They’re A Card-Carrying Member Of The A**-Hole Club

, , | Right | August 20, 2017

(I get a lot of rude people throwing their credit cards at me. One day it happened one time too many.)

Rude Customer: *blathering on phone, throws card at me*

(The card falls in crack between my desk and wall.)

Me: “Oops, can’t reach that. Do you have another card?” *big grin*

Rude Customer: *to phone* “Hold on a second.” *to me* “You’ll get that, b****, or else!” *shakes fist*

Me: *bigger grin* “Can’t. Now, pay or lose your room!”

(She rants expletives at me, and I just smile, which only makes her madder. Finally the manager is called.)

Rude Customer: “She dropped my card and that’s my only one!”

Me: “Not true; she threw it at me. Check the cameras.”

(The customer choked, then flounced away. She later complained the corporate, and got a free certificate! Her card is still there as far as I know.)

Trying Really Hard To Not Hope They Get Run Over By A Bus

, , , | Right | August 19, 2017

(I work in a call center for a large bus company. I’m known for having an extremely friendly attitude, but even I struggle with this customer, who sounds downright mean and condescending through the entire exchange.)

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name] at [Bus Company]. How may I help you?

Customer: “I need to find out how to get from [Small Town] to [Large City].”

Me: “Sure thing! What date and time are you interested in traveling?”

Customer: “None of your business.”

Me: “Ma’am? We have quite a few buses running daily between those places. I don’t need the exact time, but do you have an estimate? Say Wednesday afternoons in April?”

Customer: “Listen up! I don’t call here to have you pry into my personal life! Why should I be required to tell you what I’m doing and when? Just tell me how I can get to where I’m going!”

Me: “Ma’am, I would, but the schedule depends on the weekday and month. I just want to make sure I’m giving you the right times; that’s all!”

Customer: “I don’t care! You’re just a little sneak! This is the worst customer service ever! Can’t even answer a simple question! I wonder how you managed to get this job, seeing as you’re horrible at it…”

(At this point I really have to make an effort to sound friendly, and I just want to get rid of her.)

Me: “Would you like me to pick a month and then read aloud the whole schedule? I have to warn you, there are over twenty per day.”

Customer: “Well, are you going to start or not?”

Me: “Well, if you were to travel next week, on Monda- ”

Customer: “No! Not next week; the one after that!”

Me: “Okay. So on that week, the first bus leaves on Monday morning at four am; the- ”

(The customer snorts.)

Customer: “Seriously? Are you stupid? Why are you giving me all this useless information? I would never travel that early. Tell me the afternoon schedules.”

(She then lets me go through the list without further interruption.)

Customer: “Thank you. Oh, by the way, you’re not really bad at customer service. It’s just that I do customer service myself and got shouted at by a customer today. I felt really bad about it and wanted to take it out on someone, you know? Thankfully, I had you. Well, bye!”

Me: “Have a nice day…?”

(I quit shortly after.)

With Pregnant Women You Really Have To Crack The Whip

, , , , , | Right | August 18, 2017

(I work at a self-serve frozen yogurt shop, where customers can serve themselves cups of yogurt with various toppings, and weigh it at the end. The one topping we offer that is not self-serve is whipped cream, because customers would have to touch the nozzle to serve themselves, and that’s unhygienic. Employees are the only ones who can touch the nozzle, because we wash our hands with sanitized water frequently. This story happens as a heavily pregnant woman comes in with her husband.)

Woman: “Can I get some whipped cream, please?”

Me: “Of course!” *holds can over her cup* “Tell me when.”

Woman: *grabbing for the can* “No, I’ll do it.”

Me: “I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t let you. It’s due to the health code; only employees can touch whipped cream cans.”

Woman: “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never heard that in my life!” *continues to try and snatch the can away from me* “Just let me do it. I’m pregnant!”

Man: “Come on, just let her do it. She’s eight months pregnant. Let her do what she wants.”

Me: “Really, I am sorry. It can seem like a silly rule, but we can’t be sure that customers’ hands are totally clean, so we can’t let anyone else touch the nozzle.”

