Don’t Even Have A Name For This Problem

I work at a welfare office, where we’re the main administration for a debit card for food purchases for the country. The country is divided into regions that handle the actual clients. We’re more like the mothership to their battleships, but sometimes clients come directly to my office to complain.

A man storms into the office.

Man: “Where’s my d*** card?”

Me: “Ah, good morning, sir. What seems to be the problem?”

Man: “Are you deaf?! Where. Is. My. D***. Card?!”

Me: “Oh, I heard you the first time, sir. What I mean is, what’s the specific problem? Have you lost your card? Has it been stolen? Have you not received your card?”

Man: “I have been waiting for months for this card. Now the temporary one is expired. How am I supposed to buy food?!“

Me: “Okay, sir, what region are you from?”

He says he’s from the region furthest south from the Head Office.

Me: “Okay. Do you have any ID, and the name of the officer you dealt with when you made your application?”

Man: “I’m not telling you that. Just do your job and give me my card.”

Me: “Well, sir, I can’t pull your specific file if I don’t know which officer is dealing with it. That means I wouldn’t be able to give you specific feedback on the status of your card.”

Man: “I don’t care. Months, girl. Months.”

Me: “Okay… Well, did you check with the regional office?” 

Man: “Do I look stupid? No! You’re the head office. Obviously, the card would be here.”

Me: “Actually, no, sir. When the cards are delivered from the manufacturer, they are sorted by region and automatically delivered to the region. Even if it was here, we couldn’t give it to you, because your social worker would have to activate it at the regional office.”

Man: “Don’t lie to me.”

Me: “No, sir, I’m not. If you give me the name of your officer, I could call to check if it’s waiting for collection.”

Man: “God d*** it, are you f****** deaf? I’m not telling you that.”

Me: “Okay. As I can’t check on your individual application, perhaps the problem could be with the manufacturer. See, sir, we’ve recently switched manufacturers, so there’s a bit of a backlog in the actual creation of the card.”

Man: “Who’s making the cards? I will go make them make my card.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, but I can’t give you that information. You really should check with your social worker, if you decline to give me your name. Without it, I can’t actually help you.”

Man: “TELL ME! YOU DON’T KNOW WHO YOU’RE DEALING WITH!”

Me: “I know, sir. You won’t even give me your name.”

The man continues bellowing about “dealing with me” and bawling ominously that “we don’t know who we’re dealing with” before he storms out, still ranting. I look at my coworkers who just blink at me.

Coworker: “I would’ve told him to f*** off ages ago.”