This Hotel Is For You And Me (But Mostly Me)

, , , , | Right | June 7, 2018

(I work in web design and development for an international hotel company. My actual location of employment is at one of the company’s administrative offices located in the midwestern US. My work assignments are given out to me by the IT department at our east coast headquarters. I’ve never actually worked directly at a hotel. When I go on vacation, I usually stay at our own hotels, since I get nice discount. I take care not to advertise my “corporate-level” employee status; other customers tend to assume that I outrank the hotel’s general managers, or that I have the authority to resolve whatever complaints they might have about their room or their service. I don’t; it’s outside of my particular job description. My particular employer is very frequently — and very incorrectly — associated with the Mormon Church. It’s true we were founded by a Mormon family, and up until about three years ago we were still led by a Mormon CEO, but that’s the extent of our connection. We’ve never been owned directly by the Mormons, and we don’t get our marching orders from Salt Lake City. We are taking a family vacation to another state. On checking in, I have a brief conversation with the front desk clerk about where I work, and what my role in the company is — the normal check that’s required to make sure I actually do qualify for the discount they’re giving me. Unknown to me, that check-in conversation is overheard by a customer reading a newspaper, who noted my appearance and apparently makes plans to track me down later and give me some advice about the company, or the hotel specifically — whatever it is in particular that is concerning him. Later that night he finds me eating dinner in the hotel restaurant, and approaches my table.)

Customer: “Hi. Did I hear correctly earlier that you work for [Company] Headquarters?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “I’ve got to let you know, sir, that I have a prob…”

(Then he notices my table, where I have a glass of beer right next to my plate. Mormons, I’m told, are not allowed to drink alcohol. This gentleman is a Mormon, and he is one of those who assumes I’m Mormon, too, since I work for HQ, and he thinks only “his people” would be allowed that high up in the company.)

Customer: *eyes go big* “Is that a beer you’re drinking? You’re violating the Words of Wisdom.”

(His voice continues to escalate in volume and anger level.)

Customer: “Your behavior is shameful! You’re a pox upon this company; you bring shame to the Prophet! What stake do you belong to? I’m going to make sure you lose your Temple Recommend, you… you…”

(He finally takes a breath and I clarify.)

Me: “Sir, I’m not a Mormon. I understand a lot of people believe we’re a Mormon company, but that’s not the case. I do work for our headquarters, but we have no religious requirement.”

Customer: “You liar!”

(The waitress comes up to try to intervene.)

Customer: *to the waitress* “You! Get the manager of this hotel! This man—” *shoving a finger into my chest* “—needs to be put into his place!”

(As it happens, the restaurant entrance is within line-of-sight to the front desk, and the General Manager had already been informed of an altercation in the restaurant. He walks in right next to us, introduces himself, and offers to take the conversation to a more private area. Judging by the GM’s darker complexion, accented English, and Arabic name on his nametag, he is apparently not Mormon, either.)

Customer: “You’re a Muslim! This is supposed to be a Mormon company! Mormon, you get it? You’ve all been taken over by the heathens! I’m never staying here again!”

(And with that, the angry Mormon stormed off to the elevator, presumably to pack up his stuff and go to another hotel that met his standards better.)

You’re Not The One Not Understanding English

, , | Right | June 7, 2018

(On our website, if you sign up to our newsletter and marketing emails, you receive a code within 24 hours to have a free drink at our pub. I work in reception, so all emails to the hotel come through to me. I receive one such email.)

Customer: “I want my code. Give me my code.”

Me: “Dear sir: Thank you for your email. I am sorry, but I am unsure as to what code you need. Could you please specify? Kind regards, [My Name].”

(After sending this email, I realise it could be for the free drink.)

Customer: “My code for free drink! Can you not understand? Are you even English?”

Me: *simmering from rage at the racist remark* “Dear sir: I do apologise for the oversight. As it is, I am unable to send you a code, as it has to be sent by Marketing. It takes around 24 hours for the email to be sent to you after signing up. I hope this helps. Should you require any more assistance in the matter, please let me know and I would be more than happy to help.”

Customer: “But I want it for now! It said I will get one! Get me someone who can understand English.”

(I just stopped replying and deleted the emails. Never heard from him again.)

