The customer is NOT always right!

14 Feel-Good Stories To Restore Your Faith In Humanity From February 2021!

, | Right | March 7, 2021

Dear readers,

It’s that time of the month again to remind us that Karma can also be a force for good and reestablish a little hope for humanity!

Rounded up below are fourteen inspirational stories from the month of February that spread a little joy around!


Follow That Bus! – One of the few times that getting into a random stranger’s car works out okay!

Never Too Big To Be Grandma’s Little ‘Un – The comments on this story are so wholesome. Check them out!

Keep The Change And Be The Change – A little empathy goes a long way.


1 Thumbs

His Walking Issues Are Just “Visiting”

, , , | Right | March 7, 2021

I work in a company with two offices: a visitor office and an administration office. We are not supposed to help clients in our administration office, but we can decide otherwise if we think it’s the best thing to do.

In the past, I helped a man who was walking with difficulty, but I told him he had to go to the visitor office next time. I made it very clear that this was an exception and I wouldn’t be able to help him next time.

Months later, the man returns. He walks with difficulty once more, very slowly and needing to lean on everything he comes across.

Client: “I need a copy of [document].”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t give you that. You need to go to the visitor office.”

Client: “But I need this document.”

Me: “I know, but you can pick it up at the visitor office or call customer service. I told you this last time.”

Client: “But you can use your computer.”

Me: “No, sir, I can’t. I told you last time that I can get fired over this. Please go to the visitor office.”

The client shuffles on, but strangely enough, he goes to the side of my desk and leers into the space behind our glass door. I have a feeling he wants to bolt for it as soon as it opens. I know he’s slow, but I just have an eerie feeling. 

Me: “Sir, please go to our visitor office. Or call our customer service; here is the number.”

The client finally shuffled to the exit. What he didn’t know is that we have cameras there. He suddenly stood up straight, took big passes to his bike, jumped on top of it, and left the premises. 

A miraculous recovery!

1 Thumbs

The Soy Saga Of The Mocha Guy

, , , , | Right | March 7, 2021

This story takes place over the course of most of a year at the coffee shop at my university. I work the most shifts there, partially because I am taking fewer courses than some of the other staff — all of us were students — and partially because I am always up for an extra buck.

Being a university coffee shop, we have a ton of regulars with easily predictable schedules; nearly everyone is a student, professor, or other university staff. I get to the point where I know probably a good 60 or 70% of the morning rush customers by face and order, if not by name.

I’m on the afternoon shift when a fellow I don’t recognise comes in.

Customer: “I’ll have my usual.”

Me: “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve served you before; what’s your usual?”

Customer: “You know, my usual. I have it every time I’m here.”

I look to my coworker to see if she knows his order, and she just shrugs. 

Me: “I guess we’ve never managed to be here when you’ve ordered before. Could you just let me know, and we’ll try to remember for next time?”

He seems a bit put out that we don’t know his order.

Customer: “It’s a large mocha, extra sweet, with a shot of vanilla, hazelnut, and coconut.”

Me: “All right, that’ll be [amount].”

My coworker is already working on a couple of drinks for another customer, and we don’t have a queue, so I head over to make it. Just as I’m steaming the milk, he speaks up.

Customer: “Oh, and that’s with soy, by the way.”

I put down the 2% and go get our soy jug. By the time I put the double amount of chocolate syrup for the extra sweet, the three shots of syrups, and the two shots of espresso, the cup is about two-thirds full. It smells absolutely rank, but whatever; it’s what he ordered and paid for!

I hand the drink out to him and turn to serve another customer who’s just turned up. He then stands there for a good five or ten minutes trying to chat with my coworker and me, as we’re trying to serve the late afternoon rush that’s just started. Finally, he leaves and I think that’s that. 

He does turn out to actually be a regular customer, and he does always order his usual. Well. Sort of.

I have a bit of a spotty memory, so while I can remember “large soy mocha, extra sweet, three shots of syrup,” I can’t always pull to mind which shots those were. Every time I ask him, I get a different set of flavours. (I’m pretty sure he can’t remember, either.) And he always comes in just before the afternoon rush, and he always tries to chat with us as though there is no one else we need to serve.

