Fluffy’s More High-Maintenance Than Most Pets Of His Kind

, , , , , | Healthy | March 23, 2020

(I work at the front desk at an animal clinic that is located on a street with many assisted living facilities. Most of them are not pet-friendly — they may have an office cat but residents can’t have personal pets — except for the largest of them which is right next door and pet-friendly.

We have a deal with the management of this facility where, whenever a new resident moves in with an animal, we set them up as a patient with us, the facility handles all their billing, we send care instructions to them to make sure the residents don’t forget the doses, and when making appointments we contact both the owner and the facility so they can make sure the owner doesn’t have something else scheduled that day and doesn’t forget their appointment.

For the humans who think they are more self-sufficient than they really are, we make sure someone from the facility is available and needs to take “important paperwork” over to the clinic at the same time the owner needs to leave, to make sure they get there and back safely. Sometimes they slip through alone, though, or decide they have an appointment when we don’t have them on the books, so we are used to having random elderly people coming in.

A clearly distraught elderly woman carrying a small dog carrier comes in one day.)

Woman: “Please, you have to help me!”

Me: “What can we do?”

Woman: “It’s Fluffy! He’s not acting right and I think I need to put him to sleep.” *sobs*

Me: “Oh, dear, we’ll get you and Fluffy in to see the doctor and take a look at him to decide if that is the best thing to do, okay? Now, what is your name so I can pull your chart?”

Woman: “It’s [Name I don’t have in my system].”

Me: “I can’t find you on the computer; have you been in before?”

Woman: “Oh, no, Fluffy and I just moved into our new apartment today and you are so much closer than his old doctor.”

(I figure she is so new the facility hasn’t had time to bring us her paperwork, so I get Fluffy’s age and breed and go about making a chart. We’ll get the rest of her information from the facility when we contact them. Thankfully, we’ve had a cancelation so I can get her into an exam room right away.

A while later, she comes out of the exam room with the doctor, with one of our techs carrying the carrier for her, much happier than when she came in.)

Woman: “And you really think it will cure him, Doctor?”

Doc: “If it doesn’t, you just have your doorman give me a call and we’ll get you back in, no charge. Now, I’m going to have my son carry Fluffy home for you. You have a good day.”

(The doctor is referring to our tech who isn’t actually his son, but that’s the code we use to let the front desk know the resident is not paying us directly and to just smile and say goodbye rather than following the normal checkout process. As soon as she and the tech are out of the building I turn to the doctor.)

Me: “So, we’re charging an exam and what else?”

Doctor: “Nothing.”

Me: “So, just the exam?”

Doctor: “No, Fluffy isn’t real.”

Me: “What?!”

Doctor: “He’s a stuffed toy; he’s just been laying around all day for weeks now. So, I told her we were going to try an experimental treatment, and if it works, that’s great, and if not, she can bring him in to be put to sleep later. Then, I drew up some air from an empty vial and injected it. She said he already looks perkier. Poor thing; she is really far gone.”

(Tech returned almost an hour later. The woman wasn’t from the facility next door, or even the one on the other side of them. She was from the one almost all the way down the block, and they had to check into all of them because she couldn’t recall which apartment building she lived in.

To their staff’s credit, they thought she had gone to get lunch with her daughter and her daughter thought her mom was taking a nap after an exhausting morning of moving in. Nobody knew Fluffy had been feeling bad, or that he was capable of feeling bad.  

The experimental treatment worked great for a month, and then Fluffy relapsed and had to come in for another treatment. We gave him his shot once a month for three years, and then one day he just stopped coming in.

Six months later, the daughter brought him in; her mom had become too ill to take Fluffy for his shots so she had just taken him out of the building for a bit and then come back and told her mom he’d had his shot, and now her mom said she couldn’t take care of Fluffy anymore so could we find him a new home. We found him a nice place in the doctor’s office; he’s our supervisor.)

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Unfiltered Story #190538

, , | Unfiltered | March 23, 2020

I am 18 years old and had just been promoted to supervisor at my store. I was working the closing shift from 3pm until midnight on a Saturday night. It is about 11:15 and a few gentlemen from my school walk in, all underage. In the state of California it is illegal to provide to a minor, purchase or consume alcohol if you are under the age of 21. Two of the three gentlemen that walk in I’m on cordial terms with. The last one is a jerk. He makes fun of me, picks on me etc. I’m a god guy at 6″1 and 275 pounds. I am just such a nice guy it gets me sometimes. Anyways, they walk around the store and go directly to aisle 14 and 15 (booze). They after about 10 minutes come over to the checkout line. For the story, customer one will be the jerk, customer 2 and 3 will be the others.

Me: How’s it going, tonight.

Customer 1: it’s Fine. Just these.

He has 3 handles and four racks or beer. He winks at me with a smirk on his face and his friends stand behind and watch.

Me: can I see you ID please?

Customer: you know I’m over 21. Don’t be like that.

Me: it is illegal for me to sell alcohol who cannot provide valid proof of age, especially with me having knowledge of who you are.

Customer 2: look it’s me dude. We’re cool.

Me: Just as illegal. Show me a real ID that tells me you are 21 and I will help you.

