Customer: “I want my money back!”

The customer is returning an item purchased a few days earlier. She has her receipt and the item is in a good condition, so we process the refund.

Me: “You paid in cash. Would you like cash back?”

Customer: “Yes! Give me my money back.”

I count out the bills and hand them to her. She doesn’t take them but instead looks disgusted.

Customer: “No, I want my money, as in my money! I want the same bills I paid with!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s impossible. Those bills will have been counted and redistributed by now.”

Customer: “Well, go get them back! I’ll wait.”

Me: “Ma’am, how will you know if the bill is yours or not?”

Customer: “I keep track of the serial numbers.”

I kid you not, she then produces a piece of paper with a list of serial numbers grouped under bill denominations. It’s at this point that I realize this customer is… different, so it’s best to try to wrap this up quickly.

Me: “Well… those bills will have made their way to the bank, where they will be redistributed and… well… whatever the bank does with them.”

Customer: “Like I said, I’ll wait.”

I’m about to respond when my manager steps over.

Manager: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but what you’re asking is absurd. Those exact bills will have been taken to any number of facilities in the city and redistributed anywhere else in the city. I invite you to go around Los Angeles and ask its eighteen million people if they have your bill, but I can assure you it’s not here.”

Customer: “But… that’ll take forever!”

Manager: “I’m glad we’re finally agreeing. So, is it scouring the city and forever, or is it taking our bills and no time at all?”

The customer sighed and took the bills originally offered. I understand some people have OCD, but did she seriously expect the store to keep track of every bill’s serial number like she does?!

About twenty years ago, I was moving out of the rented room I lived in after starting my first job into a condo of my own. I was renting from a friend, so all I had to do after moving out was rent a carpet cleaning machine and clean the carpet in the room.

I went to the service desk at the local supermarket and rented a popular carpet cleaning machine. Time-check: 11:55 am.

I loaded the machine into the trunk of the car and drove it over to my old place. The room was about ten feet by ten feet, so the entire setup, cleaning, and packing back up took less than an hour. I grabbed a quick lunch, said goodbye to my friend, and drove the machine back to the store.

Time-check: about 2:00 pm.

I went over to the service desk to return the carpet cleaner.

Employee: “I’m going to have to charge you for an extra day, since it was due back by noon.”

Me: “But I rented it at 11:55 am.”

Employee:  “But it’s still due back by noon.”

Me: “So, I was expected to take it home, set it up, use it, clean it up, and return it in five minutes?”

Employee: “Uh-huh.”

Me: “I’m sorry, that doesn’t make any sense. I’m going to need to see a manager.”

She looked at the paperwork again.

Employee: “Oh! You rented this today! You can keep it longer. Do you want to just hang onto it?”

Me: “What am I going to do with a carpet cleaning machine? Clean random carpets? The job is done, and I’d like to get this returned.”

Now I have another story where it’s easier to say, “Uh-huh…” to me than it is to pay attention to the words coming out of my mouth.

I worked as a liability claims adjuster some years ago. It was my job to investigate auto accidents, determine who was at fault, and pay the claim if warranted. Our company had a large call center to handle smaller claims, like parking lot accidents, but most were sent out to small field offices, like the one where I worked.

One day, I received a claim for an accident at a four-way stop sign, so I called our insured to get his side of the story.

Me: “Can you tell me what happened?”

Insured: “I stopped at the sign and then proceeded into the intersection, but I didn’t see that the other car was already there until it was too late.”

Me: “Didn’t see him?”

Insured: “Yeah, because of all the trees and shrubs there! It was impossible to see. The other driver should have taken more care due to the poor visibility!”

Me: “I see. I can absolutely see about assigning some fault to the other driver for that reason. Can you tell me where that happened?”

The customer described the location.

Me: “Oh, I know that area!”

Insured: “You do? I thought you were in a call center somewhere.”

Me: “No, I work in [Suburb of a Large Metro Area], not far from that intersection. I’ll swing by and get some photos before I call the other party.”

Insured: *Nervously* “Oh, I… uh… don’t know about that.”

Me: “It’s no trouble; it’s actually on my way home. I’ll check it out tonight and call you back tomorrow.”

Insured: “Um, okay. Sure.”

I did drive by the intersection that evening on the way home and, yeah, there was not a bush or tree in sight. People knew there was no penalty for lying to their insurance company, so everyone tried it. In this case, it didn’t work out so well.

I used to have a classmate whose first name was Marvel. I’m not kidding. Her sister was named Wonder.

