I am trying to get Disability currently, as I’m epileptic and can’t work. I decided to go online to apply on the Social Security Administration website. I went through h*** trying to make a SSA account so that I can check the application status and appeal when necessary. The website said that making the account was quick and easy. They lied.

My phone is prepaid, and my second is a VoIP, neither of which can be used to verify my identity. Since I can’t verify my identity, I can’t access my account. Since I can’t access my account, I can’t check my application. So, I called my local SSA office and asked for an appointment to verify my identity in person, as stated on the website. I was told that they could definitely help with that, and I didn’t need an appointment, and to just walk in. I went in the next day with my grandfather.

It was horrible, solely due to the receptionist.

Receptionist #1: *Over intercom.* “[Unintelligible] A-thirty-two [unintelligible] four.”

Grandfather: “Window four.”

We get to window four, but no one is there.

Receptionist #1: *Over intercom.* “[Unintelligible] A-thirty-two [unintelligible] four.”

Me: “Oh, twenty-four, not four.”

[Receptionist #1] starts calling the next person, but stops when she sees me and my grandfather.

Receptionist #1: *Very rude.* “I called you three times.”

Me: *Annoyed, but I stay polite and apologize.* “I’m sorry, we thought you said four, not twenty-four.”

Receptionist #1: *Ignoring my apologies.* “Give me your ticket. What can I do for you today?

Me: *Gives ticket and staying polite.* “Yes, I need to verify my identity for my account, and check my application status, or appeal, since I believe I’ve already been denied by now. My phone is a prepaid phone, and my other number is a VoIP number, so I can’t verify my identity using either. I was told that I can verify my identity face-to-face?”

Receptionist #1: *Still rude.* “Who told you that?”

Me: *Thinking.* “Your website and the woman I talked to on the phone yesterday.”

Me: *Out loud.* “That’s what I was told. I can’t sign into my account without verifying my identity, and I can’t verify my identity without a phone number that’s attached to my identity. I just need to verify my identity, and I also wanted to ask about my application status and changing my address on it.”

I learned later that you can’t once it’s been sent.

Receptionist #1: *Ignores last two.* “Can I see your valid ID and what’s your social security number?”

I slide both cards through the slot.

Receptionist #1: *Looks at ID.* “Is your address on this correct?”

Me: “No, it’s—”

Receptionist #1: *Interrupts me.* “—then what is it?!”

Grandfather: “The address is [Address].”

Receptionist #2: *Walks over as [Receptionist #1] is typing.* “Hey, am I supposed to be dealing with A33? You called them already.”

Receptionist #1: “You can take them. I called A33 when I called them—” *Jerks head to myself and my grandfather.* “—three times, and they only showed up after I called the next one.”

[Receptionist #2] walks away. [Receptionist #1] types for a minute.

Receptionist #1: “You don’t have an account.”

Me: *Confused.* “I do. At first, I didn’t know if it went through, because my computer died in the middle of making it, but I tried to create one again, and it said there already was an account attached to my social.”

Receptionist #1: “Well, it says you tried to sign in yesterday at [time].”

Me: *Thinking.* “So, do I not have an account, or did I try to access my account?”

Receptionist #1: *Huffy.* “What’s your social?”

Me: *Trying not to bang my head on the desk.* “You still have my Social Security card.”

[Receptionist #1] calls over the manager. There is inaudible muttering, and she looks directly at me, but addressing the manager in that whisper tone that’s really not a whisper.

Receptionist #1: “I called them three times.”

More whispering. The manager finds my account in moments.

Receptionist #1: *To me, still in a rude voice.* “It says you never finished making the account.”

I am exasperated, because she’s not listening to a single word I’ve said, and is continuing to treat me like I’m five5 instead of twenty-four.

Me: “Yes, because my numbers are prepaid and VoIP, and I can’t verify my identity. So, I can’t finish the account or log in. That’s why I’m here.”

Receptionist #1: *Mutters under breath, then speaking up.* “I can give you a one-time code to verify your identity online. Do you want it by email or print?”

Me: *Done with this and wishing it was over.* “Either is fine.”

Receptionist #1: *Snaps.* “Do you want it by email or print?”

Me: *Just wanting to go home at this point.* “Print.”

[Receptionist #1] hands me a page with instructions and a code and talks to me like I’m a child.

Receptionist #1: “Just follow the introductions on the paper, okay? Anything else?”

I have a few more questions, but I’m thinking it’s not worth my blood pressure.

Me: “No, that’s all.”

Receptionist #1: *Rudely.* “Then you can go. Have a good day.” *Turns and completely ignores me.*

Quite possibly one of the rudest people I’ve met. I didn’t get half the information I went to ask for, but at least the one-time activation code worked, and I finally finished the account, so, yay?