Customer 1: F*** you, you know I’m 21! I’ll kick your a**. Sell me these motherf****** you b****!

Me: you will calm down now or be asked to leave.

MY supervisor hears the commotion and begins to walk over. However, for some reason he decides to observe how I handle the situation. I take the alcohol and slide it down to my bagger who promptly puts it on the back on the shelf.

Customer 1: get back here. That’s my alcohol.

Me: It is not your alcohol. You haven’t paid and you are not of age to possess it. You will either leave now on your own or be taken out. It is 100% up to you. You have people waiting behind you and if you don’t leave, I will personally see to it that you are arrested.

He makes an attempt to grab me, but fails miserably as the another customer grabbed him. My supervisor calls the police and by the time they show up I’m fully prepared to file the police report although the customer flees. That being said the police still caught him as, he does go to school with me!

Refunder Blunder, Part 44

, , , , , , | Right | March 22, 2020

(I’m the supervisor in a retail copy center. I am notified that someone has filed a complaint.)

Me: “Hello, ma’am. I’m sorry to hear you were dissatisfied with our services. Can I ask what happened?”

Customer: “Well, I asked for your clerk to cut my wedding invitations, and she cut them all wrong! We had to fix everything ourselves!”

Me: “My apologies! When was this order placed?”

Customer: “Oh, a couple of weeks ago.”

Me: “We would have been happy to fix the cuts for you free of charge, ma’am. Did you inspect the invitations before you paid for them?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Did you contact the store once you got home and realized you didn’t like the way they were cut?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Unfortunately, I don’t have any record of this order. Do you know which associate it was that completed your order for you?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Do you still have the invitations?”

Customer: “No, we sent them out already! After we had to spend hours fixing them! I want to know how you’re going to make this right!”

Me: “Well, I can offer a refund. Do you have your receipt so I can refund your purchase total?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Well, ma’am, I’m afraid there’s not much I can do without any of those things.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I want to talk to your manager!”

(I was only too happy to oblige!)

Refunder Blunder, Part 43
Refunder Blunder, Part 42
Refunder Blunder, Part 41

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Sounds Like They Got Their Sodium Lauryl Sulfates In A Twist

, , , , , | Right | March 22, 2020

(It’s early morning on my birthday. My coworkers have decorated my cubicle and brought me gifts. I’m feeling chipper and optimistic. I take my first call.)

Me: “[Business], this is [My Name]; how may I help you?”

Customer: “Hi, is your shampoo color-safe?”

Me: “Yes. In fact, it contains ingredients that are intended to help protect and preserve the life of your color.”

Customer: “But it contains sulfates, which cause fading.”

Me: “Our cleansers do contain sulfates, which have been used in shampoos widely and safely for decades. It will not fade your color. Our Anti-Color-Fade complex also helps with that.”

Customer: “But you just said there were ingredients that helped preserve your color. What are they?”

Me: “There are botanicals and our Anti-Color-Fade Complex in the shampoo, which help protect artificial color in the hair.”

Customer: “You’re not listening to me. I said, ‘What ingredients protect color?’. You’re not making yourself sound very credible, [My Name].”

(Shampoo ingredients are almost exclusively chemical, and have names that I, let alone a customer, wouldn’t understand. Every other customer I’ve ever spoken to has found my previous answer sufficient, so this accusation catches me off guard.)

Me: “Umm… I don’t know the exact ingredients. They have chemical names.”

Customer: “So, you won’t tell me.”

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t tell you because I don’t know.”

Customer: “Well, you know what, [My Name]? I think you need an attitude adjustment. You’ve been very snotty with me. I asked a simple question you are obviously too lazy or stupid to answer. I am a paying customer of your products, and I don’t need this behavior from you!”

(Looking around at my birthday presents and smiling coworkers, I just sort of break down.)

Me: “You know what? I don’t need it from you, either!”

Customer: “I’d like to speak to your manager!”

Me: “Absolutely!”

(I have just enough breath to tell my supervisor what happened before bursting into tears.)

Supervisor: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: “That last girl I spoke to was so rude! I don’t know if she’s on drugs or if she’s just a brat, but she clearly isn’t suited to be answering customer questions! She needs to get off the phone and come back once she learns some manners!”

Supervisor: “Ma’am, I overheard your conversation and [My Name] was more than polite and helpful, right up until you personally attacked her. You should also know she is my friendliest employee, and you were her first call of the day, which happens to be her birthday. Now, would you like me to answer your original question, or would you like to berate me, as well?”

(The customer sheepishly repeated her question, my supervisor answered her in the exact same manner I did, and the customer hung up without saying thank you!)

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Unfiltered Story #190346

, , | Unfiltered | March 22, 2020

(This was the mid-90s. I was answering phones and taking orders this one night…)

Me: Thank you for calling (Pizza), this is (My Name), will this be for pick up, dine in or delivery?

Customer: Delivery.

(I proceed to take their food order and move on to taking their address information.)

Me: What is your address?

Customer: (Address on multi-mile long street).

Me: And what is your cross street?

Customer: Hold on (sound of phone being put down).

(Quite a few mins later they return…)

Customer: It’s (street). I had to run out and look.

(They really did put the phone down and go out and look at the sign for the name of their closest street.)