Woman: “Oh, so now you’re calling me dirty?! Give me the can, you little b****!!” *she slaps the can out of my hand and proceeds to put whipped cream on her yogurt herself* “There, was that so hard?”

(I have to throw the can away at this point, since there’s no way to properly sanitize the nozzle, and we can’t risk other customer’s safety in the case that the woman’s hands might have been dirty. The woman rages when she sees me do this.)

Woman: “What the f***?! You just throw it away?! Because I touched it!?”

Me: “Yes! Like I tried to tell you, it’s unhygienic! I can’t keep using a can that someone else has touched—”

(The woman slams her yogurt down on the scale, which causes it to splash up and go everywhere, including all over herself. She starts screaming in frustration, before stomping out, leaving her husband behind.)

Man: “See what you did? This could have all been avoided! She’s pregnant!”

(They left without their yogurts.)

Should Have Checked

, , , | Right | August 18, 2017

(A vendor had requested a rush check cut and sent overnight. The check hasn’t arrived and he calls me, clearly looking for a fight.)

Vendor: *on the phone* “We never received the check today. We specifically requested the check be rushed and sent overnight so we would receive it by Thursday! I don’t know what you do sitting at that desk all day! Did you even cut the check?”

Me: *ignoring that and using my cheery customer service voice* “Let me look up the tracking number. Okay, it says your package is at the facility that had the shooting yesterday.”

(The San Francisco UPS facility had an employee shoot and kill three people and himself.)

Me: “It’s been delayed one day.”

Vendor: *silence*

Me: “So, it looks like we got that sorted. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

(The kicker is he had the tracking number. He could have looked up and seen the reason without looking like an a**.)

A Miserable Teacher

, , , , , | Learning | August 18, 2017

(I’m 12 and in seventh grade when my history teacher takes us to the school library. I see ‘Les Miserables’ on the shelf, and since my big sister in college is in a performance of it, I’m interested, and pull it down to take a look.)

History Teacher: “You can’t read that.”

Me: “Huh? Why not?”

History Teacher: “You’re twelve. It’s way too hard for you. Put it back.”

(I’ve never gotten along with this teacher. He tends to be pretty misogynistic, and when I told him that some of the information in the textbook about Christopher Columbus was wrong, he told me to shut up and follow the book. Defiantly, I take Les Miz up to the check-out counter.)

History Teacher: *following me* “I told you, you can’t read that! Put it back!”

(I check it out anyway — only to return it a week later, after ordering my own copy, so that I can annotate it and highlight. It’s dense stuff, so I start taking meticulous notes in order to get through it. A few months later, I’m reading it in class when my teacher spots me.)

History Teacher: “You’re still reading that?!”

Me: “Yes. I’m four hundred pages in.”

History Teacher: “I told you not to read that, and you’re deliberately disobeying me! Go to the principal’s office!”

(Given that I’m usually a very quiet, straight-A student, the principal is very surprised to see me.)

Principal: “[My Name]? Is everything okay? Are you sick?”

Me: “No. [Teacher] sent me here.”

Principal: “Um… why?”

Me: “I was reading Les Miserables.”

Principal: “During class?”

Me: “No. During silent reading time.”

Principal: “…”

Me: “He doesn’t want me reading it. He thinks it’s too difficult for me, but so far, I like it.”

Principal: “Don’t… read it in front of him, then, I guess? Go back to class, [My Name]. I’m still not sure why he sent you here.”

(Eight months after picking it up, I finish Les Miz, and I take great pleasure in handing the teacher my annotated copy and my two notebooks full of notes on it, right as we’re about to start French history. Needless to say, he fumes, and starts complaining about me at parent-teacher conferences. Thankfully, my parents take my side.)

Teacher: “[My Name] is disrespectful and headstrong. I told her not to read that book, and she did it anyway!”

Dad: “You told her it was too hard for it, but honestly, she seemed to be enjoying it. Wouldn’t you rather have your students challenge themselves?”

Teacher: “No, I want them to listen to me! The textbook is right, and so am I!”

Mom: “Frankly, with that attitude, I’m not sure I’d listen to you, either.”

(I will credit that incident with one thing — ten years later and starting medical school, I still take fantastic notes!)

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