(Girl walks up to the desk looking around, confused. It is Ash Wednesday, and I work at a Catholic university.)
Me: “Can I help you?”
Girl: “Yes, can I ask you a question?”
Me: “Sure.”
Girl: “Why does everyone have crosses on their foreheads?”
Me: “…it’s Ash Wednesday.”
Girl: “Oh. I thought they were part of a cult or something.”
(I work at a large electronics retail chain, the largest in the world, that has very large lighted signs on the outside of their buildings, an easily recognizable color scheme, and million-dollar highly-polished TV commercials. I am standing near computer software, towards the BACK of the store, when a customer walks straight down the center aisle, passing all the other departments and products, and right up to me. He opens his mouth, pauses for a second, and askes me:)
Customer: “What store is this?”
(I am working the morning shift at a local sandwich shop and accidentally give the wrong order to the wrong patron. I run outside to trade the first customer and come back in and approach the second.)
Me: “Sorry, sir, I gave your order to the wrong man. Would you like me to remake this for you?”
Customer: “You put s*** in my sandwich! I don’t want it back!”
Me: “Oh, no, sir. I’m sorry. See, I gave this to the wrong man and ran out to trade him. As I said, I can remake this for you; it will just take a minute.”
Customer: “NO. You put s*** in my sandwich. I don’t want you to make me another.”
Me: “Well, okay, sir. If you meet me at my register, I will be more than happy to refund your money.”
Customer: “Listen here, you little b****, you put s*** in my f****** sandwich! I can’t believe your manager doesn’t fire you!”
(This whole time my manager stands there laughing, doing nothing to help.)
Me: “What can I do to make this experience better for you? I can make a new sandwich or give you your money back.”
Customer: “F*** YOU!”
(He then storms away and leaves sandwich/money free. As he’s leaving, I yell…)
Me: “Thanks for breakfast!”
This story is part of our Swearing Customers roundup!
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(After customer made copies of several $100 dollar bills on a self-serve copier.)
Customer: “I need to send this money.”
Me: “Err–what did you need to do?”
Customer: “I need to send this money to my son. What’s it called? Fax it!”
Me: “…I’ll ring you up for these copies. There’s a Western Union next door.”
(I work at a Landscaping Supply company. Selling dirt, rock, compost, etc. I work in the office, answering phones and helping people work out how much material they need for their jobs. A lady came in and filled up a few small containers with cobble-rocks and wanted to know how much she owed, so I went outside to look at her
product.)
Me: “Hmm. Looks like three cubic feet. We’ll go inside and ring you up!” *starts walking back inside*
Lady: *doesn’t move*
Me: *stops by the door* “Is there something else I can help you with, ma’am?”
Lady: “Well. I watched on the Discovery Channel that men are better with visual volume than women. So if you can get one of the guys to look at my materials, I’d appreciate it.”
(At this point I’m absolutely floored. I am a victim of a lot of sexism with my line of work, but from ANOTHER WOMAN? Give me a break! Forget that I’ve been doing this for five years and approved by the county with a huge certificate on the back wall of the office, lady!)
Me: “Sure. Give me one moment.” *steps inside, pulls one of the random boys aside* “Can you look at this lady’s load?”
Male Coworker: “…didn’t you look at it?”
Me: “Apparently because I have boobs I can’t tell visual volume, so can you just make her happy?”
Male Coworker: “Sure, how much did you say?”
Me: “Three cubic feet.”
Male Coworker: “Thanks.”
(Basically, he goes out there and tells her the same exact thing. She comes in, and doesn’t even apologize for causing the trouble, pays for the material and pikes out without another word).
