A customer has thrown a fit at the manager over us not having carts, even though we do. The poor manager then has the JOY of “humiliating her” and “making her look stupid” by pointing them out three steps BEHIND HER.

She then argues, at a volume that would impress a boot camp instructor, with a coworker that the sale on cardigans should apply to sweaters because they are “the same thing”.

Soon, the woman approaches my register and I just know this interaction will be a downhill run.

She strides directly past the line, approaching from the wrong end of the register. I’m sure you can imagine how outraged she is that she can’t just cut in front of the other people in line. She wastes five minutes arguing with me that since she’s “already there,” she “doesn’t want to have to pick up her items and go to the back of the line.”

The manager has to intervene and tell her to get to the end of the line or to get out without her purchases. Ranting about how the rules of lines aren’t laws, how she knows her rights, and how employees are NOT allowed to refuse service to anyone, ever, forever, throughout the universe, she storms to the end. She knows her rights! She knows the laws! Blah, blah, blah.

She gripes so constantly that I do my best to ring the other guests up quickly so they don’t have to listen to her constant moaning for longer than they have to.

Eventually, she gets up to me and I scan her few items. No big deal. Then, she shoves her credit card at me. I follow policy.

Me: “May I see your ID?”

She rolls her eyes and says, in the most inconvenienced way:

Customer: “Well, it’s my son’s card.”

The credit card and ID are nowhere close to matching.

Me: “I can’t use a card that doesn’t have your name on it.”

Customer: “I use his card all the time! SINCE WHEN CAN YOU NOT USE SOMEONE ELSE’S CARD?! THIS IS F****** RIDICULOUS! YOU’RE A F****** A**HOLE! YOU’RE MAKING THAT UP!”

Me: “I can’t run it. You have to pay a different way.”

She throws some cash onto the counter and is quiet while I finish the transaction.

Customer: “Where’s my coupon?!”

Me: “We handed them out last week. We don’t have any more. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

Customer: “I want to speak to the manager!”

AGAIN? That poor man! The manager arrives, and I can see the light die in his eyes as he sees who he has to talk to.

Manager: “Yes, ma’am?”

Customer: “Your employee refused to give me a coupon! She just played stupid and tried to tell me that you didn’t have anymore!”

Manager: “Ma’am, they were all handed out last week. My employee wasn’t playing games; we really don’t have any more to hand out right now.”

Customer: “That’s bulls***, but fine, play your petty little games. I’ll just add that to my call to corporate. Now, another thing; why won’t you people let me use my son’s credit card?! Since when is that a rule?! What the f*** are you people trying to pull?”

The manager just stares at her for a minute.

Manager: “That has always been a rule, ma’am, as that’s unlawful.”

Customer: “Oh, reeeeeeaaaallly?! Fine, then. Tell me what kind of crime it is!”

Manager: “Felony Card Fraud.”

Customer: “You’re a f****** liar.”

Manager: *Sweetly* “Would you like me to call the police and have them explain it to you?”

Customer: “You know what? Yes! Then, I can explain to them why they’re wrong because it’s never been a problem until now!”

I was amazed when she DID tell the cops that they were lying about the law being the law. She waived her right to be silent. She also made it very loudly clear that she would be suing the cops for wrongful prosecution as they cuffed her because Felony Card Fraud wasn’t a thing. And it was her son’s card, so she was within her rights to use it as his mother because it was a mother’s prerogative. And their names were different because her son legally changed his last name, as if cutting her and her husband out of his life somehow severed her right as his biological mother to take out a card in his name. They were connected by blood, and no law could override that!

The cops repeatedly reminded her that she had the right to remain silent and she repeatedly ignored them. She had no subtlety, saw nothing wrong with it, and just kept admitting her crimes at full volume. Because they weren’t crimes. Because she knew the law and knew her rights better than the cops themselves did. And she would personally tell the judge what the REAL laws were.

I was just amazed, listening to this woman dig herself a hole like a cartoon character going after gold.

