I’ve just been laid off from a job, and I need to ship some equipment back to the company. They sent a QR code and instructions to bring the items to a [Shipping Company] office location, where the staff will scan the code and take care of packaging up the items as well as actually shipping them.

I’ve never used a service like that, so when I get there, I open with this as I speak to the guy at the desk.

Me: “Hi! I’ve got this QR code to scan, and I’m told you provide the packaging service as well as the shipping. Does that sound right?”

Guy: “No.”

Me: “Oh, no?”

Guy: “We only do the shipping. You have to package it.”

Me: “Oh. Let me double-check the email.”

Guy: “Well, let me scan the code. Each company does it differently.”

He scans the code, types into the computer for about a minute and a half, scans the code again, and then gets a tape measure and begins measuring the items.

Me: “So… you are handling the packaging?”

Guy: “Yup.”

Me: “Why did you say no?”

Guy: *Coldly* “I told you, every company’s setup is different.”

Me: “Then perhaps ‘maybe’ would have been a better answer?”

Guy: “Mmmm… No, I like the word I used.”

Me: “Oh. Uh… I don’t.”

Guy: “Okay.”

He finishes with the items and gives me my receipt. I notice that it says, “Number of pieces: 1.”

Me: “Sorry, is ‘number of pieces’ the number of packages or the number of items in the packages?”

Guy: “Number of items.”

Me: “Okay, I just noticed that it says one piece on the receipt, but there were two.”

Guy: “There’s only one package.”

Me: “…Have a great day.”

This story is from the late 1970s when I was about eighteen or nineteen years old. This was long before you could check on movie schedules and showtimes online. I called the movie theater one afternoon to check the start times for movies for that evening. Each time I called, I got a busy signal, which was a bit unusual, especially for mid-afternoon on a weekday. I’d wait a minute or two and try again. Still getting a busy signal, I tried waiting a few minutes between tries but still got a busy signal.

Finally, after a good twenty minutes and more than a dozen attempts, I tried yet again. I got a busy signal, but this time only for a second or two. Then, I heard a click, and I found myself connected to a call between what sounded like two teenage girls just chatting on the phone, one of whom was working at the theater. I sat there, at first surprised at this glitch that somehow tied me into an existing phone call, and then fuming that this girl had spent who knows how long holding up the phone line from customers like me by chatting with her friend.

I listened in for a few seconds and heard this mundane conversation.

Theater Teen: “Yeah, I’m on until the last movie starts tonight, and then I’ll be off, probably a little after ten.”

Other Teen: “Geez, that makes a for a long day. Does [Friend] still work with you there?”

Theater Teen: “No, she left here almost two weeks ago. She got a job at that dress store at the mall. She just started last week. She loves it because gets, like, a really big employee discount!”

Other Teen: “Man, I should try that. I spend so much on clothes; I could use a discount!”

Theater Teen: “Oh, you don’t need to tell me! I spend half my check on clothes and makeup and stuff! So, what else is new?”

Other Teen: “Oh, not much. I have stinkin’ ton of homework to get through tonight, though. Every teacher just piled on their own homework. Don’t they ever consider that other teachers give homework, too? My God!”

Theater Teen: “Yeah, I know, like they’re the only teacher who gives out homework.”

At that point, I’m aggravated that I couldn’t get through to the theater for the past tenty minutes because of THIS. So, I decide to have a little fun. I put on my best “manager voice”.

Me: “Young lady, are you on that phone again holding up the lines? You march yourself into my office right this instant!”

Theater Teen: “Oh, Mr. Jones, ah, I’m, ah, sorry! I’ll be right there.”

Other Teen: “Oh, my gawd, I hope you’re not in too much trouble! Oh, s***! Call me later!”

Theater Teen: “Oh, no, I… I don’t know. I thought he was busy checking the theaters out! Crap! I’d better go!”

They hung up, and I started laughing for a few minutes before I called back. A guy answered the phone this time, and I found out the times in just a minute. Nasty little trick, I know, but hey, I got her off the d*** phone!