Related:
Very Bad Reception, Part 23
Very Bad Reception, Part 22
Very Bad Reception, Part 21
Very Bad Reception, Part 20
Very Bad Reception, Part 19

I work at a hotel chain in a small town where it isn’t uncommon for people to carry their firearms with them. On a morning a few weeks back, one of the housekeepers came to the desk to let me know a gun was left behind by a guest in the nightstand. Obviously, no one wanted to touch it as it wasn’t theirs, but the housekeepers needed to clean the room.

We locked the room up and made an attempt to contact the guy who left it. 

Many attempts, actually.

No answer after many hours, and the housekeepers were nearing the end of their day. Not knowing if it was loaded or anything of the sort, no one wanted to touch it.

After checking with management, we called one of the cops in town down to take it to the station for the guy to pick up at a later time. As I said before, it isn’t uncommon for people in town to carry guns, so handing it over to the police station isn’t a huge deal here (although this guy isn’t a local, so maybe he didn’t know this). They wouldn’t have made a huge deal about giving it back.

Later on, his girlfriend drops in asking about the gun he left. I let her know we had handed it over to the police station for him to pick up later. She seemed confused, but not like it was a huge deal, so I brushed it off and went about my day. 

About an hour later, I received two phone calls from the guy. Some of the things said on his part:

Customer: “YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO TURN MY GUN OVER TO THE POLICE STATION!”

Customer: “THIS IS UN-F******-BELIEVEABLE!”

Customer: “THIS IS ABSOLUTE BULL-S***!”

I explained to him that we tried contacting him many times over the course of hours to let him know he left it, and were sent to voicemail every time.

Customer: “THAT’S BULL-S***! I NEVER GOT NO CALLS!”

This goes on for a bit, and eventually the call ends, only to pick up again a few minutes later; this time, someone else is talking, but the original guy is screaming in the background.

Customer: “I’M COMING BACK DOWN THERE, B****! YOU’RE GOING TO F****** OWE ME!”

My manager told me NOT to call back and let the police station know about the things he was saying. I left early that day, so I didn’t see him come back in, but the police later confirmed that the gun was actually loaded.

I am a server in a mid-to-upscale restaurant. The kind of place that targets middle-class folks for their special occasions. So, most people who come in are dressed and behave well because it’s their special birthday dinner or the like.

All things considered, I have had a relatively drama-free time working there with a pretty notable exception.

A woman comes in with her partner and two children, a boy and a girl who appear to be twins, around eight or nine years old. The first warning flag was how the kids were dressed. While the woman and her partner are both in nice dresses and look as you would expect for a nice dinner out, the children wore mismatched flip flops, dress-up costumes, and the little boy had a hat that had LED lights all over it and kept flashing. When they came in, my manager made a straight line towards them.

Manager: “Hello, ma’am, I’m sorry to stop you like this, but our dining room does have a dress code, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask that the children change before we can seat you.”

Woman: “Oh, they are autistic.”

She doesn’t get upset or agitated or seem like she is arguing at all, just casually and calmly says it as if that is supposed to explain everything.

Manager: “Well, ma’am, that may be, but many of our guests are here to celebrate big events and have saved up to come here. As such, we ask that people be respectful, and things like your son’s hat can be quite the interruption to a special occasion dinner.”

Woman: “Oh, he wanted to wear that, and he’s autistic.”

She just sort of shrugs when she says that.

My manager is typically pretty good about having a backbone, but she’s a single mom with a non-verbal autistic son, and I guess the woman claiming her twins were autistic struck a heart string, so she made an exception. She asks the woman to remove the son’s hat, but lets them be seated. My manager then gets called away to deal with a back-of-house semi-emergency, so is unavailable for a period of time.

As soon as the family is seated, the children scatter. Running around the dining room, yelling, and throwing things at each other. I approach the mother and her partner.

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am, please keep your children seated as they are disturbing the other guests.”

Woman: “Oh, they are autistic.”

She says this, then just gives me a blank look like she has just answered my question and is waiting to see if I want anything else.

Me: “You’ve said that, however, I will have to ask that you keep them in their seats.”

Woman: “It’s okay, they are autistic. While you are here, can you tell me about the fish special?”

I’ll be honest, this catches me off guard, and I just kind of go into autopilot and start giving my speech about the specials of the day. Suddenly, I hear a commotion behind me. I turn around to see that the little girl has grabbed a steak off of another diner’s plate and thrown it at the boy, and she is about to follow it up with a handful of mashed potatoes when my manager comes storming back into the dining room from wherever she had been.

Manager: “That’s enough!”

The ‘mom-voice’ seems to shock the kids into compliance, who at least come back to stand by their mother’s table.

Manager: “Ma’am, that is enough, your children have been a disturbance, damaged property, and now have stolen food from other patrons. I will need your credit card information to pay for the damages and replacement meals. Following that, you, your partner, and your children are permanently banned from [restaurant].”