It’s A Time For Giving, And Taking Advantage

, , , , , | Friendly | June 6, 2018

(I am doing some grocery and Christmas shopping with my daughter when a woman comes up to me, asking if I can help her buy some things for her two small children so they can have a good Christmas. We are on a budget, and I don’t have any spare cash on me, so I tell her to meet me at the checkout counter and I will pay for thirty dollars’ worth. She thanks me, grabs a cart, and goes on her way. When I get to the checkout counter I see her, and she has a full cart filled with stuff! I look at her in horror.)

Me: “Ma’am, I only said I could pay for thirty dollars’ worth; there’s at least three hundred dollars’ worth in your cart.”

(She looks at me and then picks out five items.)

Me: “How much will that total?”

Woman: “About a hundred dollars.”

Me: “I’m sorry; I can only afford thirty.”

(She grumbled and got rid of two of the items, and the remaining three were about thirty-two dollars. I paid for them, but was annoyed to see that the three items were some Christmas lights, a kitchen knife set, and a lighted Santa decoration for the windows. I originally agreed to thirty dollars because she said she wanted her kids to have a merry Christmas, and I thought she was going to pick stuff for them, but apparently not!)

Has The Authority To Tell You How It Is

, , , , , , | Right | June 6, 2018

(I am 17, working at an outlet for a hardware shop. I have an irate customer who wants a discount because — get this — the drills were too hard to find! He didn’t ask anyone where to find them. He gets a bit abusive after I tell him I can’t do that, and interrupts me before I can get in, “but I can call the manager to handle that.” However, the manager is actually walking past at the time and hears most of the one-sided conversation. He fronts up to this bloke, and says in one of those suppressed-anger sorts of voices the following awesome rebuttal:)

Manager: “Do you know how old this boy is? Do you know how much he earns?”

Customer: “No. Why should I care?” *a lot more calmly, because the manager is a big bloke*

Manager: “He’s 17. And he earns $6 an hour.”

Customer: “Wh—”

Manager: *louder* “Do you know how much authority he has to give you a discount? Not none at all. Not zero. Less than none; less than zero.”

Customer: “How c—”

Manager:Because, if he works hard, in a year or two he’ll get a promotion, and then he’ll have no f****** authority to give you a discount. Since he’s lower on the scale than that, he must have less than zero authority to do it now, get it?”

Customer: “Well, I—”


Customer: “Bu—”

Manager: “Furthermore, sir, he’s a minor, and the way you were talking to him is abuse of a minor, and you could be arrested for it.”

Customer: “Uh, I—”

Manager: “So, in future, if you want a discount, ask someone in authority. Ask me! Don’t abuse the staff; they can’t do anything. I’m the one who can! I’m the only one! Now, put the drills back or pay the full amount, because I’m not going to give you a discount, because you’re a s***head!”

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A Poor Memory For Memory

, , , , , | Right | June 6, 2018

(A respected and “highly educated” member of our area walks into the shop I work for. I say, “highly educated,” because his profession requires multiple degrees. Day 1:)

Customer: “This stick of memory is bad; my system has been warning me of memory errors.”

(This is a no-nonsense kind of guy, so I look at the memory, grab a new module, and hand it to our secretary to ring it up for him.)

Me: “This is an identical replacement. Same model, even.”

(Day 2: The secretary leaves a note.)

Note: “Mr. [Customer] yelled and screamed at me on the phone last night that we sold him a bad part. I said tomorrow was my day off but that you’d be here. Sucks to be you!”

(The customer comes in. I apologize and exchange the stick for a new — unopened and same spec — higher-end stick. Day 3: I have just opened the shop. Suddenly, I hear a car door slam and someone cussing up a storm, followed shortly by another car door slamming. Our door opens to the same swearing voice and the worst stench of ozone.)

Customer: “You [string of expletives]! You will fix my computer right f***ing now and stop selling me broken s***, or you close tonight, permanently.”

(The secretary hides.)

Me: *calmly* “To help me figure out what the original problem is, what was the memory error it had?”

Customer: “It won’t even g**d*** turn on!”

Me: *still calm* “No, sir, the original error, from two days ago.”

Customer: “What the f*** does that have to do with the scam you’re running?”

Me: *calm silence*

Customer: “Some virtual memory bull****!”

Me: “What did you do after the error?”

Customer: “I pulled the broken memory out.”

Me: *pause* “Did you turn it off first?”

(The customer storms out, leaving his computer. The secretary peeks out from the restroom.)

Secretary: “What was wrong?”

Me: “Someone skipped fourth grade earth science. Touching electricity, bad.

(We tested every component. The original stick of memory was the only undamaged part. Even the case LEDs blew out.)

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