When “That Never Happened” Never Happened

, , , , , , , | | Right | July 8, 2019

(I work at an extremely well-known big box retailer known for having virtually everything and a very lenient price-matching policy. However, if I am told a price that I think is incorrect, I am allowed to ask what store it’s from and make sure it’s not ludicrous.)

Me: *preparing to scan an item*

Customer: “…and that’s [price that seems too low].”

Me: “Okay, sir, and which store is that from?”

Customer: “I don’t have to tell you that! The [Company] policy says I don’t have to tell you!”

Me: “Actually, sir, I can ask, and the store you are asking me to price match must be within 50 miles of this store.”

Customer: “No, it says in the policy I don’t have to, and I happen to know insider information about this kind of thing because my ex-wife is the store manager of one of these stores in New York, so you are wrong. I have the personal phone numbers of all sorts of people in the corporate office, and I can get anyone I want fired.”

(I go ahead and give him the price — it is busy and my supervisor has asked me to send someone home at another register — finish out his order, and give him his receipt while he continues to tell me his story.)

Customer: *becoming more smug by the moment* “Once, a cashier at another store, not here, wouldn’t honor the sign saying the pants I wanted to buy were $3 and told me I’d have to pay $15, and it was 3:00 in the morning, mind you, and I made her get her supervisor. Her supervisor told me that I couldn’t pay $3 for the pants and would have to pay $15, and I asked her if she was sure about that because there are laws in this country that require companies to have truth in advertising, and she said she was just doing her job. I told her I had the personal number of [Executive that does not actually exist], and I would be perfectly happy to call him, and I did, and he screamed at her on the phone and told her she’d be fired if she didn’t make me happy! Then she had the cashier change the price for me.”

Me: “Ah, yes… I—”

Customer: *positively gleeful* “Then, that manager told me I am a horrible person! And if you think that’s bad, when my wife was an assistant manager at a [Company] in California, her boss was a gay man who decided he hated women and sexually harassed my wife, and I called [Executive that doesn’t exist], and he not only fired that man and promoted my wife, he made that gay man unemployable in the state of California!”

(I was completely unable to figure out how to extricate myself from this conversation, which actually took over 15 minutes and nearly cost me my break, and in addition, the person I was supposed to relieve wound up being sent home by the supervisor because I couldn’t get away from this man. I found out later from a friend of mine that he comes in all the time and tries to pull that crap on people, and none of it is true.)

I Am Real And So Are Your Drugs

, , , | | Right | July 5, 2019

(I am tending to a line of customers.)

Me: “Next, please.”

(The woman doesn’t move.)

Me: “Miss? You’re next.”

(She looks at me and grunts.)

Woman: “You don’t exist.”

Me: “I’m pretty sure I do.”

(She lets the rest of the line pass by until she is the only one left. I try everything in my power to prove I’m real to her, but she adamantly refuses to believe it, fully knowing I have just served about ten people right in front of her. My manager comes down eventually to ask me something and the woman interrupts.)

Woman: “WAIT! YOU’RE REAL?”

Manager: *bewildered* “Me?”

Woman: “Both of you.”

Manager: “Yes?”

Woman: *to me* “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

(My expression must have been murderous, as the woman actually took a step back, and my manager told me to take a break. When he came down after serving her, he told me she’d said that “weed and crack don’t mix well with me,” and then tried to give my manager a spliff to hand on to me to “calm me down.” My manager politely refused and called the police once she left. We don’t know if they caught up with her, and thankfully, I haven’t seen her since.)

Driving Them Away Via The Driveway

, , , , , | | Legal | July 5, 2019

(Our house is on the corner of the street, so it is very common for people visiting our neighbors to park in front of our house. I don’t mind when they park in front of our yard, but recently, I’ve been having problems with one particular car getting parked forward enough to be in front of our driveway. They are just an inch or two in front of the drive, and one of my friends who is a cop says that it is unlikely to get towed or even ticketed for just that, so I just deal with it. I do keep a lookout to see if I can catch the person who owns the car and try and talk to them about it. Then, one day, I come out to find the car a full two feet in front of our driveway, blocking me off from getting to work. Thanks to some brick walls along the edge of the drive, there is no way for me to cut around, so I call the police. They arrive about twenty minutes later, after I’ve already called into work to explain the situation. They look at it and then head around to knock on a few doors to see if they can get the driver to move the car before getting a tow truck called out. None of the people who answer claim the car, so a tow truck is called out. By the time it actually arrives, I am an hour late for work and rather steamed. The tow truck gets hooked up and they are loading up the car, when a man suddenly comes charging out of one of the houses across the street — which happens to have a completely empty driveway — screaming about them moving his car.)

Man: “That’s my car! What do you f*****s think you’re doing to my car?!”

Officer: “Sir, your car is blocking this man’s driveway. If you will move it, we can let you off with a ticket rather than impounding it.”

Man: “F*** you!”

(He tries to shove the cop, and ends up being wrestled to the ground, swearing the entire way. He ends up being arrested, and his car is towed off. However, that isn’t the end of it. About a week later, I get a knock on my door, and I answer to see a woman I vaguely recognize from around the neighborhood.)

Woman: “Hey! A**hole! You got my boyfriend arrested, you dumb c***!”