Marvel hated her name, especially all the jokes and teasing we made at her expense. In fact, I’m the one who coined the nickname “Marvellous Misfits,” which our old teacher found so funny that he referred to our class that way for an entire year.

Many moons and years later, I bring my daughter for her first day at school — my old elementary school, to be precise. And guess who is her Homeroom teacher? It’s Marvel, dressed up as Captain Marvel.

Marvel: “Hi, kids! My name is Marvel [Surname], and I’m the Marvellous Homeroom teacher of you Marvellous Misfits!”

Later…

Me: “Hi, Marvel. I don’t suppose you remember me? I’m—”

Marvel: “Ah, [My Name]? Wow, it’s been a while.”

Me: “Yeah. I must say, I didn’t expect this of you.”

Marvel: “The teaching or the Marvellous puns?”

Me: “Both. But let’s focus on the jokes. You used to hate them so much.”

Marvel: “Well, I figured that if I couldn’t avoid them, I’d just have to own them. Just go with the flow, you know? It’s what my sister Wonder does, and she’s the life of every party.”

Me: “Wonderful.”

Marvel: “Exactly.”

Marvel was a great teacher. She made school fun and enjoyable for her students, really stimulated their interests, and encouraged their hobbies.

She also got every single student of hers hooked on the Marvel Cinematic Universe — some to an exasperating degree — but that’s another story.

I work at a small independent car dealership that does both sales and service and specializes in cars that are interesting and fun to drive. We mostly do Porsches, and we curate our inventory carefully.

A guy had an ad up for a Porsche 928 S located just a bit north of us. The ad hit all the right notes: it was enthusiast-owned, it had immaculate care with extensive records, it looked beautiful in the pictures except for some clear coat peeling on the bumpers (which affects basically 100% of these cars so it’s not a dealbreaker), and it had terrific options. If the car was the car it seemed like it could be, with some work, it could be a great inventory piece. Our sales manager asked the owner to come on by so we could check it out.

The car that pulled in was NOT the car in the ad. This wasn’t like when someone uses a ten-year-old picture on a dating app; it was LITERALLY not the same car. It didn’t have the same options and it wasn’t even an S. Also, it was a TOTAL basket case. There were whole swathes of paint missing, and when our lead tech (also a co-owner of the service center) said something about it, the guy answered:

Guy: “You just need to polish it to bring the color out!”

My dude, no amount of polishing will magically invent color where none exists — and if you think it can, how much do you really know about cars? For obvious reasons, after laying eyes on it, we had absolutely no interest in his car — so little, in fact, that we didn’t even bother taking it into the shop for an inspection.

The guy was aghast that we weren’t even remotely interested. He BEGGED our sales manager to make him an offer. He claimed he had other interested parties and we couldn’t miss out! The sales manager told him to sell it to one of them. When he finally accepted that it wasn’t going to happen, he got in the car to leave, cranked the engine… cranked the engine… and cranked the engine.

You guessed it: the car would not start. When this sank in for him, too, he got REALLY spicy. He started blaming our employees, claiming they broke his car! Nobody but him had touched it, but we MUST have done something. But he also kept insisting that we HAD to give him gas. Hum. Okay. First, what? Second, why on EARTH would we do ANYTHING for him that could actually give him grounds to say we tampered with his car when he was already accusing us?

A lot of yelling later, the sales manager kept him distracted while the lead tech called 911. 

Guy: “GOOD! Call the cops! I’ll tell them you broke my car! They’ll arrest you guys! I’ll call my lawyer and sue and put you out of business! You guys need to give me gas for my car that you broke!”

The lead tech finally asked him point-blank:

Lead Tech: “If it’s out of gas, how did I break it?”

Guy: “Well, if you can’t figure that out, you must not be a good Porsche tech!”

The cops came. Mysteriously, the guy calmed down significantly. After a medium-length conversation in which I could overhear one of the officers clearly getting exasperated with his lack of logic, they finally made him a deal: they’d give him some gas, and if his car still didn’t start, it could stay parked here while he waited for a tow truck, but the guy himself would have to wait OFF our property.

He agreed. They gave him some gas and the car started right up.

WHAT A COINCIDENCE!

We weren’t the only ones who noticed this totally predictable turn of events. One of the officers couldn’t resist saying:

Officer: “Oh, look, it started. I guess they DIDN’T BREAK YOUR CAR.”

Somehow, I don’t really think we’ll be hearing from his lawyer.