?”
Customer: “What?”
Me: “My doctor bills. I can’t afford to pay for surgery to repair or remove my eye. Are you going to pay for it?”
Customer: “No… what are you talking about?”
Me: “Are you going to pay for my recuperation while I’m out of a job? I won’t be able to drive if I lose my eye, which means I won’t be able to come to work. Are you going to pay my bills?”
Customer: *stares at me like I’m insane* “I’ll just take these fifteen, then.”
Me: “Yeah, it’s all fun and games until you get reminded that we’re human beings, too, huh? Have a nice day.”
(My manager called the next day to tell me I was over the top, but she was laughing as she said it. When the woman called to complain the next day, she demanded to have me fired, and my manager told her I couldn’t be fired; I didn’t work there. Apparently, it confused the woman, and she hung up.)