The local cops wear cameras, so I didn’t need to be a witness, but I highly suspect that the book the judge threw at her had a LOT of pages in it.

Related:
A Broad View Of Fraud

A customer comes into the store and decides to purchase a clearance lamp. He approaches me and tries to get me to give him an extra discount on top of the clearance price.

Me: “Why? Is it damaged?”

Customer: “No, it’s just a gift for my wife and she won’t use it that much.”

Me: *Pauses* “No, I can’t do that.”

Customer: “Oh, well, then, maybe you could help me out and buy it for me with your employee discount?”

Me: “No, I can’t. I could get fired; plus, my discount is only ten percent.”

Customer: *Leaning in close to me* “Nobody would know; it’s between you and me.”

I point up to the ceiling to the cameras with a deadpan expression.

Customer: “You could meet me somewhere and I will give you the money, and then we can meet again later so I can get the lamp. We don’t have to do it all at once.”

Me: “Uh, no. Still not happening.”

He made frustrated noises, muttered, “Aw, man, you suck,” and then reluctantly paid for the lamp and left with it.

You must be thinking that it must be a really expensive lamp to make it worth all the running around for a ten-percent discount.

Nope, the lamp was $47. The discount would have been less than $5 savings.

I told the store manager about it and he had a good laugh. He said I should have told him I could give him a five-dollar discount for a ten-dollar upcharge. 

I’ll have to keep that one in mind!

I’m working in a hotel when the front desk phone rings. I am about five minutes into my audit shift. I haven’t even grabbed a cup of coffee. So, I pick up and get the delightful, “Do you have any rooms?” Lucky for them, I do! It’s my last room: a king standard. I do the routine, tell them the rate, and:

Guest: “So, if I come in now, what is my checkout time?”

Me: “Checkout is 11:00 am.”

Guest: “Why?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but why what?”

Guest: “Why is checkout eleven in the morning when I’m coming at eleven at night?”

Me: “That’s just standard checkout policy? I usually offer a noon checkout to later arrivals, but I don’t have any available tonight due to a large group coming tomorrow.”

They hang up. So, I putz around, doing my thing, killing time until something interesting happens. About 12:30, I’m going to lock the main doors as a guest walks through.

Guest: “Hey, I’m checking in.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll take care of you in a couple of seconds here.”

I finish locking the door and head up to the desk.

Me: “What was the name on your booking?”

Guest: “[Guest].”

Me: “Weird. I don’t see a booking for you. Do you have your confirmation number?”

We do this for a few minutes until they’re finally able to find it. Welp, that explains it. It’s for tomorrow. I apologize and let them know their booking is for tomorrow. Before I can finish, they cut me off.

Guest: “I know. Some idiot told me I’d have to check out at eleven if I came in last night, so I booked it for today.”

Me: “Well, that idiot was me. So, here’s what I can do. I can check you in now, but you’ll be charged with two nights. Or I can change your arrival date for today, and you can stay the night and checkout at eleven.”

Guest: “That doesn’t make any sense. You told me if I came last night, I had to leave at eleven. Now it’s the next day and you want to charge me for two days?!”

Me: “Yes. That is because you’re checking in fifteen hours before our check-in time for today. So, I have to charge you for the extra night.”

Guest: “What the f*** ever. Check me in and I’ll deal with your manager in the morning.”

They take a big ol’ wad of cash out.

Me: “We don’t accept cash for room payments on check-in. You have to have a credit or debit card. You can use cash when you check out, though.”

Guest: “Oh, no. You are taking my motherf****** money and giving me my f****** room.”

I ended up having to call the police after twenty minutes of being screamed at. They bailed before the cops showed up, unfortunately. My shift was stupid quiet after that nutball.

I’m the author of this story, and based on the reactions, I thought some of you might like this story of my dad.

