No Human Interaction

| Right | February 20, 2014

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Needs To Clean Up Their Act

| FL, USA | Right | February 20, 2014

Customer: “Can you come around to the front of the case so I can show you which steaks I want?”

(I could have gotten the steaks perfectly easily from behind the case, but I do as the customer asks. I put on my plastic gloves and open up the case from the front.)

Customer: *reaching into the case with his bare hand* “I want this one right here and—”

Me: *quickly putting my hand over the steak* “Sir, please don’t touch the steaks with your bare hands.”

Customer: “I just want to feel the texture of them.”

Me: “Texture? Sir, it’s meat.”

Customer: “I mean I want to make sure it’s not all hard, like it’s been sitting out all day.”

Me: “I can assure you these steaks were cut less than an hour ago and have been in our refrigerated case ever since then, sir. But if I let you touch them in there, that would be a health hazard.”

Customer: *suddenly furious* “What do you mean, a health hazard?! My hands are clean! What do you think I am, some kind of slob sicko?!”

(I can tell him several reasons why I can’t let him touch the steaks, no matter how clean he thinks his hands are. But I have a different idea.)

Me: “I’m sure your hands are clean, sir. But let me ask you this. If the person in line ahead of you wanted to put their hands all over the steaks, would you want to buy one then?”

Customer: “Ugh! No!”

Me: “Well, there you go. That’s why I can’t let you do it either.”

Customer: “But my hands are clean! My hands are CLEAN!”

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| Right | February 20, 2014

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This Time, It’s Personal

| Los Angeles, CA, USA | Right | February 20, 2014

(I work for a business management firm that deals primarily with people in the entertainment industry. My employer has decided to give out my personal cell phone number, without telling me, to one particular client who is incredibly needy. I receive a phone call on a weekend at about three am.)

Me: *groggily answering the phone* “Hello?”

Client: “There’s something wrong with my cable and I need you to fix it.”

Me: “I… I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong number.”

Client: “This is [My Name], right?”

Me: “Um, yes? Who is this?”

Client: “What? You mean you don’t recognize my voice? Seriously, how many times have I spoken to you on the phone? You should KNOW who this is.”

Me: *I instantly figure out who it is* “Oh, hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. I also didn’t realize you had my personal number.”

Client: “Yeah, [Boss] gave it to me and told me that you were on call for me whenever I needed something. I’m having a problem with my cable and I need you to fix it.”

Me: “I’m sorry. It’s three am on Sunday. I’m not in the office and don’t have access to your information right now. What seems to be the problem, though? Have you tried calling them directly?”

Client: “No, I haven’t called them! That’s what I pay you for! Look, I’m trying to order a movie and it’s not going through. I keep getting an error message and it tells me to call this number on the screen.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to suggest you call the number provided and see if they can help. I don’t see how I will be of much use in the middle of the night on the weekend and out of the office.”

Client: “Listen. I NEED to get this movie. I left my laptop in the studio and I need to watch porn, okay? Do you get it now? I NEED MY F****** PORN!”

Me: “Look. I’m sorry, but as I mentioned before there isn’t anything I can do. Either call the cable company and have them try and help or it will have to wait until I’m in the office Monday morning.”

Client: “Well, f*** you then! Just you wait until I call [Boss] and tell him about the HORRIBLE service you are providing. This is not what I pay you for!”

Me: “I’m sorry. Have a good night.” *hangs up*

(Sure enough, the client did call my boss. When I came in on Monday he tried to tear me a new one for not helping out the client. I, in turn, went off on him about how unprofessional and not okay it was to give out my personal contact information without my consent and he shut up. No apology. I resigned that week.)

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Weathering The Storm Of Stupidity

| NH, USA | Right | February 20, 2014

(I’m the night auditor at a small hotel. It’s four am, and a thunderstorm is passing through the area. The phone at the front desk rings.)

Me: “Front desk. How can I help you?”

Caller: “What was that loud noise that woke me up?”

Me: “There’s a thunderstorm going through the area right now.”

Caller: “Can you make it stop?”

Me: “Ma’am, if I could control the weather, I would rule the world.”

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