Guitar Stringing You Along

, , , , , | Right | April 26, 2019

(We’ve had a new customer come into our guitar store three to four times a week, usually for around thirty minutes each time. He always goes directly into the room with the most expensive guitars, shuts the door, and starts playing one of the most expensive electric guitars we have. Keep in mind, this is around a $15,000 guitar he’s playing. He always plays the same expensive, vintage guitar. As would be expected in a retail store, either my coworker or I always go to check on the man and ask if he has any questions about the guitar. He is usually very polite and declines our help, before continuing to play again without waiting for our response. After five visits from this gentleman in less than two weeks, we genuinely believe he is very seriously contemplating purchasing this expensive guitar, so we attempt to be more proactive and check on him every five minutes to try to make the sale. However, rather than his usual polite response to our assistance, this time the gentleman cranks the amplifier as loud as it can possibly go and begins playing the guitar at deafening volume in response to our questions. Not wanting to also be rude, I leave the customer and close the door. After five minutes of this loud playing, we’ve had two calls from the stores next to us complaining about the noise, which we’ve never, ever had a complaint about before. I go into the room to calmly ask the customer to lower the volume, which I have to literally shout at the man. He glares at me and turns up the volume on the guitar itself, which raises the volume to levels so loud I cannot think. I quickly run over to the amplifier and turn it off.)

Customer: “What the h***? Why do you keep f****** bothering me?”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to continue to play at this volume. We’ve had complaints from other stores, not to mention that we cannot hear the phone ring. You are more than welcome to keep playing this guitar, but you’ll need to keep the volume at a much lower setting.”

Customer: “Man, f*** that! I come in here all the time and this is the service I get?!”

Me: “Sir, again, I am very sorry, but we cannot have our customers playing the guitar so loud that it bothers other customers and the businesses next door.”

Customer: “I don’t give a f*** what those people think! You are offering a service here and I am using it! Screw what those other people think! I am having a bad day and I just wanted to come here and let out some steam without anyone f****** bothering me every five minutes.”

Me: “I’m sorry you’re having such a bad day. I know you’re really interested in this guitar, but the only situation in which you’ll be able to play it as loudly as you were is if you were to take the guitar home with you.”

Customer: “Seriously? I can take it home? Why didn’t you guys tell me that the first d*** time I came in here? This is horrible service!”

Me: “I’m so sorry about that, sir. I would have assumed that it would be a given that you can take our guitars home if you decide to purchase them.”

(The customer has already begun to gather his things and unplug the guitar, but stops when I finish my sentence, looking at me like I’m insane.)

Customer: “Purchase them?! What the f*** kind of place is this?!”

Me: “A guitar store…”

Customer: “No, it’s not! This is one of those places where you can go and play guitar as much as you want for free!”

(Now it’s my turn to look at him like he’s insane.)

Me: “Those places don’t exist.”

Customer: “Yes, they f****** do! That’s why I come here so much! You all let people play guitars without having to buy them!”

Me: “Well, while we do allow people to test out guitars here, our main goal is to sell them. That’s why each guitar has a price tag dangling off it.”

Customer: “No, those are to tell you information about the guitar.”

Me: “There’s a price on each tag, as well as a barcode.”

Customer: “That’s just so you know the value of the guitar. Dumb b****. I can’t believe they hire such idiots here.”

Me: “Sir, how do you think we stay in business if we don’t sell the guitars?”

Customer: “You sell s*** like strings and pedals and crap. Now, grab me the case for this f***er so I can take it home like you said.”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry that you had the wrong idea about this place, but we are in fact a store. That guitar in your hand is for sale. I cannot let you leave with it without you paying for it first.”

Customer: “Fine, if it’ll get you to shut up! Jesus, how much can this piece of s*** guitar cost?”

(I show the customer the price tag, which reads $14,950; this causes the customer to go bug-eyed.)

Customer: “I am not paying that much for this piece-of-s*** guitar, you money grabbing w****! This guitar has been played! It isn’t new! See, it even has a scratch right here!”

(He points to the smallest scratch right behind the strings, which honestly wasn’t there before.)

Me: “Huh, I haven’t seen that scratch before. But since you’re the only one who has played this guitar since it came in three weeks ago, I cannot discount a guitar for any damage you may have personally done to it.”

Customer: “You f****** b****! How could you possibly know I’m the one who did this?! Maybe it was you with your fat fingers! I will pay you no more than $500 for this worthless junk.”

Me: “Well, sir, being that I’m the manager of this store, who is not only here every day we’re open, but also photographs every single guitar when it comes in so we can list them online, I’m pretty sure I have a fairly good idea of whether or not a guitar has a scratch on it.”