Lesson learned, I hope!

Back in the mid-1980s, a friend and I frequented a certain sub shop across the street from a shopping center. There were three key reasons we went here: 1) at the time, it was the only sub shop that was open on Sundays in that neighborhood, which is the day we were typically in the area, 2) they used very high-quality meats and ingredients, so the food here was quite delicious and high quality, and 3) their prices were very reasonable.

Initially, there were no problems. But after a few months, a guy started working there every Sunday. He was a college student who I swear would score a minus on an IQ scale. These are just a few of his, shall we say, shortcomings.

We had to be alert to be sure that what we got from him was what actually we ordered. For example, if I ordered a chicken breast sub, I might get turkey or ham, or one time, a meatball, which I fortunately noticed just as he started making it. If I asked for no tomato, I had to watch him to be sure he didn’t put it on anyway. He also could not make change to save his life; electronic cash registers were just reaching their peak in popularity among retail stores, but the owner of this place still had the older mechanical ones, where the staff had to figure out the change in their head. For example, if my meal came to $4.50 and I gave him a five-dollar bill, it would literally take him a good sixty seconds to figure out that the change was fifty cents, and this happened every… single… time.

One of the more idiotic things this employee did occurred one day when I ordered a large turkey sub. For sake of explanation, let’s say that a large sub was $5.00, a medium was $4.00, and a small was $3.00.

Me: “I’ll have a large turkey, with lettuce and pickles, please.”

Employee: “Sure thing. Oh, sorry. I forgot we ran out of the large sub rolls. Do you want another size?”

Me: “Ah, yeah, okay, I’ll have a medium, then.”

Employee: “Sure thing. Oh, you know what? A medium and a small together equal the size of a large. Do you want to do that?”

I agreed at first, but remembering his knack for screwing things up, I asked him an important question first.

Me: “Oh, thanks so much. That sounds good.” *Pauses* “Oh, wait. How much would that be?”

He turned and looked at the menu board above and behind him, and he took a few seconds to figure it out.

Employee: “The small is $3.00 and the medium $4.00, so $7.00.”

Me: “Sorry, that makes no sense. You said they are equal in size to a large sub.”

Employee: “Yeah.”

Me: “Yeah, so why are you charging me $7.00 when a large sub is only $5.00?”

Employee: “Well, a medium and a small together cost $7.00.”

Friend: “Are you seriously going to charge him $2.00 extra because you’re out of the large sub rolls? That is plain silly. At your suggestion, he is still getting the equivalent of a large sub, with the same amount of meat and so forth, but yet you’re overcharging him $2.00? Come on, man. Can’t you just think about that and see the obvious logic?”

At this point, I was practically banging my head against the counter at the absurdity of this guy’s lack of reasoning ability, logic, and even common sense.

Employee: “Well, it costs what it costs, you know what I mean?”

Me: “No, I don’t. You are the one who suggested it and even told me that they are the equal to a large size; it’s not my fault you are out of the large sub rolls. You suggested the alternate as a solution. It’s not like I demanded an unreasonable solution; you brought it up, not me. I shouldn’t be penalized for accepting your reasonable suggestion. I mean, why is this such a difficult concept for you to understand? If you’re going to charge me more than a large size costs, why are you even bringing it up in the first place?”

Employee: “Yeah, but I don’t want to get in trouble with the owner, you know, by giving away two subs at less than the menu says they should cost.”

I was completely frustrated at this point.

Me: “Honestly, geez, that’s just not going to happen. The owner can’t possibly be that stupid. I mean, really. Apparently, you have no clue about making the customer happy, a practice I’m sure the owner would have no problem with you doing.”

Employee: “Well, they cost $4.00 and $3.00, so I have to charge the $7.00 for both of them.”

Me: “Geez. You know what? Forget it. Just give me a medium.”

Employee: “Okay, so that was a turkey, right?”

Me: “Yes, with lettuce and pickles only, please.”

