A teenager comes in with his friend. They walk straight to the back wall of sneakers, points at a pair, and says loudly:

Customer: “Yo, I want these in a size eleven. But only if they’re real. Not like… fake display shoes.”

Looks like he’s trying to get attention, and sadly, I have to be the one to give it. I walk over.

Me: “They’re real. The displays are just one shoe, the rest are in boxes in the back.”

Customer: “Nah, bro, I mean real. Like, not fake fake. Not replicas.”

Me: “They’re from the actual brand. We don’t sell knockoffs here.”

He looks suspicious, like I’m pulling a con on him. His friend finally speaks up: 

Friend: “Dude, this is a real store, not some back-of-the-truck stuff.”

Customer: “Yeah, well… I’ve seen TikToks.”

Friend: “We also saw a TikTok where a guy thought the moon was a hologram.”

Customer: “Alright, fine. Just making sure. I don’t buy fakes.”

I go get the shoes. When I come back and hand them over, he looks at them, then points at the label.

Customer: “These say ‘Made in Vietnam.’ That real?”

Me: *Without missing a beat – HUGE customer service smile plastered over my Asian face.* “Yup. So was I, and I can assure you I am very real.”

That seemed to seal the deal, and he got the sneakers.

I worked in a store that sold computers, and the current sale we had going was that if you bought certain computers, you would get one of those ‘cheap’ Android tablets (worth $99, but the cost price was $25) for free.

A customer walks into the store, and I recognise her as someone I sold a computer to in the last few days with the tablet deal.

Customer: “I got this tablet a few days ago, and I don’t need it. I would like to return it.”

Me: “Sure, can I see the receipt?”

The customer hands over a receipt, which shows the tablet zeroed out (usually a bold line on the receipt with a [B] at the end).

Me: “You got this tablet under the deal we had a few days ago, so you got this for free. I can take it back, but you would be better off selling this on Facebook or something.”

Customer: “No, it was $99, so I’d like that back.”

I spend about ten minutes trying to explain that’s not how it works, until the manager comes over and (not politely) states the situation and tells her to f*** off.

I am currently working a lone shift. The few customers I’ve had today who paid in cash have used big bills for smaller purchases, leaving me with little change. We are an independent business, so we don’t have fat stacks of cash ripe for exchange at any time. As I am alone, I cannot go out and buy more change until another staff member arrives. That’s anywhere between thirty minutes to four hours. 

As my luck as a long-time retail worker would have it, an old lady wants to purchase a single chocolate. We have a discount for seniors. It also applies to the chocolate.

She produces a fifty-dollar bill, much to my dismay and internal wincing.

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry! I don’t have enough change to break that. Do you have a card?”

Customer: “No, I have this, and I want to use my fifty!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but again I’m out of change to break that properly. Do you have anything smaller?”

Customer: “No, I only have bigger. I want to use this.”

She says that like I’m either trying to imply she’s poor or that I’m lowly for being a cashier.

Me: “Well, like I said, I’m sorry, I haven’t enough change to break that.”

She looks at me incredulously.

Customer: “Well, what are you doing then?”

Oh, here we go. Lack of service worker sympathy detected.

Me: “Well, I would have to go to the bank and buy more change, but I can’t leave right now. Customers before you also happened to pay with big bills and cleaned me out pretty bad!”

Customer: “So what then?”

Me: “You could go to one of the banks and see if they can break smaller bills for you?”

Nope, gods forbid I suggest that. She looks at me like I’m doing this on purpose as some incompetent human being. Unfortunately, I’m too jaded from retail to respond with anything other than a cheerful look.

Customer: “Well, the lady who went before me wouldn’t have made a difference.”

The person before her was doing an exchange, for context. I am also not sure how that’s relevant to the fact I have no change? Okay, lady, you do you. I’m sorry I’d like to not short-change you for your purchase?

Me: “The person before you paid with card for their purchase, but it was an exchange just now.”

She then gathers up her fifty from her wallet, with more fifty-dollar bills in it.

Customer: “Well, good thing I didn’t touch it.”

She leaves, with the aura of complaint about her.

The total by the way? $3.30. Lady, if I say I don’t have $46.70 in change, I don’t! Next time, I’ll keep a secret stash of coin rolls for this occasion. It’s retail, though, and people have complained about that too. Sigh.

Related:
Be The Change You Want To Receive In The World

I’m working as a lifeguard at a neighborhood outdoor pool during a hot summer weekend. It’s packed, with kids everywhere and the sound of splash battles nonstop.

A woman marches up to the lifeguard stand, arms crossed, clearly not having the day she imagined.

Customer: “Excuse me. There are children splashing in the water.”

Me: “Yup… that does tend to happen in pools.”

Customer: “Well, I came here to relax, not to get wet. They’re splashing near my chair.”

Me: “You’re seated next to the shallow end. That’s usually the splashiest zone.”

Customer: “Then do something. Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

Me: “I’m here to make sure nobody drowns, ma’am.”

