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Category: Wild & Unruly

Remain As Cold As Ice

, | GA, USA | Bad Behavior, Food & Drink, Wild & Unruly

(I’m a manager in a well-known fast food restaurant.)

Customer: “You a**holes are trying to kill me!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, what’s the problem?”

Customer: “You stupid mother-f***ers are trying to kill me!”

Me: “I assure you we’re not trying to kill you. Could you please tell me what’s wrong?”

Customer: “I ordered a [Soda] with no f****** ice, and you stupid mother-f***ers filled the cup with ice! I am deathly allergic to ice!”

Me: “I’m really sorry about that, ma’am. Let me fix that for you.”

Customer: “You’d better fix it. And I want my f****** money back, you stupid mother-f***er. I’m going to call the district office and have you all fired.”

Me: “Sure. I need to get that number from my office, as well as a refund slip for you to sign.”

(She continues to call me assorted names as I walk away.)

Me: “Sorry about the wait. Just print your name and sign. You can include a contact number if you’d like the district manager to call you.”

Customer: “I’m calling the f***ing office first thing tomorrow morning.”

Me: “I apologize again. Here’s your money, and here’s your [Soda], no ice, to which you are deathly allergic. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience. Have a good night.”

(She leaves the store still cussing up a storm.)

Next Customer: “That was amazing. Your facial expression didn’t change a bit the whole time.”

Me: “That’s because a decade of working customer service has left me dead inside. Now I’m going outside for a cigarette to try to finish off the rest of me.”

(The next morning I got a phone call from the district manager about how I was rude and unsympathetic to her serious medical issue, which she conveniently didn’t explain to him. I faxed him the refund slip with the reason for refund: Customer is deathly allergic to the solid form of water. He ended up praising me for not physically assaulting her.)

Just Crossed The Online Line

| NS, Canada | Crazy Requests, Technology, Wild & Unruly

Me: “Thank you for calling [Retail Company]. How can I help you?”

Customer: *happy* “Hi there! Ugh, I ended up ordering the wrong thing online. Silly me; should have been paying more attention. Can I return this?”

Me: “Yah! Sure, no problem. Can I get the order number from you?”

Customer: “Of course!” *reads it off*

Me: “Perfect. Just one second. I’m sorry; my system shut off on me. We have an online return option. Would you like me to walk you through the steps? It’s really simple. If not just give me. like. 60 seconds to bring my system back up and I would be more than happy to do the return for you.”

Customer: “YOU WANT ME TO DO IT ONLINE?! YOU DON’T WANT TO HELP?! FINE!” *hangs-up*

Children Don’t Count And Adults Can’t Count

| Anaheim, CA, USA | Food & Drink, Wild & Unruly

(I work as a lead host in a well known restaurant, in a well known, famous, and popular vacation resort area. People come here with their families a lot.)

Me: “Hello! Welcome to [Restaurant]. How many are in your party today?

Guest: Oh, I need six and three-high chairs.”

(I’m extremely used to guests giving us their party total like this that I automatically total their party size for them.)

Me: “So nine total?”

Guest: “No, six and three high chairs.”

Me: “Yes… so… nine bodies total.”

Guest: “Well, sorta. I mean there’s six of us and maybe like three halves…”

Me: “Uh… okay, nine total people.”

Guest: “Well, the three are children.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, I understand. However, because they require their own seat and take up seating space, I need to count them as well. So it’ll be a total of nine.”

(Normally, most guests understand this and agree with and move on so we can get them seated but for some odd reason, this guest did not seem to understand what I was trying to explain to her. She stared at me while I type down her information into our system.)

Guest: “No, hold on. I told you, I need six seats… and three high chairs.”

Me: “Right… and those high chairs take up space, so it’ll technically be nine seats total, but three of those nine are going to be high chairs and not regular chairs.”

Guest: “No! I need six seats and three high chairs! What part of that do you not understand.”

Me: “No, I understand, ma’am.”

Guest: “SO JUST GET ME A TABLE!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

Guest: “Gosh, how can you be so stupid!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Guest: “They should fire you for not being able to do basic math.”

(My manager overhears this exchange between the guest and I and immediately steps into the conversation. She asks what was the problem and begin to take down her information into our system, personally. My manager then asked her how many people were in her party.)

Guest: “I need six and three high chairs.”

Manager: “Great! So nine total.”

Guest: “No. Six. And Three. High. Chairs.”

Manager: “Right. Nine total.”

Guest: “OH, MY GOD! I JUST NEED A TABLE THAT WILL FIT SIX PEOPLE AND THREE KIDS! AND THOSE THREE KIDS NEED HIGH CHAIRS! HOW HARD IS THAT TO UNDERSTAND?!”

Manager: “Ma’am, we count your children as people as well and since they require their own seats, though the seats might be in the form of a high chair, they are included in the party size as well. Do not worry; I will get you the proper table size.”

Guest: “How do they count as people? They are like… halves of a person!”

(My manager at this point is obviously fed up with the guests who cannot understand what we both tried to explain to her. So she takes off her glasses, look at the guest straight in the eyes with the most serious face on.)

Manager: “So which half did you bring of your children? The upper part of the torso? Or the lower part? How do you even decide?”

Guest: “YOU KNOW WHAT?! FORGET IT! I cannot believe they hire a group of people who cannot do math! No wonder why you are all stuck working here! GO BACK TO SCHOOL BECAUSE YOU ALL OBVIOUSLY NEED IT!”

(The guest gathers her family and storms out of the restaurant. As they leave, the little girl in the party comes walking up to me and my manager, who are simply just staring at the woman who was forcing her family to leave.)

Little Girl: “Sorry… my mom is crazy.”