Home Is Where The Appointment Is
(The doorbell to my home rings. I answer the door to find a man in a suit with a briefcase on the doorstep. He tries to push past me.)
Me: “Can I help you?”
Man: “I’m here for my appointment.” *tries to push past me again*
Me: “You’ve got the wrong place. This is my house.”
Man: “I’m here for my appointment.” *tries to push past me once more*
Me: *physically pushing him out of the door* “This is MY HOUSE. You’ve got the WRONG address.”
Man: “But I’m here for my appointment.”
Me: “…”
Man: “Let me in. I’m here for my appointment.”
Me: “This is my house. You’ve come to the wrong address.”
Man: “I’m here for my appointment.” *tries to push past me once again*
Me: “Look, why don’t you f*** off?” *goes to close door*
Man: *puts hand on door to stop it closing* “I’m here for MY APPOINTMENT.”
Me: “YOU’VE GOT THE WRONG ADDRESS!”
Man: “This is number 82. I’m here for my appointment.”
Me: “This is number 2. This is my house.”
Man: “Look, it says 82 on the door.” *he points to the number 2 on my door*
Me: “It says 2 because it’s number 2.”
Man: “The 8 has fallen off. I’m here for my appointment.”
Me: “Has it also fallen off the gate and the bins and everywhere else? THIS IS NUMBER 2.”
Man: “But where am I supposed to go for my appointment?”
Me: “Do I look like I give a f***?” *slams door*
(He rang the doorbell a couple more times and then gave up and wandered off. I assume he eventually found number 82. Our street goes up to 37, so good luck to him!)
Question of the Week
Have you ever served a bad customer who got what they deserved?