Quite some time ago, my girlfriend and I (now my wife of more than fifteen years) moved in together and had to set up everything: cable, Internet, phone, etc. We got our home phone number, our two cell phones, and we were off to the races.

Almost immediately, we started getting calls for an establishment that does custom framing and various other art-related things. Of course, we had caller ID, and we had friends that would call us, but inevitably, if we didn’t recognize the number, it was someone wanting to find out if their order was complete, or their frame was done, or what their hours were, or any of a thousand other questions.

I’m sure anyone else who has had this happen will recognize this exchange.

Us: “Sorry, that’s no longer their number. This is a residence.”

Us: “Yes, I’m sure.”

Us: “No, I’m not giving you my address.”

Us: “No, I don’t know their new number.”

Us: “Yes, I have a phone book, but so do you.”

After a thousand of these, we changed the message on our answering machine to say, “This is not, I repeat not, [Art Shop]. If you are trying to reach [Art Shop], please hang up, look up their number, and try that, because we aren’t them.”

Eventually, I got my gazillionth call.

Me: “Where do people keep getting this number?”

Caller #1: “It’s printed on my receipt. I guess I’ll just call this other number.”

Me: “Any chance you can give me that number? Thanks!”

I called the other number.

Owner: “Hello, [Art Shop].”

Me: “You guys are still giving out my home phone number on your receipts.”

Owner: “Yeah. So?”

Me: “Well, f****** stop it. It’s been at least a year since you haven’t had that number. At least cross it out or something.”

Owner: “That’s a pain in the a**. I’m not making my employees do that.”

Me: “So, you’re the manager?”

Owner: “I’m the owner.”

Me: “So, let me see if I have this right. You, what was your name again?”

Owner: “[Owner].”

Me: “You, [Owner], have decided that it’s too inconvenient to cross my home phone number off of your receipts, so you’re just going to keep giving it out?”

Owner: “What are you gonna do? Sue me?”

Me: “Maybe.”

Owner: “Whatever. I’ve got s*** to do. Bye.”

I called a lawyer, but I didn’t really have a leg to stand on.

I went to the store and asked for the owner.

Employee: “[Owner]’s not here. He’s hardly ever here, really. You want me to call him?”

Me: “No, I’m fine. I know this is going to sound odd, but is there any chance I can see one of your receipts?”

She picked up a receipt book and showed it to me. Sure enough, it had my phone number at the top, above another one.

Me: “I thought so. I couldn’t get you at the other number, some guy yelled at me, and I didn’t have my old receipt, so I had to come down here.”

Employee: “We’ve been having that happen a lot, ever since [Owner] decided we didn’t need two phone lines. But he had just bought like twenty boxes of these receipt books and business cards, and he’s too cheap to buy more until they run out. I’d hate to be that guy.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s gotta suck.”

I went home and hatched my evil plan. The next time I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize:

Me: “Hello, [Art Shop].”

Caller #2: “Hi, this is [Caller #2]. I dropped off [item] last week to be framed. Is it ready?”

Me: “Let me check. Yup. We finished it this morning. I hope you don’t mind, but we decided to upgrade the matting because of the weight of the piece. It’s the same color, and we won’t be charging you for it, since it was my decision.”

Caller #2: “Oh, thank you. I’ll be down to pick it up later today. What time do you close?”

I look down at the business card, with my number and the hours clearly marked 11:00 to 4:00.

Me: “Take your time; we’ll be here until 7:00.”

Caller #2: “Thank you so much. Can you tell me how much that was?”

Me: “$19.99, ma’am, plus tax, so $21.39.”

Caller #2: “Wow, that’s cheap. Are you sure?”

Me: “Of course. If anyone has a problem, tell them you talked to [Owner].”

Caller #2: “Okay, see you around 6:00.”

Me: “See you then. Thank you for calling [Art Shop].”

For WEEKS I kept giving out completely random information.

“How much is a 36″x48″ matted frame?” “Let’s say $24.99.” “Wow, that’s cheap. How much to have it done custom, how I want it?” “Custom is an extra $10, so $34.99.” “Wow, that’s cheap. I’ll be right down. What was your name?” “[Owner].” “See you in ten, [Owner].”

“How much to have the entire front page of the New York Times from 9/11 mounted and framed?” “$33.99, unless you want our special, proprietary newspaper frame and mat service, only $49.99 and guaranteed for life, only at [Art Shop]. Tell them [Owner] sent you.”

I can only imagine the number of pissed-off people who showed up to pick up orders that weren’t ready, and when they finally were, they were given a price WAAAAY higher than what “[Owner]” had told them over the phone.

Eventually, someone let slip that “they called the number on the receipt, and that’s what [Owner] had told them.” [Owner] was NOT happy.

Me: “Hello, thank you for calling [Art Shop]. This is [Owner].”

Owner: “YOU’RE NOT [OWNER]! I’M [OWNER]! ARE YOU TRYING TO PUT ME OUT OF BUSINESS?!”

Me: “Why, [Owner], whatever do you mean?”

Owner: “Someone has been giving prices to my customers and telling them their orders are in when they’re not due for weeks.”

Me: “Well, [Owner], who called them?”

Owner: “Nobody called them; they called us.”

Me: “Then what’s the problem? If someone called you and got pricing information, that would seem to be your problem.”

Owner: “They didn’t call me; they called you.”

Me: “Well, how would that happen?”

Owner: “Your number is on my receipts and business cards.”

Me: “My, my. It seems to me there’s a very simple solution here. Take my number off your receipts and business cards.”

Owner: “Do you have any idea how much promotional materials cost?”

Me: “Is it more than it costs to do these jobs for the prices you’re quoting? Is it more than it costs to lose customers, or less than that?”

