My Bark Is Worse Than My Gigabyte

, , , , , , , | Right | January 13, 2018

(I work in cell phone sales at a major department store. Although I work for a different company than the department store, we don’t have our own section; we’re stuck back in electronics. We are expected to help with electronics sales, despite not having keys for any of the locked cases. By the time this customer rolls around, my coworker is on hour two of his “fifteen minute break,” I’ve had two elderly ladies who believed in the “if I scream, I get discounts” policy, another guy who took it personally when he forgot his receipt, and almost no questions for cell phones. Finally, this customer comes up with a question I can answer.)

Customer: “Hi. I have 32 GB of space on my phone and it’s getting full. Do you know if my phone can take a memory card?”

Me: *genuinely upbeat at the polite tone he puts on* “Well, let’s take a look. May I see your phone?”

(He hands me his phone. I take off the case and start looking it over to see if the memory slot would be behind the back case or the slot where the SIM card goes, and he suddenly gets angry.)

Customer: “The slot is right here.” *points at the SIM card holder, almost knocking the phone out of my hand*

Me: “All right, one moment.”

(I go to pop out the little drawer and slide it out, seeing that there is indeed a space for a memory card. As I’m doing this, he tries to yank the phone out of my hands, screaming:)

Customer: “NO, IT’S HERE!” *he causes the tiny SIM card to go flying to the floor*

Me: “I’m so sorry! Let me get that…”

(As I’m rooting around for the card, I check a paper folder near where it fell and see it’s not there. The entire time I’m looking on the carpet he keeps screaming:)

Customer: “IT’S IN HERE! IT’S IN HERE!”

(He picks up the folder and tries to shove it in my face. I try explaining I looked there, then look again to appease him, but he is still screaming. Finally, I find it across the floor from where the folder was, nowhere near it.)

Me: “There we are. So, it does look like you have a slot for additional memory. Now, your phone only allows an extra [GB amount] of space, so—”

Customer: “I already knew there was a slot for it! I asked you how much space I could add!”

Me: “Well, you can go up to [GB amount] on this phone—”

Customer: “I knew that! I’m asking if I can transfer photos on there!”

Me: *at this point, I am no longer smiling, but my voice is still in customer service mode* “Why, yes, you can, and in fact, we can set it up so music and other media can be backed up on there as well—”

Customer: *now talking down to me like I’m the biggest idiot on the planet* “Just. Answer. My. Question. How much will this cost?”

Me: “Well, we can walk over to the storage devices and I can show you our selection—”

Customer: “That would be great. Where are they?”

Me: “Right this way.”

(I turn to walk two aisles down to the storage devices, make it all the way there, and realize he isn’t behind me. I wait a moment in case he went around the other way, then step back out of the aisle in case he didn’t see which one I went into, then I finally wander back in case he just left. Instead, he’s standing by the TVs, watching a kid’s toy promo. At this point, I’ve had it. I march right back up to him, and he turns to see me.)

Me: “You know, if you want to look at the storage devices, you have to actually walk the f*** over there yourself, right? This is a TV, not a memory card. So, are you going to f****** follow me, or can I get back to my job?”

(As soon as I said it, all my anger washed away and I was left in horror, but apparently it worked. He stood staring at me, completely silent, and then followed me over to the memory section. I showed him which ones he could use for his phone, he asked me about the prices, then declined getting one that day and left peacefully. He didn’t report me, I never got in trouble, and I felt much better after that.)

Unfiltered Story #103642

, , | Unfiltered | January 13, 2018

Years ago I had a cocker spaniel with a lot of allergies and a skin condition that made her very itchy. Her regular vet prescribed allergy shots for her. A few times we didn’t get to see him but a newly graduated vet who was working there temporarily. All she did the every appointment was try to refer us to specialists. So much so that we were starting to think she was getting kickbacks from them. One time we got her when we were there for my dog’s allergy shot.

Vet: “She’s just itchy because she has fleas.”

Mom & Me: “No she doesn’t.”

Me: “I just checked her this morning. No fleas. And she’s had a bath.”

Vet: *rolling her eyes* “It’s just fleas. She doesn’t need an allergy shot.”

Mom: “Dr. (Regular Vet) prescribed them. We want her allergy shot.”

At that point we watched as a flea crawling on the vet herself jumped from her to my dog. The vet only sees the flea now.

Vet: “I told you she had fleas!”

Mom: “We saw that flea crawling on you! Now we want her allergy shot.”

The vet continued to argue and tried once again to send us to a specialist, but we finally got the shot – only after a lot of huffing. Mom complained to the regular vet as soon as he was free and told him how this one was always trying to send us to specialists. He seemed rather angry with her when he heard this. We never saw her there again.

Unfiltered Story #103638

, | Unfiltered | January 13, 2018

Suggested title: “Can” you believe this?

Tags: middle school, crazy requests

(In seventh grade, I was on the student council at my middle school. One of the student council’s duties was to empty the recycling bins around campus. These bins were labeled “water bottles only” in an effort to discourage people from putting non-recyclables inside. One day, i was walking back from a student council meeting with my friend while the student council president emptied bins. “President” was only a title; she had no special privileges or the ability to boss people around. However, she was very rude and bossy despite this. I had finished drinking a juice drink in a metal can and decided to recycle the can as she walked by:)
Me: *throws can into recycling*
President: Hey! What are you doing?
Me: recycling this can?
President: this sign says water bottles only! Is that a water bottle?
Me: no, it’s a recyclable metal can. It says “please recycle” on the side.
President: Well, this sign says you can’t recycle it!
Me: the big cans over there accept metal cans! *points to big cans where recycling bins are emptied into, that accept metal and plastic*
President: THEN TAKE IT OVER THERE!
Me: NOT WHEN YOU’RE ALREADY GOING THERE! IT IS ALL GOING TO LITERALLY THE SAME PLACE!
(This shouting match lasted a few minutes, and mainly consisted of me saying “it’s just a can!” and [President] saying something like, “NO I CAN’T TAKE IT!” Eventually my friend, who had been watching this the whole time:)
Friend: Come on, [my name], it doesn’t matter. Let’s go.
(I left, still angry about the can. I don’t quite remember, but I think it got recycled.)

This Takeout Thing Just Isn’t Taking

, , , | Right | January 12, 2018

(I take a phone order.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Pizza Place]. Do you want takeout or delivery?”

Customer: “Takeout.”

(I take her name, double-check her phone number, and then take her order. I finish up her order and give her a price and the time estimate.)

Me: “Okay, thanks. Goodbye!”

Customer: “Don’t you need my address?”

Me: “Not for takeout, but if you would like to give it to me that will be fine.”

Customer: “Well, you’ll need it when you bring my order.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry; I thought you wanted take out.”

Customer: “Yes. That means you take it out to my house, right?”

(I guess she thought delivery meant that she delivers herself to the store to pick it up?)

The Agents Of Your Demise

, , , , | Right | January 11, 2018

Buyer: “We are looking at this house in the paper and we wanted to see it.”

Me: “Great. Can you give me the address? I can see if my buyer’s agent is available to show you the home.”

Buyer: “Well, we don’t want to work with an agent. We just want to see the house. We are planning to swing by it in 15 minutes. Is it unlocked so we can just walk inside?”

Me: *thinking to myself* “Of course, you moron. We always leave our houses unlocked so random people can walk into them at any time.” *speaking out loud* “I’m sorry, but all buyers need to be accompanied by an agent for liability reasons.”

Buyer: “But I don’t want to work with your agents. I just want to see the house.”

Me: *hangs head*

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