Woman: “Oh no, it’s like I told you before; they are autistic.”

Manager: “That is irrelevant, please give me your credit card or I will call the police.”

Woman: “…but they are autistic.”

Eventually, the woman provides the credit card information, and the family is escorted out. I later found out that in addition to the food fight I had witnessed, the kids had also knocked a picture off the wall and broken the arm off of a chair when climbing on it.

The strangest part of all to me was that at no point did the woman get mad, or yell, or anything. She just kept saying ‘they are autistic’ and seemed genuinely baffled that people didn’t just go ‘Oh, okay, carry on then’. And throughout all of it, her partner didn’t say anything either, just kind of quietly followed.

I go through a fast-food drive-through, place my order at the speaker, and pull up to the window to pay. I ask for a receipt – something I always do – but this time, the employee says the printer is out of paper and they haven’t had a chance to swap it yet. I tell them that I’m OK waiting, but by the time my food is ready, the paper still hasn’t been swapped out.

I look in my bag as I’m rolling away from the window, and immediately notice that I’m missing an item. I drive around the restaurant and find a regular parking space, and go inside to ask for my item.

Cashier: “Welcome to [Restaurant], what can I get for you today?”

Me: “I just went through the drive-through, and I’m missing [Item].”

Cashier: “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have a receipt?”

Me: “I asked for one, but I was told that the printer was out of paper.”

Cashier: “Unfortunately, without a receipt, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

Me: “Is there a manager I can speak with, please?”

It took a few minutes of arguing, as politely as I could, with the manager to convince them that I had in fact ordered the item. No matter what I said, the only thing the manager would tell me was that “without a receipt, I can’t prove that I ordered [item], so he can’t just take my word for it”.

I finally threatened to call corporate and report the restaurant since it was their own fault I hadn’t received a receipt, even though I had asked for one. The manager finally grabbed (item) off the serving window, which had clearly been sitting there the entire time, and handed it to me with a less-than-sincere “There. Are you happy now?”

I still sent in a complaint to Corporate when I got home, but I doubt anything will happen. The only explanation I can think of is that the manager, and probably other employees, were running a scam to get themselves free food by stealing items from people’s orders and then not giving a receipt so they either had to leave without their item or pay for a new one.

I have never left a drive-through without a receipt since this incident, just to make sure I don’t run into this kind of situation again.

I rent a townhouse right in the middle of a row owned by one landlord. Every Thursday morning, trash and recycling go out to the curb. Though trash pickup doesn’t have many rules beyond “nothing unsafe and don’t overfill your bin,” recycling has a lot of rules. Everything must be rinsed out and the labels removed, no pizza boxes or takeout containers, no glass, and nothing can be in bags.

I put my bins out one week and, upon return that evening, saw that my recycling was not emptied. I opened the lid to see that someone had dropped a bag of glass bottles in my bin. I pulled it out, but since it was just a bunch of beer bottles, I had no way to know who did it. So I put it in my trash can and moved on.

Two days later, my landlord came by.

Landlord: “This is for you.”

He hands me a previously opened envelope from the township.

Me: “This is addressed to you.”

Landlord: “It’s for you.”

Me: *Opening the envelope.* “A citation? For what?”

Landlord: “For the glass bottles in your recycling bin. You know they’re not allowed.”

Me: “Someone put it in there after I put it all out for pickup. I don’t even drink.”

Landlord: “Who?”

Me: “I don’t know. I was at work all day.”

Landlord: *Clearly not believing me.* “Okay, well, if you see who did it, tell them not to do it again. Make sure you pay that citation on time.”

I paid the citation just to avoid conflict. The next week I put my bins out again and once again when I got home, my recycling bin was full, and another bag of glass bottles was inside. I called my landlord.

Landlord: “Yes?”

Me: “Someone put another bag of bottles in my recycling bin. Something has to be done.”

Landlord: “Unless you can prove it wasn’t you, you’re responsible for what is in that bin. I assume this will be another citation. I’ll see you soon.”

Yup, I paid the next citation too.

The week after, I put the bins out and took the day off. Just before the trucks would have been there, two boys (maybe seventeen years old) emerged from one of the townhouses to my left. I saw them carrying a bag just like the two that had been dumped in my bin, so I started recording.

They walked up to my recycling bin and lifted the lid. [Boy #1] stopped and pointed to my car, saying something I couldn’t catch. [Boy #2] shrugged and put the bag in before they both walked away. Once they were back in their house, I removed the bag and put it in their recycling bin.

Then I watched the truck come down the road. One of the collectors jumped off the truck, saw the bag of glass in their recycling bin, and moved on, including picking up my recycling at last.

I sent the video to my landlord and asked him to address it with the residents.

A few days later, there was a check taped on my front door for the value of both citations and an apology note. I never heard from the other people or my landlord directly, but I never had a bag of glass or anything else dumped in my recycling bin either!