I’m getting ready to open the library for the day, working at the circulation desk. I listen to our voicemails. One was left at 5:30 am.

Patron: “Hi. I have three things out that I’m going to return tomorrow or the day after. Please call me back at [number] to let me know what time works best to return them. It’s very important to me that you confirm that you got this message and know that I’m going to return these items as soon as possible.”

I locate the patron’s account and confirm that there are no overdue items or other things I want to notify them of. Everything’s good. The items aren’t due for more than a week, and they have no active requests or waitlists.

I call around 9:45 am and leave a voicemail of my own.

Me: “I’m calling from the library, returning your message. You can return items at the circulation desk any time that we’re open, or twenty-four-seven in the outdoor returns box in front of the main entrance. It’s bright blue and says ‘Returns’ on it. We empty it and check in the items first thing every morning, so feel free to drop off your books on whatever schedule is best for you.”

A few hours go by. I do my other duties, including calling back the other people who left voicemails and leaving messages letting people know about requested items arriving. The phone rings at the circulation desk.

Me: “Thanks for calling the library. This is—”

Caller: “I saw there was a voicemail left by this number. What was it about?”

Me: “Um, well, it could be a few things… Wait, is this [Patron]?”

Caller: “Yeah, why did you call me?”

Me: “We were just letting you know that we got your message from earlier this morning and that there’s no need to rush returning your books, but you can drop them off whenever you want.”

Caller: “Oh, well, I don’t know why you called so early; I was sleeping. And I never answer the phone to unfamiliar numbers.”

Me: “That’s fine. That’s why I left the message.”

Caller: “Well, I’m going to return those books as soon as I can. Probably in four or five days. I haven’t finished them yet, so I wish you wouldn’t rush me.”

Me: “You can return them any time on or before the due date, which is [twelve days away], and you don’t even need to come when we’re open. The drop box is there for overnight returns or if you’re in a hurry. Have a great day!”

She returned the books the next day. A few days later, she called and asked why we’d left a voicemail about returning books because she had already done that!

Related:
Voicemail Fail, Part 9
Voicemail Fail, Part 8
Voicemail Fail, Part 7
Voicemail Fail, Part 6
Voicemail Fail, Part 5

I work for a company that regularly hires very open-minded and diverse employees. We have a great company culture. A few years ago, my company hired a new Vice President to oversee my department as well as a couple of other departments. He was in his mid-forties and a cis white male, the same as me.

One day, a few months after he had been hired, [Boss] took my team out to lunch (a monthly event), and I ended up sitting next to him. We were chatting about various things, and in passing, I made a comment that we were both wearing shirts that were a similar burgundy color. He immediately started acting suspicious about my comment.

Boss: “Why did you say that about my shirt? Did [CEO] tell you to say that?”

Me: “What? No.”

Boss: “You’re sure [CEO] didn’t tell you to make a comment about my shirt being burgundy?”

Me: “No. Why? What’s going on? Why would [CEO] tell me to comment on your shirt?”

Boss: “I wore this shirt last week, and he called it purple! I thought he was having you tease me about the color.”

Me: “I don’t understand.”

Boss: “He kept calling my shirt purple, and I had to keep telling him it was not purple; it was burgundy!”

Me: “Okay?”

Boss: “It is not a purple shirt! It is burgundy!”

Me: “What’s wrong with purple?”

Boss: *Looking at me like I’m crazy* “Purple is a girl’s color! I would never let my son wear purple!”

I just sat there, wondering if he was trying to make a joke. He was serious. Having grown up with the “Miami Vice” TV series and all the pink shirts and pastel colors, I don’t think I had ever heard of anyone who actually believed certain colors were reserved for boys or girls only. And my boss was the same age as me.

That weekend, I went out and bought two different styles of purple shirts and made a point to wear one of them whenever he and I had our weekly one-on-one meetings.

A month later, at our company’s formal holiday party, I wore a lavender (light purple) dress shirt with French cuffs that I had owned for years. I made a point to say hi to him so he couldn’t help but see my shirt. My wife kind of rolled her eyes at me for doing all this, but I was entertaining myself.

He never said anything to me about any of my shirts. And a few months later, he was let go from the company — not because of this specific incident, but because there were many other things that showed he was not a good fit for our company culture.

My husband and I are driving home, and we decide to drive through [Fast Food Chain] for lunch. Important to know is they are selling quesaritos at this time. We have a little trouble ordering, but we attribute that to bad speakers.

When we pull up to the window, it is clear the guy at the window is high. After we finally pay for our food and get the bag, my husband asks me to check we got our food. We are missing a quesadilla.

Husband: “Excuse me.”

Worker: “Yeah, man.”

Husband: “We’re missing a quesadilla.”

Worker: “Oh! I thought you wanted a quesarito.”

Then, he just smiles at us, hanging out the window, completely amused by the mistake. After a minute or so goes by, my husband speaks again.

Husband: “So, can we have our quesadilla?”

