I’m a locksmith located in a good area, and I often work with a coworker. We get calls from up to one hundred miles away all the time, so we occasionally get some real gems.

A lady calls us to let us know that her son has locked himself out of his car, but she doesn’t like our price, so she says she’ll call a friend to see if he can unlock it for free first.  

Lo and behold, the friend does not succeed, so we head on over. It literally takes about thirty seconds for my coworker to open the door while I finish the paperwork and collect payment. Back in the van, my coworker turns to me with a shocked look on his face and says, “The door was unlocked the whole time.”

Another time, my coworker goes to unlock a car at the town square and returns saying, “The back window was open. I just reached through and pulled the button up.”

Another time, a woman calls, needing her 2010s-era car opened. She later calls back to cancel because someone told her to try the key in the door, and it worked.

One time, we go to make keys for a car, and we get there only to discover the customer has given us the wrong year, make, and model. He had zero idea what he drove.

One time, a man insists he needs a key for his car on a day that is freezing cold and snowing. He absolutely does not want us putting it off for a sane day, and since there isn’t much snow at the time, we figure it won’t be a big problem. So, we go.

And we find a car that has clearly been sitting in the middle of a field for somewhere around three years. It is little more than scrap metal. At that time, the snow starts really coming down. Also, the locks are so messed up that we can’t do anything with them, so we can’t make the key.

Finally, a man calls us because he has gotten a new ignition switch and needs the new key programmed to his truck. On the surface, it sounds easy, but when we get there, we discover this genius got his old switch out by clipping all the wires to the antenna ring and more or less ripping it out of the way.

We explain that the antenna ring was absolutely essential to getting his truck to start, and so he grabs it, wires it back in wrong, and then promptly turns the car on. And that’s how he turned his expensive truck into a paperweight.

A customer is trying to stack up multiple coupons, even though they all say clearly “one per purchase.” He has escalated his complaint all the way up to the owner of the franchise, who has told him the exact same thing as all the other members of staff before him.

Customer: “I know my rights! You legally have to accept these coupons!”

Owner: “Sir, I—”

Customer: “I am friends with the district attorney! You can’t afford to mess with me!”

Owner: “Sir, you can’t even afford a pizza.”

The customer huffed, but finally gave up and stormed out, throwing the coupons all over the floor.

Related:
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 4
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 3
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 2

Our management has put three signs up on the store’s front window as a result of the recent health situation. The first one shows our new hours, 8:00 am to 8:00 pm, rather than our usual 7:00 am to 12:00 am. The second one says that we are no longer allowing returns, refunds, or exchanges. The third one says not to enter the store if you have symptoms.

One morning, around 7:45 am, an angry-looking older woman starts pounding on the door. The manager tries to tell her we’re not open through the glass door, but she doesn’t go away. Finally, fifteen minutes later, he lets her in.

Customer: “What the h*** is wrong with you?! I’ve been waiting an hour to get in here!”

This is an absolute lie. The manager ignores it.

Manager: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Because of the outbreak, we’re opening at eight now. I couldn’t have let you in until just now.”

Customer: “That’s absurd! What kind of store is this?! If you’re going to change your hours, you should let people know!”

Manager: “We did let people know. There’s a sign right there with our new hours in very large lettering.”

Customer: “That’s just words on a paper; it doesn’t mean anything! Haven’t you ever heard of a teensy, tiny, little thing called, oh, I don’t know, customer service?!“

My manager smiles like Jack Nicholson in “The Shining.”

Manager: “What can I help you with?”

Customer: “About d*** time!”

She holds up a plastic bag with our store’s logo on it.

Customer: “I bought this roast chicken yesterday and it was bad. I want to return it and get my money back.”

In the same tone, he tells her about our new hours and policies.

Manager: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Because of the outbreak, we are no longer doing returns or refunds.”

Customer: “What?! How can you not be doing refunds?!”

Manager: “It’s unsafe to allow products that have been removed from the store back into the store in case they’ve been contaminated.”

Customer: “You can’t do that! This chicken was bad and you’re supposed to give me back my money!”

Manager: “We can’t help you with that at this time.”

Customer: “You can’t just say you’re not giving refunds anymore if you don’t tell people!”

Manager: “There’s a sign on the door saying that we’re not doing it anymore.”

Customer: “F*** your signs, f*** your chicken, and f*** you!”

She turns around and stomps out of the store, lifting the chicken over her head and slamming it down onto the pavement in the parking lot on her way out.

Me: “If she didn’t read the first two signs, what are the odds she read the one about not coming in if you’re sick?”

Manager: “We are all going to die.”

My store offers curbside pickup for groceries. The customers have to tell us their names through the call box before we bring their groceries out. I get a call for a delivery.

Me: “Hi, can I get the last name for pickup?”

The customer is garbled because his loud truck is running, but I’m able to hear the ending.

There are two names with that specific ending at this point. However, I just spoke to one of these two customers and she said she was on her way over. For our purposes, let’s say the two names are Johnson and Williamson.

Me: “Was that Williamson?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll be right out.”

I grab the groceries and the card reader and head out to meet the customer. Every single bag has the customer’s name clearly labeled in large, bolded, capital letters. By the time I get out to the car, pushing out the cart of groceries, the customer has turned the truck off and is waiting outside the vehicle for me.

Me: “Hi, Mr. Williamson?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Okay, your total is $226.52.”

Customer: “All right.”

He hands me a credit card.

Customer: “Can I start loading?”

I notice the name on credit card.

Me: “Um, wait. Are you picking up for Williamson or Johnson?”

Customer: “Johnson.”

The customer notices Williamson on the tags finally.

Customer: “Wait, are there two Johnsons?”

Me: “No, there’s not. I thought you said Williamson, so I grabbed that order. I’ll be right back with your order.”

I get that maybe he couldn’t hear me over the truck the first time I asked, but the truck was off the second time I asked. How unobservant are you that you don’t notice your last name suddenly has, like, five extra letters and an extra syllable, and starts with a different letter of the alphabet? Especially after you look at it?

A woman returned two miniskirts in a vacuum bag — like the kind that goes on a vacuum! The only way to open it was with scissors. She did have the receipt and the clothes were in mint condition. She didn’t speak a word of her choice of bag throughout the transaction. 

How did she get them in there?