One Annoyed Paranoid

, , | Right | November 19, 2008

(I work at the photo department and am checking out a customer with a “Happy Birthday, Grandson!” birthday card.)

Customer: “Hello… I only have this one birthday card.”

Me: “Okay, that’ll be $3.15. I just need your signature on the line, please.”

(The customer begins to sign her receipt, then pauses. She looks closely at the slip, then looks up at me, angry.)

Customer: “Now how does this know who I am?!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “It has my name on it! Right here, below the line! I have never shopped here before. Where did you get my information?”

Me: “Ma’am, the information comes from your credit card.”

Customer: “Well!”

(She signs the slip and gives it to me. I put the slip in the register drawer.)

Customer: “And what are you doing with that? It has my information on it. You can’t just keep it!”

Me: “Umm, we have to keep it. That’s how you pay for things…” *register prompts for a zip code* “… and may I get your zip code, please?”

Customer: “Why do you need my address?!”

Me: “Well, American Express needs it. It’s a security measure, and it doesn’t need your whole address, just the zip code.”

Customer: “This is identity theft! Give me back my signature!”

Me: “Um, I promise you, I am not. I can’t open the drawer mid-transaction, but I can call a manager to cancel your transaction.”

Customer: “You aren’t a cashier! How do I even know you work here?!””

Me: “Well, here’s my name tag. And my picture is on the wall.”

Customer: “If you work in the photo department, that could be Photoshopped! You do not work here! I want a manager!”

Me: “Umm, okay…” *calls the manager*

Manager: “What can I help you with today?”

Customer: “This thief is stealing my personal identity!”

Manager: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “I want my signature back! She is asking too many questions!”

Manager: “Okay, I will take it from here. So what is your zip code?”

(My manager takes care of the rest of the transaction. The receipt then prints out…)

Manager: “Here you go! Tell your grandson to have a happy birthday!”

Customer: “AND HOW DO YOU KNOW MY GRANDSON!? YOU PEOPLE STOP AT NOTHING! I AM REPORTING YOU! THIS IS ILLEGAL!” *continues yelling all the way out the door*

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Going Bananas

, , , | Right | October 29, 2008

Me: “Can I help you, sir?”

Customer: “Yeah, I need to know what you can do for my dog. He’s really aggressive and tries to bite me and everyone. Do you train dogs here or something?”

Me: “No, sir, but I can refer you to a trainer.”

Customer: “I don’t have time for that! I need advice now. What do you think I should do?”

Me: “Well, sir, is he a show dog?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Are you going to use him for breeding?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “I would suggest that you have him neutered as a first step; it will help calm him down. Also, enroll him in an obedience class. That will–”

Customer: “Neuter him? You mean cut his ball off!?”

Me: “Well…”

Customer: “G**d***it, that’s so typical! All you feminist Nazis all just wanna cut off all us men’s balls!”

(Just then, the main veterinarian comes out from the back to see what the yelling is about.)

Veterinarian: “What seems to be the problem?”

Customer: “I’ll tell you what! That girl there suggested I get his balls whacked off!”

Veterinarian: “Now, [My Name], I’ve told you before we don’t treat exotic animals here, haven’t I?”

Me: “Yes, sir?”

Veterinarian: “Well, let’s not have this happen again…” *turns back to the customer* “I am sorry, sir. We normally do not treat large apes, but since my person here already told you we do, I’ll honor it. When would you like to make the appointment?”

Customer: *storms out*


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Pantzilla Gets Schooled

, | | Right | October 7, 2008

(At the clothing store where I work, I’ve spent hours folding and sizing jeans into a wall display. A customer comes up starts to look for her size.)

Me: “Hi there! How are you today? My name is [My Name]. Can I help you find the size or style of jeans you are looking for today?”

Customer: “No, I’m just looking… thanks.”

Me: “All right. Well, you just let me know if you need any help.”

(As I go back to folding jeans, she pulls out a pile I’ve already fixed, proceeds to destroy it and shoves it back in the wall.)

Me: “Are you sure I can’t help you find what you are looking for?”

Customer: “Nah, I’m all right.”

(She destroys pile number #2.)

Me: *wincing* “I might be able to help you find the size you are looking for a little faster…”

Customer: “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

(She destroys pile number #3.)

Me: “Ma’am, please let me help you since I know where everything is.”

Customer: “I said I was okay! Don’t you people have better things to do than bug your shoppers?! I don’t need your help!”

Me: “Well, ma’am, I’m going to help you anyway. I’ve spent nearly six hours refolding and fixing this wall because customers like you come in and ruin it with no regard to the people who have to clean up your mess. Since we size things with the smallest size at the top and the largest size at the bottom, I suggest that you look somewhere near the bottom pile for your jeans!”

Customer: *jaw drops* “ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT?!”

Me: “No, I’m implying it.”

Customer: “WELL, I NEVER!” *storms out*

(I got written up, but it was totally worth it!)

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Fowl Mouthed

, , | | Right | August 26, 2008

Me: “How can I help you?”

Customer: “I want lunch meat.”

Me: *grinning* “You’ve come to the right place!”

Customer: “I don’t appreciate your attitude, you f***ing b***!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “I’m paying for your brown a** to live here!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m Irish. And I’ve lived here my entire life.”

Customer: “GIVE ME SOME F***ING TURKEY!”

Me: “What type of turkey would you like?”

Customer: “Plain!”

Me: “Cooked? Smoked? Oven Roasted? Fat free? We also have a wide selection of gourmet turkeys, such as honey maple and tomato basil.”

Customer: “My kid won’t eat that fancy s***! I just want some f***ing turkey!”

(The store manager has been standing behind her the entire time and speaks up.)

Manager: “Cooked? Smoked? Oven Roasted? Fat Free? She gave you the types. Just f***ing pick a flavour so she can serve me so I can take my lunch!”

Customer: “F*** THIS COUNTRY!”

 


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Dr. Jekyll And Mrs. Hyde

, , | Right | August 14, 2008

Me: “Thank you for calling. This is [My Name]. How may I help you today?”

Customer: *cheerful* “I need you to check my account.”

Me: “Certainly, I’d be happy to do that for you. May I have your identification number so I can look you up in our system, please?”

Customer: “My what? Why would you want that? Don’t you know who I am?”

Me: “Unfortunately not, ma’am. We have no real way of knowing who is on the other end of the line unless you give us either that number or your social security number.”

Customer: *suddenly demonic* “HOW DARE YOU! YOU’RE ONE OF THOSE TERRORISTS, AREN’T YOU?!”

Me: “Um… excuse me?”

Customer: “YOU want my social so you can steal my identity, don’t you? That’s why you called me, to steal my credit score, you little punk!”

Me: “Ma’am, you called me. This is your insurance company. Just read me the number on the front of your card so I can look up your account information.”

Customer: *suddenly cheerful again* “Oh, is that all? Why didn’t you just say so? My number is [number].”

Me: “Ma’am, it seems your account is handled by a different department than mine. Would you like me to give you their direct number before I transfer you?”

Customer: *back to demonic* “YOU TRICKED ME! You tricked me out of my information! I’m calling the FBI on you, you little c***!”

Me: *transfers call*

(I have never been so happy to transfer a caller. I logged the call, and later that day received an internal office email from some rep in another part of the state. All it said was “WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?”)

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