(She then hauled back and tried to spit at me, but she didn’t get enough force, leaving her standing there with spit dripping from her mouth and onto her shirt. She spun around and scurried away at that, but then, a couple of days later, we found our front garden torn up and insults written in lipstick on the side of our car. We contacted the police, mentioning the prior incidents, and they eventually sent out a unit to investigate. I watched as they went and knocked on the door of the house across the street, and I got to see this lady try and take a swing at the officers and end up getting hauled off. Like boyfriend, like girlfriend, I guess.)

Sometimes You Can’t Beat The Old Guard

, , , , , , , , | | Working | July 5, 2019

(My husband and I own a pub. While I am away interstate visiting family, a new security guard is hired. His job is mainly to check IDs and keep out or remove drunk people. Upon returning, I stop by to see my husband.)

Me: “Hi! You must be the new guard.”

Guard: “You can’t come in.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Guard: “You’re pissed; you can’t come in.”

Me: “What? I haven’t even had a drink.”

Guard: “Bulls***. I can smell it on you. Now, leave before I call the cops.”

Me: “Look here. I don’t think you realize—“

Guard: “Are you deaf, as well as fat and ugly?! You’re not coming in. Now, waddle off before I call the cops.”

Me: “Listen here. Get [Husband] out here now!

Guard: “You really are as stupid as you are fugly. F*** off or I’m calling the cops.”

(I pull out my phone and call the pub, as my husband would not likely answer his mobile.)

Husband: “[Pub], [Husband] speaking. How can I help you?”

Me: “Hey, babe, it’s me. The new guard isn’t letting me in. Can you come out, please?”

Guard: “Your pathetic little boyfriend isn’t going to get you in. I say who comes in, and a fat, ugly piece of s*** like you is not getting in. Now, f*** off before I kick both you and your boyfriend’s a**es.”

(My husband is still on the other end of the phone and hears everything. He and the other guard, who is working inside, come rushing out.)

Husband: “[Guard], what the h*** do you think you’re doing?”

Guard: “This woman is drunk and refuses to leave. I’m about to call the police.”

Husband: “No, you’re refusing to let a sober woman in, who also happens to be my wife and an owner of this pub. [Other Guard] will get your stuff; you’re banned from here for life.”

Guard: “But, but… I didn’t know she was your wife. That’s not fair!”

Husband: *now practically shaking with anger* ”It doesn’t matter if it’s my wife or another patron; you should never speak to anyone the way you just did. You’re lucky she hasn’t kicked your a** for it. Now, I suggest you apologize before she does or calls the cops for threatening her.”

Guard: “Umm… I’m sorry. Please don’t fire me.”

Husband: “Too late. You’ll be lucky to get another job after this gets out. You need to get off our property. Go to your car and [Other Guard] will bring out your stuff. You’re hereby banned from here.”

(The guard walked to his car while calling me various names and yelling how this was all my fault. Over the next week, he kept ringing the pub and when I’d answer he’d threaten me. Also, my windshield was smashed, the side of my car was keyed, and my tires were slashed — all caught on the CCTV cameras. Eventually, he was charged with malicious damage and making death threats. He was sentenced to eight months in jail and lost his security license.)

Entitlement: Why The World Can’t Have Nice Things

, , , , , , , | | Friendly | July 5, 2019

I retired at age sixty, not rich, but comfortable. I lived alone in my house, as my wife had passed and my kids moved out long before. But instead of downsizing, as everyone tried to convince me to do, I decided to take a different path. I converted my basement into a small bachelor-style apartment. Very small. It had just a kitchenette, bathroom with shower, laundry room, and one living space. I got the basics that someone would need: microwave, towels, plates and bowls, and a few food items.

I then started visiting some local charities, a soup kitchen, and a homeless shelter. I volunteered a few times, but spent time getting to know a few people that were in need. After talking to one particular man, I decided to put my retirement scheme into action, and offer for him to stay in my basement apartment to get him back on his feet. He was obviously thrilled and grateful, and we wrote up a rental agreement: three months for free followed by three months at a very small price — about the cost of a single night in a decent hotel — if he hadn’t found something better by then. The only real limits I put in were that he was to be the only tenant, and I would enter to use the laundry once a week at an agreed time.

It started fantastically. My new tenant and I were becoming friends, and he was getting his life sorted out. He got a job within walking distance. He began to look healthier and happier. After three months, he said he would rather stay, which was fine by me, and he paid the agreed rent for month number four. Then, it started to fall apart.

He stopped talking to me when we crossed paths. He began to complain when I used the laundry, even though I never did it unannounced. When rent for month five came around, he complained that it should still be free and paid only part of the agreed price. As month six arrived, I found out he had no intention of leaving or paying. I’m not sure what changed, or why. I’m convinced there was no alcohol or drug use. But he became angry with me, saying that I should have done more if I really wanted to help him.

After seven months, and being paid rent for only one and a half of them, I had to evict him. It required the presence of police and the changing of locks, and afterward, he came by the house at random times for weeks. It was an indescribable nightmare.

I had originally intended to do the same thing for a different needy person every year, having the tenant during the cold Canadian months. But this was four years ago, and I haven’t had a tenant since.

Page 3/40212345...Last