I work at a small family-owned business that tints car and office windows. I am fairly new and still getting the hang of checking customers in. A guy walks in at 9:15 on September 15th.

Customer: “Hello, I need to drop off my car; I have an appointment.”

Me: “Good morning, let me get the sche—”

Customer: “Well, I might have an appointment.”

Me: *Confused* “Okay.”

I check the calendar and see we are tinting a house today — no cars at all for the next five days.

Me: “Um, sir, I am sorry, but who did you speak to?”

Customer: “A woman.”

Me: “Okay, well, we are tinting a house this week. Did they say they would squeeze you in today? Perhaps they forgot to leave me a note.”

Customer: *Frowning* “Well, check another day, then!”

Me: “Okay, what kind of car do you have?”

We list everything by year, make, and model.

Customer: “A truck.”

Here we go.

Me: “Okay, year, make, and model?”

Customer: *Huge sigh* “It’s a two thousand and three Ford. Can you hurry this up?”

I desperately look and cannot find this truck on any days for the next two weeks, so I type in 2003 into the search bar. Lo and behold, there he is. His appointment was one month ago.

Me: “Sir, your appointment was on August 19th.”

Customer: “Well, fine! I guess I’ll just take my business somewhere else that can get this done when I need it.”

He stomped out the door as I called after him. When I told my bosses, they just rolled their eyes and sighed. Can’t please everyone.

I am a woman and I work at an auto parts store. An old woman brings in her doorbell and starts taking it apart at my counter.

Old Woman: “I need a man to fix my bell.”

Me: “Our batteries are right over here.”

Old Woman: “No, these are new batteries. But you push the button, and nothing happens.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we don’t sell parts for doorbells. This is an auto parts store.”

Old Woman: “I need a man to fix it.”

Me: “No one here can fix it.”

Old Woman: “I need a man.”

Me: “Sorry, no men here.”

My female coworker emerges.

Old Woman: “No man?”

Me: “No, ma’am.”

Related:
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 15
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 14
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 13
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 12
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 11

I’m a woman in my twenties and I’m a mechanic at an auto shop. This regular comes in all the time to get his oil changed and everything on his 2007 truck. He usually requests that I perform his oil change because he likes the way I do it. I realized the other day that I hadn’t seen [Regular]’s truck in a while, but I didn’t think much of it because I was promoted from oil change tech to a higher level where I do more than just oil changes, and I assumed [Regular]’s oil change was now being done by one of the oil change techs.

After some months, I get [Regular]’s truck in for an oil change. I don’t realize anything is wrong until after I finish and turn in the keys and see [Regular] arguing with the service advisor. I go on to my next job, and after [Regular] leaves, I go talk to the service advisor.

Me: “What was [Regular] angry about?”

Service Advisor: “He was trying to get us to reimburse him for the money he spent buying his own filters and oil. He’s been changing his own oil for the last few months because he couldn’t get an appointment with you to change it for him, and he wanted us to pay him because he’s been ‘doing our job for us.’”

My first car was great right up until the moment it wasn’t. It was that quintessential first car that wasn’t anything fancy but it ran and it was paid for. Just shy of reaching 200,000 miles, however, everything started falling apart, almost literally. The air conditioning quit, which is a big deal in Florida, the head gaskets started leaking, causing the car to overheat, and finally. the alternator gave out so I couldn’t even start it anymore. It was going to cost way more than my fifteen-year-old Neon was worth to fix it, so I found a local company that would scrap it. Notably, their website claimed “$250 minimum guaranteed, even if it doesn’t start.” They’d even come haul it away.

I called and scheduled the pickup, making sure to verify the $250 and that they knew it wouldn’t start. It was a small company and the man I spoke with gave me his name and identified himself as the owner. He agreed it would be $250 no matter what.  

The day it was scheduled to be hauled away, the driver knocked on the door and asked for the keys. I told him the key would unlock it but it wasn’t moving on its own.

Driver: “Well, since it doesn’t start, my boss says I can only give you $200 for it.”

Me: “Umm, that’s not what your website says. I also verified the $250 just last week when I called to schedule this pickup and I told them then it wouldn’t start. The owner agreed it would be $250.”

Driver: “Well, he just called me and said we can only do $200.”

I was starting to smell a rat. 

Me: “Then I’m going to call him back and tell him his website is misleading and that he shouldn’t have promised me $250 since he knew last week it wouldn’t start. I’d like to tell him who I’m working with. What was your name again?”

Driver: *Stammering* “Well… well… let me just give him a quick call back and clear things up for you.”

He walked off, had the most comically fake phone call of all time, and then came back. 

Driver: “I explained that whoever you talked to last week told you it would be $250 even if it didn’t start. [Owner] didn’t know who you’d spoken to but said he’d have to talk to the employees about making promises like that. He said you should get the $250 this time, but next time it might be lower.”

Me: *Super fake voice* “Wow, thanks so much for getting your boss to agree to cover what that dishonest employee was doing and treating customers so badly!”

He forked over the money and towed the car away. Once he was gone, I called the company and asked for the owner. I told him that whichever driver he’d sent to my place was skimming from him and lying about his business to customers. He got really quiet, apologized for the driver’s behavior, and promised he’d deal with him.

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While I don’t typically work the front counter, I do jump on register to help from time to time. I also help to answer the phone. On one particular morning, I pick up a line. Here in New York, most license plates start with three letters and end in four numbers. Commercial plates typically are five numbers followed by two letters.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Auto Parts Store], [My Name] speaking. How may I help you today?”

Caller: “Yeah, I need a power steering cooler for a 2005 GMC.”

Me: “All right, sir, can you tell me what model GMC you have?”

Caller: “Uh, it says Z71 on the side.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but that isn’t a model. If you look on the back of your vehicle it might have the model name.”

Caller: “It just says GMC on the back.”

Me: “All right, sir, that’s fine. Is your vehicle registered?”

Caller: “Yeah.”

Me: “If you tell me the plate number, I can look it up that way.”

Caller: “The what?”

Me: “The license plate number, sir.”

Caller: “What’s that?”

I’ve never had anyone ask me this question before, and I half expect the caller to say he’s just kidding, but he doesn’t say anything else.

Me: “It’s the plate with seven characters on your vehicle.”

Caller: “You mean like the VIN number?”

Me: “No, sir. If your vehicle is registered, then it’s the plate on the front or back of your vehicle. Do you have a plate like that?”

Caller: “Oh, yeah. It says [five digits].”

I think that maybe it is either a specialty plate, but a search of those five digits comes back with nothing for New York.

Me: “Is your vehicle registered in the state of New York?”

Caller: “Yeah.”

Me: “Are there any letters on the plate, too?”

Caller: “Uh, yeah, there’s [two letters].”

I put the letters in my search, too, and his model finally came up and I quoted him his price.