Unfiltered Story #122175

, , | Unfiltered | September 28, 2018

Customer: this young man short changed me and you owe me $100.

Me: I’m sorry you bought $19.95 worth and paid with $100 and recieved $80.05 back is that right?

Customer: No I paid with a $200 note.

Me:  I’m sorry they don’t make $200 notes.

Customer: Yes they do see.
(produces $100 note as evidence)

Me: No that is $100 see there where it says $100.

Other customer waiting: She is right there is  no such thing as a $200 note.

Customer bursts int tears

Customer: I’ve been ripped off the guy who bought my car said he paid me in $200 bills. It is not my fault please you owe me $100.

I forwarded her onto the police so she can report us for stealing her money.

Maybe There Was A Reason They Didn’t Call You Back

, , , , | Right | September 27, 2018

(I used to live in a small town and worked as a cashier at the only supermarket in the town. Three years ago I moved away from that town to the big city, which is roughly a five-hour drive. I recently went back to the small town for a family reunion and went to the store I used to work at to say hello to all my former colleagues, and to do some shopping. That is when this takes place.)

Customer: *grabbing me on the shoulder and turning me around* “It was him! He’s the one I’ve been telling you about! You need to fire him!”

Me: “Huh?”

(A manager approaches, not the one from when I worked here.)

Manager: “I can assure you, ma’am, that he doesn’t work here.”

Customer: “He does so! Stop lying and fire the little S.O.B!”

Me: “He’s right; I don’t work here.”

Customer: “Yes, you do! But not for much longer!”

Manager: “What is your issue with him?”

Customer: “Around three and a half years ago, I lost my debit card in here; I told this little S.O.B about it when he was on the service kiosk, and he took down my details, but he never called me back to tell me about my card! Fire him now!”

Me: “I haven’t worked for the company for three and a half years; they can’t fire someone who left a while ago.”

Customer: “You listen to me. I am the customer, so I am right! You are fired! Get out of my sight.”

Me: *to the manager, who is gobsmacked* “The one thing I don’t miss about this job is the angry rude customers with bad B.O. I’m sorry she has ruined your shift, buddy.”

Customer: “How dare you?!”

Me: “Don’t worry. I don’t work here anymore, so you won’t have to be served by me again!”

Customer: “Are you going to fire him?!”

Manager: “Considering he doesn’t work for the company, I can’t fire him.”

Customer: “I shall be shopping elsewhere, then!”

(After she left, the manager and I did have a good laugh about that.)

Refunder Plunder

, , , , , | Right | September 27, 2018

(I work in a pawn shop. I’m working on the retail floor when a customer approaches the counter and presents a phone and a receipt, complaining that the phone doesn’t work, and asking for a refund.)

Me: “Oh. Where’s the battery casing?”

Customer: “It came that way.”

(This sets off alarms in my head, since I normally work as a buyer in my store, and I know I’d never accept a phone that had an exposed battery, even to sell for dirt cheap. I look up the item with the information on the receipt.)

Me: “Huh, my system’s saying this phone was already refunded on the same day it was bought.”

Customer: “What? No, it wasn’t! Can’t you just give me the refund?”

Me: “I can’t, man, because of what the system’s saying. I’ll have to have a chat with my manager.”

(I go to my manager with the phone and receipt, and he notices something I didn’t: the photo on the system from when the phone was purchased is slightly different from the phone I’m holding, and we confirm it’s definitely a different phone of the same make. I go back to the customer.)

Me: “Sorry, man, I can’t do the refund. See here? The model number is different, the serial number is different, and the photo we have in the system is different. That phone is actually on our shrinkage bay right now. If you bring me back the right receipt, I can give you a refund though.”

Customer: “Bulls***! Give me my refund! Why would I still have this receipt if it was refunded?”

Me: “We don’t need to keep the receipts, dude; we just need to see them to do the refund. But again, if you bring me the receipt for this phone, I can do the refund for you.”

Customer: “Bulls***! It’s the same phone! Give me my refund!”

(This pretty much repeats back and forth about six times. I’m honestly close to laughing at this point. It’s so painfully obvious from his reaction that he’s trying to scam us, but I’m not about to directly accuse him. I continue playing dumb and tell him that if he brings me the right receipt I totally can do the refund.)

Customer: “F*** you guys. Bunch of f****** thieves.”

(The customer stormed out, continuing to swear loudly. He also called us snitches, for some reason. No idea how that works.)

For You? Ten

, , | Right | September 27, 2018

(I have just locked up the small store I work at to grab lunch, and I put a very big sign on the door saying, “Back in five minutes.”)

Customer: *walks up to door and shakes it less than a minute after he saw me leave*

Me: *stops walking and looks back at him, but doesn’t say anything*

Customer: “This sign says you’ll be back in five minutes. Will you be back in five minutes?”

Numb From The Pain

, , , , , | Healthy | September 25, 2018

(I am in high school, with braces on my upper and lower teeth. My orthodontist decides that the overcrowding on my lower teeth is proving a big enough problem to warrant the removal of two perfectly healthy molars. I can’t say I am impressed, but I don’t have a choice and I am assured it won’t hurt, so I am not too worried. Sitting in the chair at the dentist, I am mostly nervous of the needles I’ll receive for anaesthetic. I receive a needle on each side and am given a moment for it to set in.)

Dentist: “How’s that for you?”

Me: “I can feel that.”

Dentist: “Yes, you’ll feel pressure.”

(The dentist pokes a pointy tool into my gum.)

Me: “Ow, no, I mean it feels like it always would.”

(The dentist looks sceptical, but gives me a second dose of anaesthetic and another moment for it to set in. My mum sits next to me. She’s been quiet all this time. The dentist pops out of the room. I lean over and tell her that everything feels normal; nothing is numb. I ask her, “Please don’t let her do this.” She begins to say something; I can’t remember what. The dentist comes back in.)

Dentist: “Nonsense. She’s lying. You can’t feel anything.”

(I protest, but the dentist basically forces her tools into my mouth and my mum kind of holds me down. The dentist starts cutting into my gum. I scream and wail.)

Dentist: “Oh, stop; it’s just pressure.”

(She continued the procedure, and I kept wailing and crying and gripping my mum’s hand. Afterwards, Mum’s hand was red raw, and she was flustered. She legitimately thought I was just scared, like most kids and teens. I remember shaking and feeling too woozy to say anything further to the dentist. I don’t know whether I’d have been physically able to, either. What I do remember is that the procedure had happened at eight am and that before lunch time my entire face went numb, so I had to spend about five hours with my face over a bucket, the drool pouring out in a constant stream. I vaguely remember my mum and dad both on the phone with the dentist in the other room with some muffled shouting of some kind.)

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