Da, Is Union of Soviet Socialist Retirees
(I work every summer in a beach shop in Florida. One morning, a man comes in and buys a beach chair, and returns after a few hours with his family.)
Customer: “I would like to return this chair.”
Me: “Of course. Do you have a receipt?”
Customer: “No, I just went to the beach. Why would I keep the receipt?”
Me: “Is there a reason why you are returning the chair?”
Customer: “It’s broken.”
(The chair is soaked with water, coated with sand, and has a hole in the seat from what looks like a footprint on the cushion.)
Me: “I am sorry, sir, but we cannot accept used, broken items for return.”
Customer: “What?! I didn’t break it!”
Me: “I am sorry sir, but without a receipt, it still cannot be returned.”
Customer: “Son of a b****! You hear that kids? This Russian b**** is going to f*** up our vacation!”
Me: “…Russian? I live here.”
Customer: “Don’t lie to me! I hear that accent.”
Me: “…What accent?”
Customer: “THERE! You just did it. No one talks like that in the Northeast.”
Me: “…I’m a Southerner. You’re in the South.”
Customer: “Whatever, you piece of racist s***”
(The man left only after he threw the chair at a clothes rack. Quite the job experience for a fifteen-year-old.)
Question of the Week
Have you ever met a customer who thought the world revolved around them?
