Unfiltered Story #93268

, , , | Unfiltered | September 6, 2017

(I am standing in line. The customer in front of me approaches the service desk.)

Customer: “My computer made a bang noise, stopped working and then there was a bad smell….is that a bad thing?”

Unfiltered Story #92621

, | Unfiltered | September 5, 2017

I work for a cleaning service. We get a new client and I’m assigned to clean the house. It’s a gorgeous spring day, so I open all the doors and windows as I’m cleaning and the scent of the garden comes in – lots of jasmine and daphne as well as many other fragrant flowers. By the time I’m finished, the place smells divine. The client arrives back just as I’m finishing, with several shopping bags.

Client: Oh, the house looks lovely. But why are all the windows and doors open?
Me: Just to give it a good airing out, I’m about to close them.
Client: Oh yes? What’s that smell?

I’m non-plussed; has she literally never stopped to smell the flowers in her own garden?

Me: That’s the scent of all your lovely jasmine just under these windows here. Glorious, isn’t it?
Client: Oh, I don’t like that. Close the windows and use this instead!

She pulls from her shopping back a can of air freshener. Jasmine scented.

Transferring The Lies

, , , | Working | September 4, 2017

(My husband’s grandmother has sent me a birthday card with cash in it and I’d like to call and thank her. However, I’ve got a new phone with no contacts in it, my husband is busy at work, and we don’t really talk to any of his relatives, so I decide to call the retirement home to see if they’ll help connect me or pass along a message. They connected me the previous year with no hassle. I explain my problem and ask if they can connect me, or give me her number, or pass along a message).

Receptionist #1: “I don’t know. I’ll put you through to [Receptionist #2].”

Me: *explains again*

Receptionist #2: “She’s not in my department. I’ll connect you with [Manager #1].”

Me: *explains again*

Manager #1: “I don’t know. I’ll put you through to [Manager #2].”

Me: *explains again*

Manager #2: “It’s illegal to give out someone’s number.”

Me: “Oh. Last year they did. Can you connect me directly?”

Manager #2: “No, they didn’t. You’re lying. I can’t connect. That’s illegal.”

Me: “Oookay, well, they did give me her number last year and then proceeded to connect me.”

Manager #2: “Stop lying.”

Me: “Woah, there’s no need to be rude. It happened. Legal, or otherwise, it happened. Can you leave her a message?”

Manager #2: “I’m not being rude. You’re lying. We can’t transfer calls on our phones. No i won’t leave her a message. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Me: “You can’t transfer any calls?”

Manager #2: “No. It’s a single line.”

Me: “At all.”

Manager #2: “No. And it’s illegal and you’re lying.”

Me: “Okay, now you’re being rude and ridiculous. I was transferred three times today before speaking to you. And I was helped immediately last year. And, even if they weren’t supposed to do it, it still happened. Shouting at me that I’m lying doesn’t make it so.”

(She started to speak, but I hung up. I later got the phone number from my husband and called to thank his grandmother for the card.)

Husband’s Grandmother: “Why didn’t you just call reception, they could have transferred you!”

Fostering Some Parental Resentment

, , , , | Related | September 4, 2017

(I am having lunch with a few of my fellow students at a local college. I am the youngest, at 21, while the others range from their 20s to their 50s. The discussion turns to vacations.)

Woman #1: “I can’t wait until the kids are older so that [Husband] and I can finally start taking romantic getaways or do a big overseas vacation.” *Her kids are early teens.*

Woman #2: “Why not just go now?” *Her kids are grown with their own children.*

Woman #1: “I don’t feel right about leaving my kids with anyone, and we can’t afford to take everyone.”

Woman #2: “That’s ridiculous. When my kids were young and I felt I needed a break, I just had them put into foster care.”  

Woman #1: “You did what?!”

Woman #2: “Put them in foster care. I could do whatever I wanted while they were there.”

(We are all stunned by her nonchalance at doing this to her daughters. She’s always complaining about them and their lives. A few weeks later, she is now complaining about the treatment she is getting from her kids. She complains that they don’t involve her in much of their family lives and that it’s disgusting how they treat her because all she got for Mother’s day was a phone call; they live on the other side of the country.)

Woman #1: *to me later* “She’s lucky she even got a phone call; if I was her daughter I would lose her number and change mine.”

Unfiltered Story #93201

, , | Unfiltered | September 4, 2017

My better half booked a two-week cruise for us both. She is fastidious when it comes to paperwork. We board after showing our tickets and are directed to our room.

While we are unpacking there’s a knock on the door. We open it to see one of the cruise workers and a lady. The lady reminds me of an owl by the way she is peeking around the employee, looking into my room. I shut the door a tad so she can’t peer in, while being informed that there seems to be a issue with the booking.

The employee asks if I could make my way to the pursers desk with any paper work we may have. We get the folder containing the paperwork and I head off with Mrs Owl to get this sorted.

After ten minutes of listening to Mrs Owl complain how unprofessional everything is, we get to the front of the line and are asked by the purser for any documentation we may have to help clear up the matter.

I hand her the folder saying “This is every piece of correspondence between my partner, myself and your company, in chronological order starting with my partners first enquiry up until yesterday morning confirming our room number.”

The purser looks to Mrs Owl. Mrs Owl hands her a posted note with a hand written number on it.

Ten minutes later I’m back in my room with my feet up drinking an extremely alcoholic cocktail.

Not sure what happened to the Owls.

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