How Blame Culture Ferments

I work at a bakery that also sells random drinks. A customer buys a bottle of kombucha for her son without knowing what it actually is. Kombucha happens to be a weird hipster drink that has naturally occurring alcohol. (It’s not enough alcohol to get you even tipsy, so you don’t need to be twenty-one to buy it.) And it tastes like straight-up vinegar — at least to me. 

It’s no surprise when her seven-year-old son hates the drink. That’s when his mother realizes that the label says that there’s naturally occurring alcohol in it. She comes back to me and starts screaming. 

Customer: “I should call the police! You knowingly sold an alcoholic drink to a seven-year-old!”

Me: “You’re actually the one who came up to the counter to buy the drink, not your son. You said nothing about buying the drink for your son.”

Customer: “Where is your supervisor?!”

Supervisor: “I’m coming! I heard! Let’s just skip the part where you try to sue us or call the police to divert attention away from the part where you f***ed up as a parent when really all you want to do is replace the drink that your son doesn’t want to drink.”

Customer: “That is not what is happening!”

Supervisor: “So, you’re saying that if I replace your son’s drink with something else, you still won’t go away?” 

Customer: “…”

Supervisor: “…”

Customer: “He’ll take an apple juice.”

Supervisor: “Splendid!”

From that supervisor, I learned how to quickly cut through customer BS and get straight to the point. Such a time-saver!