Worker: “Oh! Oh, sure. Yeah, man, you can have a quesadilla.”

Then, he just stands there again, looking at us.

Husband: “So, do you want to get it for us, or should we come inside?”

Worker: “Yeah! Yeah, I can get it for you.”

He closes the window and hopefully asks someone else to make the food. He opens the window to give it to us.

Husband: “Do you want us to give you back the quesarito?”

Worker: “I mean, like, why?”

Husband: “Because we’re getting our quesadilla?”

Worker: “Nah, man, you should eat it! It’s good. We’re all good.”

The window closed and we drove off.

If you have a contract with us, you can call for a technician. Experiences in the past have taught us that sometimes you are done within half an hour, and other times you need an hour and a half. So, to be able to help people and give a clear indication, we offer timeframes of four hours. Experiments with making that timeframe shorter have failed, and the technician can take up to three appointments in that block. (If the technician is done sooner, we have several “no attendance required and not urgent” appointments we can do whenever.)

At 10:00 am, I get a call in English. While I’m quite decent with typing in English, speaking it isn’t always that great because I’m put on the spot. The man has a very heavy accent and is mumbling, making him sometimes hard to understand.

Me: *In Dutch* “Thank you for calling. How may I help you?”

Client: *In English* “I have an appointment, but I can’t find the time anymore.”

Me: *Switching to English* “Let me check this for you. I see that you made an appointment for today between eight and twelve. Let me call the technician and ask if he’s on his way.”

I call the technician, and the client is indeed next on the list. He just needs to finish things up, and then he’s on his way. Great! I relay this to the client.

Client: “How far away is he?”

Me: “I didn’t ask for his exact location, but he said he’s almost on his way and expects to be there soon.”

Client: “This is unacceptable! This is Holland! We made an appointment!”

Me: “Yes, we did, between eight and twelve.”

Client: “I can’t wait for twelve hours for someone to come! This is Holland! An appointment is an appointment!”

Me: “Sir, you selected the timeframe; we are just following what you selected.”

Client: “I had no choice! I demand that the technician be here within minutes!”

Me: “That is unfortunately impossible. He’s still on his way and will be there soon.”

Client: “This is Holland! This is Holland! We don’t make appointments within time frames. When we make an appointment, we get a specific time! Give me the technician’s number!”

Me: “I will not do that, bu—”

Client: “I will not wait for six hours! I have other things to do. I must bring back things I borrowed!”

Me: “Sir, timeframes do happen more often, and within your contract—”

Client: “You are not listening! This is Holland! Give me the technician’s number, now!“

Me: “Sir, I will not. I am able to ask him if he will call you, but if he’s driving, he cannot call you back.”

Client: “He can call hands-free! And tell him to call me, so I have his number and then I can talk to him! Procedures… I have my own schedule! You are being very rude! You are a racist! This is Holland! I will leave my door open, and if he’s not here within twenty minutes, he can go inside while I’m not here! And then he can fix it!”

The man continued to scream and eventually hung up. I did call my technician back, and I informed him of what the client had said. The technician laughed and joked that he would grab a cup of coffee first. After all, he had two more hours before the end of the timeframe. I hope I’ll get an update, but that’s at the technician’s discretion. 

This is the first time I have been called racist for following the appointment the client made themselves.

I work in a bakery inside a grocery store. While we do take orders directly at the bakery, we also have a separate position called “event planning”. We are trained to direct all bakery orders to event planning first since their primary job is to take orders and help customers choose what they want, while all of us in the bakery are almost always multitasking as is. That being said, we don’t complain or drag our feet if event planning is unavailable, or even if a customer would just rather place an order directly with us.

Me: *Answering the phone* “Thank you for calling [Store] bakery. How may I help you?”

Customer: “I’d like to place a cake order for tomorrow.”

Me: “Absolutely. One moment, please, while I transfer you to event planning, who will be happy to help you take that order and answer any questions you may have.”

This standard sentence that we’re trained to say is almost always responded to with a simple, “Okay, thank you!”, but not this time.

Customer: *Instantly furious* “Ex-cuse me? What on earth do you mean?!”

Me: *Briefly taken aback* “Oh, my apologies. Usually, we do have someone from our event planning department take our bakery orders, but if you’d prefer to place it direc—”

Customer: “No! No! Last time, I placed the order in the bakery! There was no ‘event’! What is your name?!”

Fortunately, my manager already heard the customer screaming, and she gestures for me to hand the phone over to her before I need to respond.

Manager: “Hello, I’m the manager of this bakery. While we are always happy to take your order here in the bakery if you prefer, event planning is the department that takes orders first if they’re available. If you’d prefer not to place your order with them and instead place it with us, that’s perfectly fine, and you need only ask. Now, may I ask why you felt the need to scream at my employee over what should have been a very simple interaction?”

A few moments pass.

Manager: *Turns to me* “She hung up. Hand the phone straight to me if she calls back, okay?”

Me: “Yes, thank you.” 

She never called back.