Not Thinking Outside The PO Box

, , | | Right | July 16, 2019

(I take a call from a post office box customer who’s complaining that she hasn’t received her weekly paper for months. I check her box. It’s not only stuffed, it’s so full that we’ve pulled all the contents out twice and rubber-banded them to hold for pick-up, leaving dated pick-up cards in her box, and it’s STILL stuffed. According to those cards, she hasn’t opened her PO box in literally months.)

Me: “By my count, you have ten issues of the paper here at the office waiting for pick-up, eight on the shelf, and the latest two in your PO box.”

Customer: “But why are they there?”

Me: “Because you haven’t picked them up?”

Wasn’t Counting On You Counting

, , , , , , | | Right | July 16, 2019

I’m not that great when it comes to math. When I work cashier, I make sure to take everything one step at a time to avoid confusing myself. A customer comes to my register to buy a pair of cheap earbuds. He hands me a $100 bill. As usual, I set the bill on the counter while counting the change. This way, I remember what money I was given.

After I’m done, and before handing him the change, he says that he has a $20 bill he wants to pay with, and he takes back his $100 bill. I start putting the change back in the drawer while I wonder how I’m gonna figure out the new total. As I’m doing this, he tells me that he left his $20 in his car, and he has nothing else to pay me with.

Confused, I say that he can use the $100 bill, instead, but he just repeats about getting the money from the car and walks off. I have a feeling he isn’t going to come back for his headphones, but I leave them at my register anyway.

Later, I wondered if I had been scammed, but I never handed him any money. After reading a few stories on this site, I realized he was trying to scam me but my methods to prevent me from mixing up numbers stopped a scammer.

Boyfriends For Everyone!

, , , , | | Right | July 16, 2019

(I’m a gay man in my mid-20s and have been in a long-distance relationship for about a year. I am at work helping customers when I notice two rather small ladies — no more than five feet tall — who look to be in their early 20s, looking at some large storage sheds that require at least two people to move.)

Me: *after approaching them* “Did you two need help with the storage sheds?”

(Neither responds, so as per policy, I try again.)

Me: “Did you two need help with anything today?”

Lady #1: “Look. I’m married and she has a boyfriend. We’re not interested!”

([Lady #2] just giggles.)

Me: “Yay! I’ve got a boyfriend, as well!” *shows her my ring that’s half of a matching set I bought us* “So, once again, I’m asking if you two need any help?”

(The two of them went red in the face and shook their heads, saying they didn’t need help. About twenty minutes later, a coworker called on the radio for help getting two storage sheds, and a male coworker and I went to help. It was for both of the ladies who I’d talked to before. I didn’t say anything; I let my coworker tell them we were going to take the shed to the front, and they looked embarrassed about the whole thing. I’m hoping this was a little bit of a lesson on not making assumptions, especially when it’s a worker at a store that has to ask if you need help.)

Doing A Self-Disservice

, , , , , | | Right | July 16, 2019

(I work at a very popular discount department store. Around three to four years ago, we began rolling out self-service registers in the middle of the store; however, we still have manned registers for larger purchases, or payments of orders in the self-service area. It is 8:00 am and I am running the only manned register open, along with overseeing the self-service, as we are always quiet at this time. A woman approaches with a single pack of underpants. She stands in the middle of the self-service area and begins waving her arms in the air.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

Customer: *huffs, turns with her back to me, arms still waving*

Me: “Excuse me! Do you need a hand?”

Customer: *stomps feet, huffs, and sighs*

Me: “Hello! Ma’am!”

Customer: “Ridiculous!” *huffs and waves arms*

Me: “EXCUSE ME!”

Customer: *turns and looks directly at me* “I guess I can just help myself to this gum here and walk off with it, if there’s no one here to help me or stop me. What are the self-service machines going to do? Stop me?”

Me: “Yeah… Please don’t steal the gum.”

Customer: “Well, who’s here to see it?”

Me: “Me… and the security cameras.”

Customer: “There is never anyone at the registers.”

Me: “I’m at the registers; I can put this through for you.”

Customer: “And how many registers were open before self-service?”

Me: “At 8:00 am? One. Always one.”

Customer: “Well, there’s no one here to help me, and I refuse to use self-service, so I guess I’m not allowed to buy these.” *leaves the pack of underpants on my register and walks off*

Those Who Fling Won’t Go Far

, , , , , , , | | Right | July 16, 2019

(It is the mid-1990s, and I’m working at a fast food restaurant with an order-by-number value menu. Towards the tail end of an unusually busy lunch rush, a woman comes into the lobby. She waits very impatiently in line for the two people in front of her, and when she finally gets to the front of the line, she says:)

Customer: “Two. Coke. Hurry.”

(I press the buttons on the touchscreen till to order her a #2 meal with a Coke, but before I have a chance to say anything to her, she pulls a credit card out of her purse and flings it at me. The card misses me, flies past me, and lands in the tray of the shake dispenser, slipping into the thin metal grate and down into the mess of milky, sugary muck below. I stare at it for a moment before slowly turning back to the customer.)

Me: “That’ll be $3.21. Would you like that for here or to go?”

(I notice that she’s still staring at the spot where her card disappeared.)

Me: “Ma’am? For here or to go?”

Customer: *still staring*

Me: *a bit louder* “Ma’am!”

Customer: *finally looks back at me* “Um… to go.”

(I push the To-Go button, which finishes sending the order back to the kitchen.)

Me: “That’ll be $3.21.”

(She reaches into her purse, pulls out a $5 bill, and very carefully sets it on the counter in front of me. I hand her the $1.79 in change along with the cup for her drink. Since there are no customers waiting, I step away from the till to get ready to assemble her order. When I hand her the bag a minute or so later, she is still staring at the shake machine’s drip tray.)

Me: *handing her the bag* “Have a nice day.”

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