About To Get A Cash-Back Attack

, , , | Right | September 19, 2017

(I’m running the self-checkout service. Keep in mind that payment type is selected by the customer and not by me.)

Customer: “It didn’t let me get cash back! It just skipped right by it!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. You must have accidentally chosen credit. If you need cash back, you can get something small like a pack of gum and run your card again. Would you sign here please?”

Customer: “No! I don’t have a credit card!”

Me: “I still need you to sign here please.”

Customer: “I don’t have a credit card! Why do I have to sign?”

Me: “The system requires that I get your signature.”

Customer: “But I don’t have a credit card! Is it going to charge me twice?”

Me: “No, ma’am, it won’t. Please sign here.”

(She finally signs and I think it’s over, but after she places her bags into her cart, she turns back to me.)

Customer: “I don’t have a credit card! That is not customer service! That is not customer service! I should never have come here! That is not customer service!”

(She stormed away, but had to turn around because her car was in the other direction. I’m still not sure how her mistake had anything to do with my customer service.)

Condimentally Challenged

, , , , , | Right | September 19, 2017

(A young male customer in baggy clothes shuffles into the drugstore where I work and walks up to me.)

Customer: “Uh, yeah, uh… do you guys have any condiments?”

(I lead him to the condiment aisle and gesture to the ketchup and mustard.)

Customer: “Uh, no, uh… that’s not what I wanted… you got any, you know, rubber gloves?”

(By this point, I have a fairly good idea of what he’s looking for, but I diligently lead him to the cleaning supply aisle and point out the rubber gloves with a smile.)

Customer: “Uh, nah, I’m looking for… you know…”

Me: “Sir, do you mean CONDOMS?”

Customer: “YEAH!”

(I hope he used them properly; he wasn’t ready to reproduce.)

Uses High-Smug Fuel

, , , | Right | September 19, 2017

(It is back in the days when gas station attendants pump gas for you, and gas is only 40¢ per gallon. It’s a hot summer day. The station is on a superhighway, so we get customers from all over the world, and our orders can vary widely. A customer drives up to the pump, but will not roll down his window. He wildly gesticulates, waving five fingers at me.)

Me: *speaking loudly at the window* “Five dollars or five gallons, sir?”

Customer: *continues to wave his hand at me*

Me: “Five dollars or five gallons, sir?”

Customer: *continues to wave his hand at me*

Me: “Five dollars or five gallons, sir?”

(The customer finally rolls down the window:)

Customer: “Five dollars.”

(He then quickly rolls the window back up.)

Me: *smugly* “Regular or high-test, sir?”

A Snow Storm Of Protest

, , | Right | September 18, 2017

(Anyone under the age of 18 cannot legally ring up alcohol for customers. I’m 24, but people still ask if I’m old enough to ring it. The following happens on a Thursday morning. The temperature is in the negatives, and all the local school systems have the day off.)

Customer: *sets wine on the counter* “Who can ring this?”

Me: *laughs* “Anyone who couldn’t would be in school right now, sir.”

Customer: *suddenly snotty* “Well, today’s a snow day! They aren’t in school; so THERE. You COULD be too young.”

Me: “Sir, the managers didn’t know today would be a snow day when they made the schedule a week ago.”

Customer: *grabs his things and storms out*

¡Yo No Trabajo Aquí!

, , | Right | September 18, 2017

(I’m standing in line at a popular fast-food joint, in no way looking like a worker. I’m wearing capris, a t-shirt, and sneakers. I’m also fifteen, though I look like I’m twelve. Needless to say, I’m also standing on the side of the counter where the food is ordered, not where the workers are. A customer approaches me and begins to rattle off a long, complex order.)

Customer: “Did you get all that?”

Me: *doesn’t realize she was speaking to me* “Uh… no?”

Customer: “DIDN’T YOU PAY ATTENTION?! I’M TALKING TO YOUR MANAGER FOR TERRIBLE CUSTOMER SERVICE!”

Me: “I don’t work here.”

Customer: *pause* “…get me your supervisor.”

Me: “I don’t think you understand; I’m a customer, not a worker.”

Customer: “I need to talk to your manager. If they hire Mexican children, they should at least speak English!”

Me: “I don’t think you understand English. I. Don’t. Work. Here.” *at this point, I’ve given up being polite*

Customer: “Oh… I’m sorry.”

Me: “It’s cool.”

Customer: “So… can I get a burger?”

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