My friend and I looked at each other and just rolled our eyes at the total cluelessness. My friend ordered the same thing. We would have gone elsewhere, but the only thing open in the area on a Sunday back then was a [Fast Food Place] which we weren’t interested in. We were also really baffled that someone actually hired this guy. I mean, every week there was something beyond ludicrous he’d do.

I tried to call the owner during that week to complain, but he was impossible to find or get ahold of. He was never on site and never seemed to be in his office. He apparently owned several other retail businesses and was the epitome of a hands-off owner. 

Sadly, this type of thing went on for over a year until, finally, another sub shop opened across the street, basically putting this place out of business within only a few months.

Our shop sells cards and stationery, as well as a selection of gifts. Mostly our customers are pretty friendly and kind in person, but for some reason, we get some really bizarre phone calls. This is the most ridiculous phone call I ever received.

Me: “Hello, this is [Store].”

The caller is a man who sounds like he is driving and has the call on speakerphone.

Caller: “Hello, do you have [Brand] stuffed animals?”

Me: “We sure do. What I have in stock right now is a [Brand] pig.”

The caller is suddenly abrasive out of nowhere.

Caller: “I don’t want a pig! I want the dog wearing a cowboy hat. Get me the dog wearing a cowboy hat!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. We only have the pig, but you could try [Local Kids’ Shop] or go on [Brand]’s website for their full selection.”

The caller goes from zero to sixty for no apparent reason, absolutely shouting at me with all the “do you know who I am” attitude you might expect of a Very Busy Man demanding stuffed animals while he’s driving.

Caller: “I called you for a reason! I want you to get it for me! Send me pictures of what you do have!”

Me: “We have photos on our online store—”

Caller: “No one updates their online store! You will text me the photos.”

There is no way I’m giving this guy my personal cell phone number.

Me: “If you leave your email address, our store manager can probably send you photos—”

Caller: “I’ve spent hundreds of dollars with you guys! God! It’s like you don’t even want my money! Is there anyone else I can talk to?!”

“Gladly, sir,” I thought, and I handed the phone to the store manager who was standing by, very curious about what the h*** this phone call was about. I heard her basically tell the guy the same things I had told him. When the call was over, she looked up his name in our sales history. Unless he had come to the store in person at some point and paid cash, he had never bought anything from us before.

I have never actually heard anyone in the wild say, “It’s like you don’t even want my money,” so I guess I can check that off my customer service bingo card. We did not sell him the dog with the cowboy hat.

In the late 1970s, I worked in a copy center. Each week on Thursday, the schedule for the following week would be posted. A friend of mine worked the overnight shift during the week, so he’d give me my schedule each week when I saw him.

I only worked part-time, on Mondays and Tuesdays. I started working in September and worked sixteen hours each week, planning to go full-time in January; they needed more full-time workers. Everything went fine for the first two months.

The last week in October, my friend told me that I was not listed on the schedule for the following week. On Friday morning, I called my manager and told him.

Manager: “Don’t worry. Whoever made the schedule must’ve just forgotten to add you.”

The following week, the same thing happened; I was not listed on the schedule. Again, I spoke to the manager.

Manager: *A little upset* “I’ll speak to the idiot who makes the schedule and tell him to be sure to add you on the next one.”

The next week, guess what? I was still not on the schedule. However, this time, I was told a different story.

Me: “[Manager], I’m not on the schedule again.”

Manager: “Yeah, I found out that the company’s revenues are way down so they had to cut back on staff and hours. The manager of the main store was demoted to a regular employee, and they laid off five other people, as well. My advice is to look for another job elsewhere. I have no idea how long this is going to go on for.”

Me: “So, you’re telling me that I was laid-off three weeks ago, and the company is only getting around to telling me now?”

Manager: “Ah, yeah, I guess so. I’m really sorry. They didn’t tell me any of this until just this morning. Honestly, I’m looking around for a job myself. I really don’t like what’s going on here. They’re not being upfront with anyone. I wish there was more I could do for you, but there’s just nothing I can do.”

Me: “Well, okay, bye.”

And that, folks, is how I got laid off from a job and wasn’t told I was laid off until three weeks after the fact.