Customer: *With a dramatic sigh.* “This would never happen at the Four Seasons.”

Me: “Ma’am, if you want dry peace and quiet, may I suggest literally anywhere but a neighborhood outdoor pool during summer break?”

She tried to find someone higher up to complain to, until she realized I’m employed by the HOA, of which she is a member. Later, the head of the HOA told me her grievance was essentially “You’re basically complaining that water is wet,” and was told to go to a spa if she was that bothered by it.

My boyfriend and I are relaxing at home on a Sunday afternoon and decide to order some lunch for delivery. We agree on a “freaky fast” sub sandwich franchise we haven’t eaten from in a while. 

The last time we ordered from there was about two years ago, and it was a big mess with the order going through, us waiting almost two hours, then driving down there to find them closed. There were employees in the building, cleaning or something, and they said they weren’t accepting orders. No one had called to tell us that – they just let our order sit there in their system for an eternity, without canceling it or anything. 

We figure, two years later… it should be fine by now, right?

We place our order in the app and settle in to watch television while we wait.

An hour goes by with no food and no updates on the app, so my boyfriend calls the restaurant. 

Boyfriend: “Hi, there. I placed an order on the app an hour ago, and I was just wanting to check on that, please.”

We can hear the employees giggling and goofing off in the background, as the very “I don’t care” attitude of the employee who answers the phone oozes forth:

Lazy Employee: “Uh… I don’t know. What was the name?”

Boyfriend: “James Jones.”

Lazy Employee: “Uh… guys, do we have an order for a James Jones? Oh, uh, yeah, here it is. We’ll make that for you and send it right now. Bye.”

Boyfriend: *To me.* “Yeah, they totally forgot about our order or something.”

Me: “Wow, and they didn’t exactly sound busy, from all the giggling.”

Half an hour later, the doorbell rings. The delivery guy is wearing dirty sweatpants, a baggy, stained non-uniform T-shirt, and Crocs. I mean… dress how you want, I guess, but it looked extremely unprofessional for a franchise chain delivery person. Whatever, we finally got our food.

We settle in with our bags of food in front of the television, happy to finally have our lunch.

I had ordered my sandwich toasted, so I grab the one that feels warm and unwrap it. I’m surprised to find it covered in oil, hot peppers, and other toppings that aren’t even close to the sandwich I ordered. (I ordered a basic turkey, ham, and provolone with lettuce and mayo, and requested no tomato).

Me: *Handing the sandwich to Boyfriend.* “Is this yours? Looks like they toasted the wrong one.”

Boyfriend *Inspecting the sandwich.* “It looks… kind of like mine. Except it’s missing all of the different meats that are supposed to be on there. This is just salami and hot peppers, it looks like.”

Me: “Geez… well, the other one must be mine, then. I’m annoyed that it’s not toasted, but whatever.”

I take the other sandwich and unwrap it. It’s nothing but roast beef and tomatoes.

Me: “They got mine completely wrong, too.”

Boyfriend: “Geez, what the actual heck?”

He calls the restaurant again.

Boyfriend: “Yeah, hi. I just had my order delivered and it is… completely wrong in every way.”

Lazy Employee: “Okay.”

Boyfriend explains the multitude of errors to the employee, even though it doesn’t seem like the employee cares one bit.

Lazy Employee: “Okay, we’ll remake it and send it back out. Bye.” 

An entire hour goes by, and we’ve pretty much accepted the reality that we’re not actually getting our food. My boyfriend had given in and eaten his incorrect sandwich because he was too hungry to wait any longer.  

I hate roast beef and tomatoes, so I refused to eat the one that was sent to me. The longer time ticked by, the hangrier I got. We hadn’t done our weekly grocery shop yet, so the only food we really had in the house was rice and cereal, and I needed protein. Otherwise, I would have just eaten something else rather than stake my entire being on this one sandwich.

I’m just about to walk outside and hop in the car to drive down to the restaurant and stand there until they remake the food in front of my eyes… when the doorbell rings.

Our window is open, and the same sweatpants delivery guy is there. My hunger and annoyance take over and I loudly and snarkily say:

Me: “Wow, it’s been another entire hour! That was ‘freaky fast’!”

My boyfriend thinks it best that he answers the door, due to my mood that has plummeted to the depths of B*tchyville, due to waiting two and a half hours for a freaking sandwich.

I open the bag, and they actually got the darn order correct this time, thank the gods.

Me: “I’m sure this thing is covered in petty employee spit, but I don’t give a s*** at this point.”

I happily devour my sandwich, my mood improving with every bite, and we enjoyed the rest of our Sunday. 

I did check the reviews online, and this location has tons of negative feedback about long delivery times, poor communication, and incorrect orders. Yeah, we’re never ordering from there, again.

Related:
Sub-Standard Sub-Service, Part 9
Sub-Standard Sub-Service, Part 8
Sub-Standard Sub-Service, Part 7
Sub-Standard Sub-Service, Part 6
Sub-Standard Sub-Service, Part 5