Not So Closed Minded, Part 8

| Sacramento, CA, USA | Right | January 29, 2015

(I am the opening manager. Every morning my duties include powering on the lights, setting up the dining room, and putting our A-frame sign out on the sidewalk. Due to customers attempting to get in before we open, I always reserve these tasks for last. My boss could never understand why, until today…)

Boss: “If you just get it done first thing, you don’t have to worry about it and you can get started on preparing the fresh food!”

Me: “I’d advise against it… Can we at least leave the lights off to help discourage people from coming in?”

(My boss agrees, but it’s clear he doesn’t see why I’m so hesitant to set up the dining area. He takes all the chairs down, and goes to put the sign out on the sidewalk despite the fact that we aren’t open for another hour and a half… and a customer immediately walks in behind him. It’s about 9:30 am.)

Customer: “I want [hot meatball sandwich]!”

Boss: “Unfortunately, we aren’t open yet, sir. You came in right behind me as I was putting our sign out.”

Customer: “Then make me a [pizza]!”

Boss: “Sir, we aren’t open yet. Our ovens aren’t even on. They take time to heat up, so right now I can’t cook you anything! Even if I could, I don’t have most of the ingredients prepared. If you want a salad, I can make an exception. Those aren’t hot and they don’t take long. But I can’t cook anything.”

Customer: “What!? Why won’t you sell me a god-d*** pizza?! Your sign is out! Your lights are on! I demand you sell me a pizza!”

(My boss and the customer went back and forth a few minutes longer, and eventually the customer leaves in a huff.)

Me: “And THAT is EXACTLY why I don’t set up the dining room until just before we open!”

(I was never again scolded for doing those tasks last!)

 

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The Paint Is In Aisle Five; Prepare To Die

| TX, USA | Right | January 29, 2015

(My 20-year-old son goes to a craft store with me. He has long hair, pulled back in a ponytail, slightly ratty jeans, and an oversized t-shirt with a small name-tag which says ‘hello my name is Inigo Montoya.’)

Random Customer: *approaches my son* “Where are the buttons?”

(My son turns at looks at me, with a ‘help me’ expression. I walk over.)

Me: “The buttons are over that way.”

(My son and I look at each other and laugh. We then go to a second craft store.)

Other Random Customer: *approaches my son* “Where is the paint?”

(Again I was able to point the woman in the right direction. My son vowed never again to shop while wearing that shirt.)

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Can’t Stretch To Accommodate This Call

| Southaven, MS, USA | Right | January 28, 2015

Customer: “Hi, I needed to ask you some questions about condoms.”

Me: “Okay, go ahead.”

Customer: “Well, you see I have a problem. All the condoms seem to be too small and are very tight.”

Me: “Okay, well they do make larger condoms such as Trojan Magnums.”

Customer: “Well, I’ve tried those and even those are too small for me.”

Me: “Well, I’ve never really heard of that, since condoms are designed to be very stretchy.”

Customer: “I’ve just tried all sorts of condoms. What I really need is for you to help me try on the condom.”

Me: *click*

Remain As Cold As Ice

, | GA, USA | Right | January 28, 2015

(I’m a manager in a well-known fast food restaurant.)

Customer: “You a**holes are trying to kill me!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, what’s the problem?”

Customer: “You stupid mother-f***ers are trying to kill me!”

Me: “I assure you we’re not trying to kill you. Could you please tell me what’s wrong?”

Customer: “I ordered a [Soda] with no f****** ice, and you stupid mother-f***ers filled the cup with ice! I am deathly allergic to ice!”

Me: “I’m really sorry about that, ma’am. Let me fix that for you.”

Customer: “You’d better fix it. And I want my f****** money back, you stupid mother-f***er. I’m going to call the district office and have you all fired.”

Me: “Sure. I need to get that number from my office, as well as a refund slip for you to sign.”

(She continues to call me assorted names as I walk away.)

Me: “Sorry about the wait. Just print your name and sign. You can include a contact number if you’d like the district manager to call you.”

Customer: “I’m calling the f***ing office first thing tomorrow morning.”

Me: “I apologize again. Here’s your money, and here’s your [Soda], no ice, to which you are deathly allergic. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience. Have a good night.”

(She leaves the store still cussing up a storm.)

Next Customer: “That was amazing. Your facial expression didn’t change a bit the whole time.”

Me: “That’s because a decade of working customer service has left me dead inside. Now I’m going outside for a cigarette to try to finish off the rest of me.”

(The next morning I got a phone call from the district manager about how I was rude and unsympathetic to her serious medical issue, which she conveniently didn’t explain to him. I faxed him the refund slip with the reason for refund: Customer is deathly allergic to the solid form of water. He ended up praising me for not physically assaulting her.)

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Reiterate The Eight

| Oslo, Norway | Right | January 28, 2015

(I work part-time at a dry cleaning place that closes at 8 pm on weekdays. I always close at exactly 8 pm, and finish up as fast as I can to catch the bus home. This particular night, I am running a few minutes late, and don’t get to start closing the register until 8:05. A customer comes with her arms full of clothing at 8:10.)

Customer: “Hi! I want to hand in some clothes for cleaning!”

Me: “I’m so sorry, but I’m already closed. I can’t take in any more clothes today. You’re going to have to come by tomorrow.”

Customer: *seeming perfectly calm* “Oh… that’s all right! I’ll do that then!”

(The next day, the customer comes back. This time, the manager, who works the daytime shift, is still there.)

Me: “Hi! How may I help you?”

Customer: *very angrily, to the manager* “I came here last night, and this girl told me I was too late and that I couldn’t hand in my clothes!”

Manager: “Oh? [My Name], did you close early last night?”

Me: “No. Actually, I closed later than I usually do.”

Customer: “Well, I was only here three minutes past eight! I don’t understand why you couldn’t take in my clothes!”

Me: “Actually, you were here ten minutes past eight. I was looking at the giant clock that’s hanging right behind you. But I’d be happy to register your clothes in now.”

(I finish the transaction, with the customer still looking generally unhappy.)

Manager: *to the customer as she’s leaving* “And by the way! We close at exactly eight. Three minutes past is still after closing time!”

Customer: “Well, that is just horrible customer service!”

Manager: *to me, after the customer has left* “How is it bad customer service? Technically, that’s no customer service.”

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