Customer: “Why, you little b****! No one would ever hire you as the manager. You’re just a stupid little girl. Now, you’ll give me this guitar for $400 or I’m walking out of here right now. Actually, f*** that. I’m leaving now, and you can’t stop me.”

(The customer pushes me aggressively hard onto the ground and takes off for the door. Luckily, one of our regulars, a decorated police officer, walks in the door right as the customer makes a break for the door with the guitar in his hand.)

Officer: “What’s going on here?”

Me: “Stop him!”

(The officer grabs the man by the collar with one hand and grabs the guitar out of his hand with the other. The officer has about seven inches and 75 pounds on the guy, so there is no issue when the customer tries to put up a struggle. The officer has him subdued in seconds. The officer hands me back the guitar as he cuffs the man, who all the while keeps yelling at the officer.)

Customer: “But the guitars are supposed to be free here!”

(The next time the officer came in, we had a box of donuts waiting for him. Apparently, the customer he arrested had tried this in several guitar shops throughout the region, refusing to believe that any of them actually SOLD the guitars in their shops. He had caused $4,500 worth of damage in one shop, which had caused a warrant for his arrest. We ended up filing a police report, as well, for a fair amount of money, as he put a huge ding on the front of the guitar when he tried to make a break for it, lowering the value of the guitar by about $3,000. It may seem insignificant, but the smallest of dings on an expensive, vintage guitar can lower the value drastically. The customer also broke my wrist when he threw me to the ground, so we filed for my medical bills. Thankfully, he was sentenced to three years in prison for a slew of charges, all of which seemed to involve guitar shops and assault.)

The Winterfell Soldier

, , , , , | Related | April 26, 2019

(I am on the phone with my aunt. I told her I was excited for a certain superhero movie coming out later this month, but I didn’t elaborate because I wanted to avoid the movies-like-that-will-give-you-nightmares-and-make-you-lose-contact-with-reality speech. I’m 26 and have lived on my own for years now, but my family has a habit of forgetting that. I’m a huge geek and love science fiction and fantasy, but my aunt detests it.)

Aunt: “What was that movie you wanted to see called again? Game of… something?”

Me: “Oh, Endgame!”

Aunt: “You sure? I saw something on TV about some movie, all science fiction and lots of fighting, and I thought it might be that movie you were excited about. But it was called Game of something, I’m sure.”

Me: *thinking I know what she’s referring to* “You mean Game of Thrones?”

Aunt: “Yes! That was it! That’s not what you were telling me about? It looked like what you described.”

(To be fair, I only told her it was a science fiction movie about superheroes and that she wouldn’t like it because there was lots of fighting in it. But I know trying to explain the difference between fantasy and science fiction to my aunt is a waste of breath, because she doesn’t care.)

Me: “Oh, no, that’s not it. It’s a popular television series, and the new season is coming out. I don’t watch that, though.”

Aunt: “Oh, good, because it looked ghastly. With those big horrible birds.”

(I’m thinking, “Birds? What is she… Oh!”)

Me: “Ehm, I think those were dragons.”

Aunt: “Oh, whatever, it looked dreadful. I’m sure it would give me nightmares.”

(I decided it was time to change the subject.)

Playing The Generation Shame

, , , , , , | Friendly | April 26, 2019

(My cousin is cursed and blessed with a very young-looking face. Despite the fact she is 35, she sometimes still gets asked for ID. I am 21 and have also inherited the family baby-face. We’re walking round a well-known mother-and-baby store chain. She is pushing her oldest child — still a toddler — in a pushchair, whilst I have her younger baby in a papoose on my back, to make things easier for her whilst she shops. We get everything she wants and join the line for the tills. Behind us are a pair of older women who start to make snippy comments about us.)

Old Lady #1: “Look at those two. Can’t keep their legs shut!”

Old Lady #2: “Ridiculous. Our generation didn’t fight in the war so that ungrateful girls like them could sponge off our war pensions.”

Old Lady #1: “I hope their mothers are ashamed.”

Old Lady #2: “I bet they’re not married. Probably no father in sight!”

Old Lady #1: “Probably a [racial slur] who slept with them for drug money.”

Old Lady #2: “Disgusting.”

(Finally, my cousin has had enough of this and turns around to speak to them.)

Cousin: “Excuse me, were you talking about me and my cousin?”

Old Lady #2: “Your ears work as well as your ovaries, then, love?”

Old Lady #1: *sniggering* “As if they know what ovaries even means!”