Owner: “This is extortion!”

Me: “Call it what you want, [Owner]. The choices, and consequences, are entirely up to you.”

A week later:

Me: “Hello, [Art Shop]. This is [Owner].”

Owner: “I’VE ORDERED NEW RECEIPT BOOKS AND CARDS! CAN YOU PLEASE STOP THIS BULLS***!”

Me: “Sure. Bye, [Owner]!”

I didn’t let him off the hook until the calls stopped, but it was only a week or so after he called me back. He must have paid for expedited shipping.

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My company is the epitome of chaotic and disorganized as a quirky character trait. Our sales manager is the worst out of everyone and has made it my responsibility to remind her to send out software license renewals, despite constantly crowing about her “system” and why she cannot have her files on the server because it would mess up her “functional” system.

I typically just schedule to send her reminder emails when licenses expire at sixty-day, forty-five-day, thirty-day, and fifteen-day intervals and wait for the client to email me because four acknowledged warnings is clearly not enough. It is pretty commonplace for me to have to stop what I am doing when she screeches at me to find a P.O. to prove she is behind. I have no access to her P.O.s due to her asinine “system,” so I merely shrug my shoulders at her, remind her that it isn’t my job but I am happy to take it on if she wants to split the commission, and go back to actual software development when she starts to complain about me possibly being able to do her job.

Despite keeping her own “records” on her computer exclusively and how, frankly, easy it is to renew licenses for happy customers, she typically makes me keep a log that she has me send her once a month. No amount of reminding her that it is on the server can convince her to get it herself, so I relent to emailing it and call it a day.

This time, she messages me telling me that there is a license missing, but she refuses to tell me for whom or when the license was generated. She wants me to search my email to find it. Again, I don’t have access to any of this, but I search anyway and ask the person whose job it is to actually create the licenses. He cannot find it in his email, either, but finds when the license code was sent out. We continue to dig.

Apparently, this dingbat sent him a screenshot of an email authorizing his purchase in a text message two years ago and expected me to keep track of this for her. It would’ve taken her two seconds to forward her email. Thank goodness her system is infallible!

At a specialty mom-and-pop aquarium shop, we had a repeat customer who kept killing the fish he bought for his tank. His tank was always overcrowded and never fully cycled. For those that don’t know what cycled means, it’s basically when the tank chemistry has gone enough time to grow enough nitrifying bacteria. This bacteria transforms ammonia to nitrite — both lethal in any quantity — and nitrite into nitrate — lethal only in high quantities and removed via routine partial water changes.

I was the store’s freshwater chemistry and illness specialist on top of an animal rights supporter. I always emphasized the healthiest fish and hardiest species, especially when dealing with new hobbyists or fish parents. It gives them the best chance to keep the fish alive and enjoy their new family members.

My staff and I had this conversation with this repeat customer multiple times.

Customer: “You sold me fish and they died! I want a refund!”

Me: “Sir, you need to wait for your tank to cycle, and you need fewer fish in your tank. Bad water quality voids our return policy.”

Customer: “No, you keep selling me sick fish to begin with!”

Me: “Sir, I always help you pick out healthy fish.”

Instead of banning this customer from buying fish until his tank got better — my personal recommendation — the owners had the attitude that if customers keep buying, they don’t care. They enabled this dude.

What was their solution? I was the only person who could help pick out this guy’s fish. It was still always, “They were sick at purchase,” and, “They’re just fish,” after telling this guy time and time again to wait for the water to get better and keep a lower number of fish.

I received these messages from my boss regarding a coworker who holds the same position I do.

Boss: “[Coworker] doesn’t have time to proof your work.”

Boss: “Oh, but you still have to proof her work.”

Boss: “And, yes, that means all missed typos are your fault from now on.”

My wife and I were part of a social dance group in a large city before being transferred. Whenever we had the chance, we’d go back as we maintained good friends there.

The group had an annual weekend festival that involved dances or workshops on Friday evening, all day Saturday, and Sunday through early afternoon. This was always a great deal of fun and, as you can imagine, tiring.

One year, I scheduled a business trip for the week before the event and arranged to fly back Sunday evening. My wife couldn’t make it so I went stag. I decided to stay in a bed and breakfast fairly near the venue.

I participated in everything through Saturday at 4:00 pm when we had a four-hour break. I was fatigued, so after I had a small meal and a shower, I took a nap. When I awoke just before 7:00, I was groggy and disoriented, explaining what happens next.

My bathroom was not connected to my room but instead was across the hall. I staggered up and went across to use it, only to realize that I had locked myself out of my room. Other than pants and a T-shirt, I had nothing and no way to get to my car key, wallet, and dancing clothes.

No problem. The hosts can help, right? I went downstairs looking for them. Not around. Luckily, there was an emergency cell number posted. The front desk was empty, so I used the landline there. No answer. I called again. No answer. I called at least ten times continually without anyone picking up.

I was going into full panic mode and was considering the cost of breaking the door in when I found that the drawers of the front desk were unlocked with bunches of unlabeled keys therein. I grabbed them all and ran back to my room. The fifth key unlocked the door and I got to the dance on time.

As I checked out the next day, I spoke to the host and told him what had happened. He said they’d been out bowling. When I asked about the phone, he said that they’d heard it ring but, quote, “We couldn’t get there in time.” He’d had it in a coat pocket near their lane but couldn’t be bothered to take it with him regardless of the number of calls he heard. 

I said a few choice words, such as “lazy,” and worse. We did not part friends, and every review I made was negative, pointing out not only the lack of service but also the lax security; I could have gone into anyone else’s room! When my wife was able to accompany me two years later, we were careful to stay somewhere else.