This story took place a few years before the other story, when my dad had just started working at the hospital. To get to and from work, and around in general, he used a mo-ped, since he didn’t have enough money for a car yet. His daily commute would take him through an intersection with a very, VERY annoying stoplight for the bike lane. It. Would. Not. Turn. Green. At all. The intersection was a quiet one, so you can understand how frustrating it was to stand there, waiting, waiting, the minutes ticking by, while there was absolutely no other traffic around to justify the wait. Everyone who encountered that stoplight eventually gave up, looked left and right, and rode on, running the red light. No accidents ever happened, but…

Enter [Police Officer]. [Police Officer] knew about this stoplight and its annoying habit of staying red, and he knew that people would eventually get tired of waiting and run the red light. He would hide near the intersection, catch people running the red light, and fine them accordingly. Pleas that the stoplight was malfunctioning, that no-one got hurt, or that the victim really had to get to work, fell on deaf ears. They ran the red light and that is against the law, so they got fined. It was, in his eyes, a nice way to fulfil his fine-quotum. (Yes, this was a thing back then.)

Except my dad, on his illegally souped-up mo-ped, refused to stop for this guy after the first ticket and managed to escape his ticket-trap every single time because he was much faster. (My dad was, and in many ways still is, a brat with major authority issues and zero empathy who thought this all great fun. It was neither his first nor his last run-in with the law, but it was never severe enough to land him in court, except one time and that was deemed self-defence. Anyway…)

[Police Officer] was understandably very annoyed by my dad’s antics and became determined to catch him, which only made my dad more determined to escape him. He was unable to avoid that intersection. It was either too close to his home or his workplace; I can’t recall which.

One day, [Police Officer] finally managed to collar my dad and gleefully began writing him a ticket. Dad’s temper got the better of him and he ranted at [Police Officer] a bit, finishing with an insult that I think was rather inspired.

Dad: “You are a perspectiveless man in a perspectiveless job!” 

“U bent een inzichtloze man met een uitzichtloze baan!” It doesn’t translate too well.

Police Officer: “Yeah, whatever, here’s your ticket. Pay it within two weeks, or it’ll be court!”

Dad decided to be petty and wait until the very last day to pay his ticket… and it’s a good thing he did, because two days before the pay-by date, he got a nice, official letter. It stated that, because of the Royal Wedding between then-Crown-Princess Beatrix and Prince Claus, the government decided to pardon all minor traffic offences as a gift to the people. The royal house, and the wedding, were not very popular back then, so I guess they were trying to score a few points. So, because Bea got hitched, Dad didn’t have to pay his ticket. To this day, he still laughs when picturing the face of [Police Officer] when he heard about this.

That stoplight finally got fixed not long after that, and [Police Officer] had to find a new way to get his kicks. Also, just to clarify something: my dad and his coworker from the previous story were not medical staff; they worked in the hospital’s kitchen. Make of that what you will. Also, for the people wondering why my dad would tell his coworker not to insult cops when he did it himself: my dad has both zero empathy and a temper he can’t control well, so even though he knew insulting the cop would probably make things worse, he basically couldn’t help himself. And when it happened to his coworker, he just didn’t care.

Related:
Car-Free Makes Him Too Care-Free

I work tech support for a major ISP. A customer calls because her TV set-top box won’t start up; the message is “check cabling”. Throughout the process, I have to shout to get her attention because she is chatting with roommates. Apparently, they are med students.

Customer: “[Lots of medical information about a patient].”

Me: “Ma’am, what is the TV doing?”

Customer: “[Lots of medical information about a patient].”

Me: “Ma’am, what is the TV doing?”

Customer: *As if I’m being a nuisance* “Still starting.”

Customer: “[Lots of medical information about a patient].”

Me: “Ma’am, what is the TV doing?”

The customer continues violating every privacy law on the books and probably necessitating a few new ones.

Me: “Is the TV starting?”

Customer: *Suddenly very surprised* “It works! What was the problem?”

Me: “When it said, ‘check cabling’… the cable was loose. Have a nice day, ma’am.”

If I ever need a doctor in that city, I think I’ll just die.