(I work retail for a sports store.)
Customer: “Do you have a New York Yankees football?”
Me: “A football? Do you mean a baseball?”
Customer: “No, I meant a football. Do you not have any?”
Me: “No, because the Yankees play baseball, not football.”
Customer: “Well you are missing out on a lot of market not selling that stuff.”
(I work in a Canadian call centre that is contracted by an American cable internet company. Therefore all my customers are American.)
Client: *after the issue is resolved* “I can’t place your accent. Where am I calling? Are you in India?”
Me: “No, ma’am. I’m in Edmonton, Alberta. That’s in Canada.”
Client: “Canada? Really?”
Me: “Yes.”
Client: “Do they even have cable internet up there?”
Me: *pausing to swallow incredulity* “Yes, ma’am, we do. In fact, we actually have had cable internet for a bit longer than most US markets.”
Client: “Oh, well, I don’t know nothin’ about Canada. I thought it was a third-world country or something.”
(I’m a female in my early 20s, treating myself to a fancy week in an expensive hotel. I’ve saved up for it. The receptionists take an immediate dislike to me from the get-go, probably because I’m too average for their tastes.)
Receptionist #1: “And we’ll need to take $700 from you as a deposit.”
(She and Receptionist #2 smirk at each other.)
Me: “No, I’m sorry, but I know that’s not the case. I know you only need my credit card number, and I pay the bill upon checking out; I checked your policies before I arrived.”
Receptionist #2: “FINE. Hand me your card already.”
(I hand them my card and think nothing more of it until the night before I am meant to check out. I go to an ATM to withdraw some money for food, and $700 is missing from my account, leaving me with a balance of about $20.)
Me: “You assured me you wouldn’t hold any of my money! $700 exactly is missing from my account!”
Receptionist #1: “Well it wasn’t us. Perhaps you shouldn’t have spent all of daddy’s money.”
Me: “I have nothing left. I can’t settle my room service bill. Please, check again; you’re holding my money; it’s all there. It’s all there; I can pay you the bill if you just check again.”
Receptionist #2: “You’d better call daddy, sweetie. Looks like he’ll have to bail you out.”
(I end up having to get my mother to fax her details through to cover my tiny room service bill. She has to run around and locate an office after hours, and one who even has a fax she can use. I’m humiliated as I check out, with the receptionists smirking the entire time. Upon arriving home, $700 has magically appeared in my account again. I write a scathing complaint to the head of the world-wide hotel chain, and I receive multiple apologetic emails from their head office and the hotel itself. The receptionists were suspended from their duties!)
(I am working as an assistant manager at a retail store. A customer comes in while it is slow, so I am able to pay a lot of attention to her, and find her exactly what she wants.)
Customer: “Is it okay to pay by gift card?”
Me: “Of course.”
(I start ringing her in.)
Customer: “I hate to use it, though.”
Me: “Oh, really? Why is that?”
Customer: “My mom gave it to me for my last birthday, and she passed away two months ago.”
(I pause for a moment to make eye contact with her.)
Me: “I’m so sorry to hear that. I lost my own mom a little over a year ago, so I know what you’re going through.”
Customer: “Oh! I guess you do understand, then. Does it get easier?”
Me: “No. I still miss her horribly, and still want to pick up the phone and call her every single day. But I suppose I’m not as raw as I was. You’ll get to that point, too, though you’ll always miss her.”
Customer: “Yeah…”
(I finish ringing her up, and swipe her gift card, which pays for everything. Afterwards, I bring her bag around the counter for her, and hand it to her.)
Customer: “Can I… Can I make a really strange request?”
Me: “Sure.”
Customer: “Can I keep the gift card?”
Me: “Oh, of course you can!”
(I hand it to her. She puts it back in the envelope that bears her name, and caresses it. I can see she’s on the verge of tears.)
Me: “Right before my mom died, she gave me the package she never sent me for my birthday, which had some Avon perfume in it. I like the perfume, but I hardly ever use it, because I don’t want to have to throw away one of the last things she ever gave me.”
Customer: “Oh, so you completely understand why I want to keep this!”
Me: *eyes filling with tears* “Oh, yes, ma’am, completely!”
(We wind up chatting for close to 45 minutes, sharing stories about our moms. By the end of it, we’re both crying openly, but they’re good tears.)
Customer: “I’ve taken up so much of your time; I’m sorry.”
Me: “No, don’t apologize. I’m so glad you came in, and that you were willing to share with me!”
Customer: “Can I… Can I hug you?”
Me: “Of course you can!”
(We hugged for a long time, with both of us still crying. She thanked me profusely, and vowed to come back and ask for me especially. I never did see her again, as I quit not long after that, but it was a wonderful experience. I hope wherever she is, her grief has become less raw than it was when I saw her. I’ll always, always remember her as being one of the best customers I ever had.)
(I work at a bakery, and my manager is working on a Superman groom’s cake.)
Manager: “Perfect! Now I just need to color the sugar for the ice house.”
Me: “Ice house?”
Manager: “Yes, this Superman cake has an ice house!”
Me: “Come on! It’s called the Fortress of Solitude!”
Manager: “Oh, whatever! To me, it’s an ice house! I bet [Other Employee] calls it an ice house, too.”
Me: “No way. [Other Employee] is a total comic book fan.”
Other Employee: “So what’s left on the cake?”
Manager: “We need to spray paint the sugar pieces.”
Other Employee: “Oh, for the ice house?”
Manager: “Hah! I told you he’d call it an ice house!”
Me: “But it’s the Fortress of Solitude!”
Other Employee: “Sorry. I’m more of a Marvel fan.”
This story is part of the Superman roundup.
