Fortunately For Us Both, I Like Crazy

| Right | August 10, 2012

(I work in the “exotic phone call” industry. Most customers know they’re paying a lot of money for the call, so they don’t play games. But, every once in awhile, I get calls that even I find strange.)

Caller: “Oooh, hey, what’s your name?”

Me: “You can just call me ‘Candy.'”

Caller: “Oh, no, I’m diabetic. Can I call you something else?”

Me: “Well, my special callers call me ‘Silk,’ because I’m so smooth.”

Caller: “Hmm, no. I don’t like silk… or satin.”

Me: “Well, how ’bout this? What do you wanna call me?”

Caller: “Err… Cortana? Like, from Halo?”

Me: “Really? I LOVE Halo!”

(In the end, this caller and I talked about the Halo franchise for roughly three hours without discussing anything even remotely dirty. It was the most enjoyable call I’d taken all month. To show my appreciation for the conversation, I took 50% off of his bill.)

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It’s Been Beautifully Supervised

, , , , | Right | March 16, 2018

(I am the Manager of Branches for the entire public library system which means that I am in charge of all the desk staff and supervisors across the county. Although I am more than 30 years old, I am very petite and people often think I am younger than I am. The other thing is that most of my staff are either teenagers or between 50 and 70. I don’t usually do shifts on the desk but sometimes I am called in to cover lunches. I am working at the circulation desk when a middle-aged woman comes up.)

Patron: “Hi, I borrowed a copy of [Popular Book that just came out] and I seem to have lost it. I wanted to see how much it would cost me to replace it.”

Me: “Our standard fee for a replacement is $45.”

Patron: *suddenly angry* “$45!? It’s only $25 at [Bookstore]! You can’t just charge whatever you feel like for books. You teenagers are all the same! I’ll bet you are pocketing the extra $20 from every book that gets lost, you little b****!”

(I try to explain to her how the charges are set by our publishers, and about the service fees for cataloging books and re-entering them into circulation, but she isn’t interested in listening to me. She keep shouting over me and interrupting me. Eventually, a sort of calm comes over her and she stops yelling and lets me speak, while smirking.)

Patron: *grinning like she is about to play her trump card* “Sweetie, I want to talk to your supervisor.”

(Now, it’s my turn to smirk a little. I could just tell her who I am, but I’m interested to see how my branch supervisor handles problem customers. I go and get the branch supervisor. The patron starts bad-mouthing me to the supervisor, who seems a little confused by the fact that she keeps referring to me as a teenager. But my supervisor is professional and tells her exactly what I told her. This seems to infuriate the patron even more and she demands to speak to my supervisor’s boss.)

Branch Supervisor: “Well, the Manager of Branches is actually in the building right now; I can let you speak to her.”

Patron: “Good! Finally, someone who knows what they’re talking about.”

(The branch supervisor brings me back over.)

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name], the Manager of Branches. Now, would you like to pay by cash or card?”

(The patron just looked at me, looked at the branch supervisor — who was trying not to laugh — looked back at me, and practically ran out of the library. I put a $45 charge on her card and suspended her account until it was paid. According to my branch supervisor, her husband came in the next day and paid off the charge. He comes in pretty often, but she hasn’t shown her face in a while.)

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Reality Bites, And So Do Customers

, , , , , | Right | March 29, 2010

(I work at a historical site of the civil war, dressing and acting as if we were still in that time period)

Tourist: “Is that fire real?”

Me: “Yes.”

Tourist: “Is the water you’re drinking real?”

Me: “Yes.”

Tourist: “Are your clothes real?”

Me: “Yes.”

Tourist: “Are you real?”

Me: “Yes.”

Tourist: “This place isn’t very interesting.”


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A Good Attitude About A Bad Attitude

, , , | Right | April 10, 2013

(Our refund policy has a shorter timeframe than most people assume, and they usually don’t read their receipts. A customer walks in carrying a bag with one of our games; she’s on her cell phone.)

Me: “How can I help you, ma’am?”

Customer: “I just want to return this. I do not need to be spending $30 on a game right now.”

(She continues her phone conversation.)

Me: “Do you have your receipt with you?”

Customer: “Yeah, it’s in the bag, honey.”

Me: “Okay, let me just check it.”

(I see that she’s a couple of days past the refund window.)

Me: “All right, I can get you a store credit for this.”

Customer: “What? You mean I can’t get my money back?”

Me: “It says right here, ‘Last day for refund is [date]’.”

(She is a little bit shocked, and continues talking on her cell phone.)

Customer: “They say I can’t return it… I can only get a store credit! I just drove all this way for nothing!”

(I prepare for her to start yelling at me.)

Customer: “Oh, I can’t believe this. I need to go. Just put it back in the bag. I need to take my bad attitude out of here!”

Me: “Um, sorry about that.”

Customer: “Oh, it’s okay; it’s not you, honey!”

(She grabs the bag and leaves quickly, still on her cell phone. I turn to my coworker.)

Me: “I can’t believe she didn’t yell at me! She just recognized that she was upset and left. This has never happened before!”

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Respect Your Zombie Elders

| Right | July 2, 2012

(I am a customer at a very popular superstore in my town. I have my five-year-old daughter in line with me. An elderly customer is in front of me talking to the cashier.)

Cashier: “Hello, how can I help—”

Customer: “How dare you.”

Cashier: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “How dare you wear that keychain!”

Cashier: “I don’t understand.”

Customer: “That!”

(The customer points at the cashier’s keychain, which has a zombie on it.)

Customer: “How could you support that man in Florida? He ate another man’s face while he was naked! How dare you!”

(The cashier is completely stunned, but my daughter suddenly steps up to the aggravated woman.)

My Daughter: “Lady, that man wasn’t a zombie. He was just crazy. Zombie’s aren’t real! You should know that. You’re about a hundred!”

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