Cousin: “Not that it’s any of your business to judge who would and who wouldn’t make a good parent, but I’m 35, I’m married, I have a biology-based PhD, and I’m the head of Science at [Local Large Secondary School]. [My Name] here is my cousin and is just carrying my youngest daughter for me so I don’t have to use the bulky double pram on what I’d only planned as a very quick shopping trip. You’ve done nothing but make hateful assumptions, which, whilst we’re on the subject, reminds me, if – unlike me, obviously – you look your own age, then there’s no way you’re from the WWII generation. This would make you baby boomers, who’d be relying on my and [My Name]’s generation to foot your whopping NHS bills. I suggest you think before you open your mouths next time.”

Old Lady #1: *massively backpedalling* “Well, I didn’t mean my generation; my father…”

Old Lady #2: “We didn’t mean you, dear, we meant…” *looks around hoping to see a legitimate teenage mother in the store* “I… uh…”

Cousin: “Come off it! I don’t want to hear it. But I seriously hope you think before spouting any of your nonsense to your children or grandchildren without being sure of your facts!”

(They didn’t quite have the good grace to apologise, but did at least look a bit ashamed of themselves.)

Not Giving You A Pass To Sweeten The Pot

, , , | Right | April 26, 2019

(Right before my shift, management, unfortunately, had to call the police to remove an unruly guest from a movie about fifteen minutes in. In order to make up for the inconvenience, the theater handed out free passes and concession vouchers to the thirty-or-so others in the theater, and give them an option: they could either stay and finish the movie, switch to another showtime any day and time during the coming week, or get a refund for their tickets and concessions if they bought any. Everyone is fine with this option, since hey… they’re getting about three times what they actually paid for. Until, of course, one cranky old man comes up to me at the concession stand a while after the film…)

Customer: “I want something to sweeten the pot!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “I was in that movie the cops stormed! I want something to sweeten the pot, or I go to the papers!”

Me: “Oh, did they not give you passes?”

Customer: “I got passes. I just want something to sweeten the pot! Or else I’m blasting you in the papers for scaring me half to death with cops swarming in left and right the whole d*** time!”

Me: “Let me go get a manager for you. Perhaps they can resolve this better than I can.”

Customer: “I already went to the managers!”

Me: “Well, sir, if you’ve already gotten passes, I can’t really give you anything else.”

Customer: *beaming; looking at my name tag* “Popcorn and soda, [My Name]! Or else your name will be all over the press for bullying an old man!”

Me: “Sir, I’m going to have to get authorization from my managers first.”

Customer: “But they said no!”

Me: “Then my hands are tied.”

(Suddenly, my manager bolts up behind me.)

Manager: “Sir, we’re calling the cops again if you don’t leave. Out! Now!”

(The man turned and fled out of the door. I asked what was going on. Evidently, he was the customer who had been removed by police, and he was denied passes or a refund. He’s evidently one of the local “old, crazy guys” who goes into businesses and starts trouble. He thought that the managers wouldn’t notice him coming back in and demanding free stuff.)

Has A Bad Ring To It

, , , , , | Learning | April 26, 2019

(I’m 17 and I have low-level tinnitus, and have used music the majority of my life to keep my mind off it, much like Miles in “Baby Driver.” The vast majority of people either know that I have my reason for always using earbuds, or they don’t mind and don’t ask. This happens when my regular history teacher is away and we have a substitute teacher who is in her mid-20s.)

Teacher: “[My Name] take your headphones out; it’s against school policy.”

Me: “I could, but I use them to offset my tinnitus.”

Teacher: “Take them out.”

Me: “I just explained why I ca—“

(She walks over to me and forcefully takes them from me, shattering my phone in the process.)

Teacher: “Come on. We’re going to the office.”

(I stand up, calmly picking up my phone and following her to the office. By the time we get there, I have a mild headache and am visibly uncomfortable. We walk into the office and the principal and receptionist’s eyes go wide.)

Receptionist: “[My Name], are you all right? [Teacher], what happened?”

Teacher: “This student refuses to take his headphones out.”

Principal: “Because he has tinnitus!”

Teacher: “Nonsense!” *to me, literally yelling in my ear* “You’re fine!”

(The sudden increase in noise makes me scream in pain and defensively swing at the teacher. When I realize what happened, I am standing over the teacher clutching my ear as she covers her nose, which is visibly broken.)

Teacher: “What the h***?!”

(The principal came over and returned my headphones, then proceeded to help the teacher up. My parents and police were called; my father arrived and absolutely lost it on the teacher. Afterward, assault charges were filed against the teacher, and I had to go to the hospital to get the ringing to subside.)

Page 1/12,41312345...Last