(A woman passes through airport security. She gathers her things and begins to leave the area. A man behind her in the line, still waiting to be scanned, starts calling out to her.)
Man: “Wait! [Woman’s Name], wait! [Woman’s Name], you have the tickets! Wait!”
TSA Agent: “Run, [Woman’s Name]! Now’s your chance!”
(A customer approaches one of my coworkers.)
Coworker: “Hi! Welcome to [Pizza Place]. How may I help you?”
Customer: “I need to speak with your manager. NOW.”
(Being the manager, I step in.)
Me: “Hi. I’m the manager. How may I help you?”
Customer: “YOU’RE the manager? How old are you? 12?”
Me: “I’m 24, sir. How may I help you?”
Customer: *sighs very loudly* “I have a problem. I think my daughter’s credit card was hacked or something. A charge that she doesn’t recognize showed up on the bill. This is the address that showed up for the charge.”
Me: “The address here actually covers the entire strip mall, sir; not just this store. We have a suite number. The name of the pizza place always shows up on our credit card charges.”
Customer: “My daughter and her mother are going to other stores to ask them about the charge. It would really help me if I could make sure the charge didn’t come from your store.”
Me: “I’d be happy to try to help you, sir. Can you give me the date and amount for the charge?”
Customer: “Sure. It’s [date and amount].”
Me: “I’m afraid I don’t have any orders from that day that are for that amount.”
Customer: “Whoever stole her card number probably left a tip or something.”
Me: “Sir, we add the tip to the order in the system so we can give cash to our drivers at the end of the night. The total should match exactly.”
Customer: “Maybe you didn’t add it or something!”
Me: “Okay. If you’ll give me the last four digits of your daughter’s card number, I can check the batch report.”
Customer: “I don’t feel comfortable doing that. Can I just see the batch report so I can check for her card number?”
Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. There are other credit card numbers in that batch report.”
Customer: “So? It’s not like I’m going to steal the card numbers or anything.”
Me: “I’m sure you wouldn’t, sir. But I still can’t show you the report. Since you won’t give me the last four digits of your daughter’s card number, I don’t think I can help you. I suggest you call the company that issued the credit card to dispute the charge. They should be able to remove it and issue your daughter a new card.”
Customer: “NO! I DEMAND TO SEE YOUR BATCH REPORT RIGHT NOW! MY DAUGHTER’S CARD WAS HACKED. I HAVE A RIGHT TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED!”
Me: “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t help you. You need to leave, please.”
Customer: “F*** YOU, B****!”
(The customer leaves after flipping me off. I call the cops. They find him screaming at another manager in a store several doors down. Ironically, it turns out the guy had several outstanding warrants for identity theft and credit card fraud!)
(I’m sitting at home. I am messaging a long-time friend who lives in a different state. Many of my friends are very big ‘Doctor Who’ fans and I’ve resisted, because I know I’ll get addicted to the show. My boyfriend has commandeered my Xbox and queued the newer reboot of the series up on Netflix. We are about four episodes in when I message my friend again.)
Me: “I want a sonic screwdriver for Christmas.”
Friend: “Maybe if you ask [Boyfriend] reeeaaally nicely…”
Boyfriend: *reading over my shoulder* “I’ll give you a screwdriver. It’s not going to be sonic, though.”
(My sister has just came in from putting salt on the ice outside. She throws the container at me. I’m laying on the floor watching a movie.)
Me: “Hey!” *throws it back but misses*
(My sister laughs and throws it back. This time I catch it. She then leaves to go to her room.)
Me: “Wait! You can’t go to bed!”
Sister: “Why not?”
Me: *holding up the container* “I have to throw this at you!”
(It’s towards the end of the lunch rush. I am washing dishes in the back of our café. I overhear an exchange between a customer and a coworker.)
Customer: *very politely* “Could I have a vegetarian pastie, please?”
Coworker: “I’m very sorry, but I’ve just sold the last one.”
Customer: “So, there’s no vegetarian pasties?”
Coworker: “No, I’m sorry. But maybe you’d like to try—”
Customer: “FINE! I GUESS I’LL JUST F****** STARVE THEN!” *storms out*