My coffee shop is right next to the part of the university that gets used for graduation ceremonies. Twice a year, we get SLAMMED with all the families there to see their kids graduate, as well as all our regular customers. Management has come up with a pretty brilliant plan: we set up a side section in our normal seating area with a cash-only till and our plain drip coffee urns, tea, and pastries. That way, the regulars who just want a plain coffee and a croissant and know the exact price can pop over to the other line and be out in a few moments, rather than waiting in the line with all the parents and grannies and cousins from out of town who all have to pay on card and have orders for the whole family of like six or seven drinks.

This works pretty well for us. I frequently volunteered to work the cash line because I’ve memorised the cost of large coffee and pastry and can get people out of there quickly.

It is June of 2011 and Vancouver loses the final game of the Stanley Cup playoffs to the Boston Bruins, on home ice. The city goes nuts, and we have the Vancouver Hockey Riot. I stay in that night and watch the game on TV, and I read about the riot the next morning in the news. This just so happens to be the week of our graduation ceremonies.

I end up on the cash line again, and whenever I get a slow moment with a regular, we end up chatting about the riot, because, uh, what the heck?! Most of us are just embarrassed by it, and some folks have stories from friends of friends who were out there. Pretty normal customer service conversation. Then comes the regular.

He looks at the long queue for speciality coffees and comes over to me.

Me: “Hey, not having your mocha today? Just so you know, it’s cash-only over here.”

Customer: “Nah, I’ll just have a large coffee.”

Me: “Cool, that’s [amount].”

As he’s pouring his coffee, there are no other customers in my line.

Me: “Crazy thing last night, after the game, huh?”

Customer: “Oh, yeah, real wild. But really, I’m not surprised.”

I am suddenly very tense.

Me: “Oh?”

Customer: “Oh, yeah, all hockey fans are violent.”

Me: “Uh, woah, now. Hey, I like hockey, and I’m not violent!”

Customer: “Oh, well. Most of them are.”

Me: “Well, what about that guy who got put in hospital trying to help out?”

Customer: “He should have tried harder.”

Me: “What, so you think everyone who was there should have been putting themselves in danger to stop the riot just to prove they aren’t violent people?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “There were folks out there with little kids! Come on, man. Clearly, there were some people who just wanted a fight, but you can’t just label all hockey fans violent.”

Customer: “Well, if they weren’t violent, they would have stopped it.”

I realise I’m not going to win this one, and I am unwilling to have a proper fight about it with a customer.

Me: “Well, I gotta go refill this pot of coffee. You have a good day.”

I tell this story to my coworkers.

Coworker: “Okay, we thought he was just kind of awkward and a bit of a weird guy, but this is just rude.”

We’re now all a bit on edge with him whenever he orders, worried he’s gonna say something super rude that we have to try to roll with.

A few months pass, and we’re now in September. We have a hometown hero in my neck of the woods: Terry Fox, a young guy who lost a leg to cancer, who decided in 1980 to run across Canada to raise money for Cancer Research. He never finished the run, due to the cancer spreading, and now every year schools across Canada do a campus run to raise money.

Terry Fox went to my university before his run, so we make a pretty big deal of it. As you can imagine, on the day of the run, the topic of conversation with the customers is, “Oh, hey, you doing the run today?”

Enter the regular:

Me: *As I’m making his drink* “So, you doing the run this afternoon, man?”

Customer: “Nah, it’s just raising money for a dead guy.”

Silence. You can hear a pin drop in the shop. It’s like everyone heard him and is now holding their breath.

My mum works at the university and is, in fact, fairly well known and well liked. She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was in high school and worked throughout her cancer treatments. Almost everyone knows I’m her kid, especially all my coworkers.

Me: *In the midst of steaming the milk for his mocha* “Woah, man, the money isn’t for him; it goes to cancer research.”

Customer: “Nah, it’s all a front. If people just ate better and didn’t fill themselves with chemicals, they wouldn’t get cancer.”

I put the steam jug down.

Me: *Getting emotional* “Hey, man, my mum had cancer, and she’s one of the biggest health nuts I know.”

Customer: “Well, she must have deserved it somehow.”

I turn to my coworker, who is staring, wide-eyed.

Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t serve this customer anymore. Can you finish this drink up?”

I then went into our little back room to sit down for a minute. My coworker finished the drink and then came to check on me. I managed to chill and get back to work.

A few weeks later, when I was back on an afternoon shift, I noticed our regular outside our shop. I steeled myself, took a deep breath, and vowed to put my customer service face on and just deal with him. I watched him look into the shop and peer over at the till. Our eyes locked.

He turned and walked away.

For the next two years that I worked at that coffee shop, he never again came in while I was there.

1 Thumbs

Two No’s, One For Each One

, , , , , | Right | March 6, 2021

Customer: “Can I get a pack of [cigarettes]?”

Me: “Do you have ID I can look at?”

Customer: “I have a photocopy of it.”

Me: “No, sorry, I need the actual ID.”

Customer: “Or I can show you my tits.”

Me: *Shocked* “No.”

Customer: “What about your manager?”

My manager turns around with a WTF look on his face.

Manager: “No.”

1 Thumbs

It Didn’t Scan, It Must Be Free: The Movie

, , , , | Right | March 6, 2021

This morning, due to a software update, our registers are extra laggy. An elderly gentleman approaches with two boxes of band-aids. The usual pleasantries are exchanged. 

Me: “That will be $6.50.”

The customer hands me a twenty-dollar bill. I hit the cash option and flinch inside when I see the hour-glass of impending doom.

Me: “Sorry, the register is being a bit slow this morning.”

Customer: *Humorous* “Huh? It doesn’t want my money. Guess it’s free, then, right?”

I laugh politely. A minute passes and the register crashes.

Me: *Cringing inside* “Oh… looks like it crashed. I’m so sorry. Let me try checking you out in a different lane.”

Customer: “I’m telling you, it should be free. I should just go and walk out the door.”

I attempt to check him out again on another register, which freezes just like the first one did before it crashed.

Me: *Shrinking inside* “So sorry. I don’t know what’s with these registers this morning…”

The customer turns to the lady behind him.

Customer: “They’re giving out free stuff today! The registers don’t want our money! Ha!”

The lady makes a half-hearted laugh, and then gathers her things and makes a hasty retreat to self-checkout.

Customer: “You sure you can’t give it to me for free?”

I give him an uneasy smile. The humor has definitely worn off.

Me: “I wish I could, but I’d get fired.”

Customer: “Now, let me tell you something. You should never worry about getting fired. There is always another job out there that pays more.”

I am poking the register, silently praying for it to work.

Me: “Mmm-hmmm…”

Customer: “Back when I started out, I made $10,000 a year. Then they fired me for acting up, and two days later, I got another job that paid $30,000. Then, I left that job because the company went out of business and I got another job that paid $100,000 a year.”

I am thinking to myself how all my attempts to get a job with my degree over the last decade have failed due to my very bad eyesight, how I got my first job with dumb luck, and how it took me months to finally get this current job.

Me: “Uh-huh…”

Customer: “And now I’m seventy years old and just don’t care!”

I want to put my fist through the register screen. Instead, I flag down my boss. I explain the situation and she attempts to get the previous register up and running.

Customer: “It’s like I was telling her, I should just get this for free.”

Boss: *Taking the items* “Let me see what I can do here.”

Customer: “You know, I got paid $50 an hour… Does that mean I owe you like $8?”

My boss mutters out of earshot and then gestures me over quietly.

Boss: “You know, I’m just going to requisition this. Just give him these and send him on his way.”

It takes a second to process this in shock as, after all this fuss, I really wanted his $6 on principle. After a second, I slide his cash and the items back to him.

Me: “Here you go. You can just have these…”

Customer: “Wait? Really? You are giving it to me for free? Man, I should have got more stuff! Please, please can I go get more stuff?”

Boss: “No, I can’t let you get more. But you can take those items and go.”

Customer: “Well, great!”

He walks away.

I am staring dumbfounded after him, feeling flustered and slighted. I give my boss a questioning look.

Boss: “That was not worth the $6.”

That guy is likely at home entertaining his grandkids with the story of how he got free stuff, not realizing he also made a cashier want to crawl out of her skin in the process.

1 Thumbs