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No Discount Requires A Recount

, | Right | February 9, 2015

(I am standing in line. There are two gentlemen in front of me who are together being helped by the cashier.)

Cashier: “Okay, your total is $36.74.”

(This total catches my attention, as this place has a high value-per-dollar. In spite of having a more-than-ample appetite myself, I can always fill up for under $6, so I am curious what two men are going to do with six people’s worth of food.)

Customer: “Oh, that’s too much. Is [Manager #1] here?”

Cashier: “Uh… I don’t know anyone by that name.”

Customer: “Really? [Manager #1] is a manager. He always gives us discounts. Can you just give us a discount?”

Cashier: “Uh… no, I really can’t.”

Customer: “Well, where’s [Manager #1]?”

Cashier: “I really don’t know. I can get a manager if you like.”

Customer: “Yeah, we want to know where [Manager #1] is.”

Cashier: “Hey, [Manager #2]!”

(Manager #2 is out of earshot, so a line cook has to relay the shout farther back in order for her to hear. She has clearly been too far away to know anything about the conversation that just transpired. Manager #2 arrives at the register.)

Manager #2: “Yes, [Cashier]?”

Cashier: “These—”

Customer: *interrupting* “Where’s [Manager #1]?”

Manager #2: “Oh, he doesn’t work here anymore.”

Customer: “Oh, really? What happened?”

Manager #2: “Yeah, apparently he kept giving out discounts to people who’d done nothing to earn them, so we had to fire him.”

(Another register opened to help me, so I didn’t hear the end of their discussion, but when I sat down with my order, they were two tables down with about $10 worth of food.)

Just Popped Their Corn Bubble

| Right | November 4, 2015

(I’m working concession when I hear the following exchange between two customers standing about 10 feet in front of me looking at the menu-display we have above stand.)

Customer #1: “I think I’m gonna go for the medium popcorn.”

Customer #2: “Don’t do that! That’s just silly! Don’t you know movie-theater popcorn isn’t freshly made! It’s made days and days ahead of time and then shipped in from out-of-town, in big plastic garbage bags! You could be eating week-old popcorn if you get it at the movies!”

(I smirk and chuckle to myself, because we make fresh popcorn all day, every day with fresh and fairly expensive ingredients and most certainly don’t import week-old popcorn in garbage-bags. Our poppers are even visible in the back of concession if guests look hard enough.)

Customer #1: “That’s not true, is it?”

Customer #2: “It is! It’s part of their scam! This guy here knows it, and he doesn‘t care because he gets a cut of the big money they make from selling old food to innocent customers. It‘s highway robbery at it‘s finest.”

(I chuckle again considering I definitely haven’t gotten a cut of this non-existent “scam money” and am living check to check on minimum wage. I decide to have a little fun with the customers. I radio my manager, speaking just loud enough so that the customers can hear me.)

Me: *into radio* “Hey, I just wanted to double-check… Do you think I should make an extra batch of popcorn this morning just in case the next showtime sells out? I wanna make sure we have enough fresh popcorn ready.”

(Customer #2 hears and looks at Customer #1 with a scowl.)

Manager: *over radio* “If you think you should, go ahead. Nothing wrong with making another fresh batch just in case.”

(I turn and go into the back of concession while the two customers watch and put in fresh kernels and oil into the popper and start it, before turning it on.)

Customer #2: *quietly to her friend* “You see what he just did. It’s just special effects! We’re at the movies, after all. They pretend to make fresh popcorn, but all they sell is the cheap, old stuff!”

Customer #1: “Really? That’s just disgraceful. I’m going to call their corporate office and complain about this. It’s not right to scam their loyal customers like this!”

(They stormed off. I guess some people just HAVE to believe that they’re getting ripped off, even when they aren’t.)

Worried About Being Put To Bed With A Shovel

| Working | April 11, 2014

(I am 15 years old. It is a Sunday morning, and the clinic is closed. I have to go in to feed the dogs and let them outside. It had snowed about a foot overnight, so my boss has left me a note asking me to shovel the parking lot. I am letting the dogs out when he arrives. Note that this isn’t the best neighborhood.)

Boss: “Hey, [My Name], why didn’t you shovel?”

Me: “Hey, [Boss]. I was letting dogs out and feeding them first. I figured I’d shovel once I’m done.”

Boss: “I wanted you to shovel before I got here.”

Me: “I didn’t realize you were coming in today. I’ll get on it once I get the dogs inside.”

Boss: “Ugh, fine.”

(We have a lot of dogs, so it takes me quite a while to let the dogs out and then back in. By the time I am done, my boss has gone home. I am about to start shoveling the snow when I see a large man picking through the garbage outside. Being a small, young girl, I am afraid to go outside on my own with this man there. I call my boss to explain the situation.)

Me: “Hey, [Boss], I’m having kind of a weird situation here.”

Boss: “It couldn’t be handled while I was there?”

Me: “No. There’s a big guy standing outside of the clinic in the parking lot. Would it be okay if I called someone to come help me shovel? You know: safety in numbers.”

Boss: “Just shovel! He’ll probably go away when he sees you.”

Me: “I’m just kind of uncomfortable with this situation. He looks kind of sketchy.”

Boss: “No, I’m not paying two people to be there! Just do your job!”

Me: “Would you let your 15-year-old daughter shovel snow by herself in Detroit when there’s a creepy-looking man picking through the garbage?”

Boss: “Of course not!”

Me: “Then would you let me call [Coworker] to come help me?”

Boss: “No! Ugh, you’re just being lazy. Just wait until he goes away and then shovel.”

(After I hung up, I sat waiting for the man to go away for about a half hour, but he wouldn’t leave. I ended up calling my parents. They both came to the clinic. Once they arrived, the man went away. My parents didn’t like the idea of a 15-year-old being alone in such a neighborhood and ended up helping me shovel the parking lot and the sidewalk in front of the building. My boss to this day does not understand why I was scared.)

Honey, I Shrunk The Brain

, , , | Right | January 10, 2011

(We pack and sell raw local honey in plastic jars.)

Customer: “I don’t like these plastic jars. They are messy. You should use glass jars.”

Me: “Glass is much heavier and it breaks so easily. I’ve never noticed it being messier to deal with. How does it trouble you?”

Customer: “Plastic leaks.”

Me: “I beg your pardon?”

Customer: “I take a bit of honey each night before bed. And every morning there is a ring of honey on the nightstand where it has leaked out of the jar.”

Me: “I know if the jar is poured, you must wipe it off or the drip will run down the outside and make a sticky mess. But the same is true of any honey jar.”

Customer: “No, it leaks out the bottom. And only plastic jars.”

Me: “All these boxes here are full of plastic jars, and the box bottoms are clean and dry.”

Customer: “Well, of course it doesn’t do it here. It’s only on nightstands!”


This story is part of our Flawed Customer Logic roundup!

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This We’ll Defend

, , , | Right | July 23, 2012

(I’m a female and I’m waiting for my girlfriend to get off work, and the person who was supposed to relieve her is running late, so I’m hanging around. My girlfriend is a hair under five feet tall, and maybe ninety pounds. She’s really little, and people try and intimidate her a lot because of this.)

My Girlfriend: “I’m sorry. It should be like half an hour.”

Me: “No problem.”

(A customer shoulders past me and shoves an item in my girlfriend’s face.)

Male Customer: “This place f***ing ripped me off!”

My Girlfriend: “What’s the problem, sir?”

Male Customer: “Don’t play with me, you stupid b****! I bought this and it won’t work!”

My Girlfriend: “Sir, may I see the item?”

Male Customer: *shoves it at her*

My Girlfriend: “Sir, this didn’t come from our store.”

Male Customer: “You callin’ me a liar, you stupid b****?!”

My Girlfriend: “Of course not, but this package has a label that clearly has the name of our competitor on it.”

Male Customer: “So, I bought it here!”

My Girlfriend: “I’m sorry, sir, but no, you didn’t.”

(At this point, another customer, who is a fairly petite woman, is standing behind him. She looks a little concerned. Without warning, the male customer takes a swing at my girlfriend.)

Male Customer: “You stupid c***! Do your d*** job and give me a f***ing refund!”

(Thankfully my girlfriend steps out of reach of the customer’s swing. However, the petite woman behind him suddenly surges forward, and in one swift movement twists his arm behind his back and slams his face down on the counter.)

Petite Woman: *to my girlfriend* “Honey, you may want to call 911.”

My Girlfriend: *stunned* “O-Okay…”

Me: *to the male customer* “Jesus Christ, what the h*** is the matter with you, you freaking psycho?!”

Male Customer: “Get the f*** off me!”

(In response, the petite woman wrenches his arm behind him further. The male customer wails.)

Male Customer: “You can’t do that! You’re just a woman!”

Petite Woman: “Army Strong, a**hole. If you want to walk away with your arm not broken, I’d stop struggling.”

(The male customer stops struggling when he realizes that she isn’t going to let go anytime soon. The police show up in less than five minutes. They get everyone’s statements and view the security video. The manager finally meanders out; he’s a man who is useless in every sense of the word. He also doesn’t like my girlfriend because she’s dating me, a girl.)

My Girlfriend’s Manager: “What is all this about?

Police Officer: “Sir, this man just attempted to attack your employee.”

My Girlfriend’s Manager: “Oh.”

Petite Woman:That’s all you have to say?” *to my girlfriend* “Honey, you want to press charges?”

My Girlfriend’s Manager: “Oh, that won’t be necessary.”

(The petite woman whirls on my girlfriend’s manager, and he actually takes a step backwards.)

Petite Woman: “I wasn’t talking to you. Believe me when I tell you, your boss will be hearing about what little concern you have for your employees!”

My Girlfriend’s Manager: *slinks off*

(Meanwhile, the police finish arresting the man and explain to my girlfriend how she can press charges.)

Me: *to the petite woman* “Excuse me, Miss?”

Petite Woman: “Yes?”

Me: “Thank you. You defended my girlfriend. So many people wouldn’t have done anything. Would it be alright if I could have your name?”

Petite Woman: *smiles* “You’re welcome. You guys look cute together. And my name is Angel.”

(With that, she leaves without buying anything. Three days later, my girlfriend’s unhelpful manager was fired. An Angel indeed!)