(We are a manufacturing company making products for customers who install them for clients. One of our oldest, but smallest customers is obnoxious and constantly complains about things that happened months or even years ago. Our owners hate him and refuse to talk to him. Everybody else hates him, too. Why they haven’t dropped him, I have no idea. This is a series of conversations I had with him this week. I’m in accounting but also do shipping notices. Wednesday:)

Order Entry Coworker: “Hey, [My Name], [Customer] is on line one.”

Me: *mild swearing*

Order Entry Coworker: *laughter from order entry as she puts them through*

Me: “Hi, [Customer], how can I help you?”

Customer: “My order came wrong! You screwed up.”

(Cue a long rant about our products and how, when our company was started two decades ago, he warned the owner he couldn’t play games or he’d go out of business, and if he doesn’t fix everything we’ll soon go out of business.)

Me: “I’m sorry about that, but I can’t help you; I’m the accountant. I’ll give you to production to reorder it.”

(I put the customer on hold and turn to the order entry coworker:)

Me: “Why did you vote me as the sacrifice?”

(Friday morning:)

Me: *to customer’s voicemail* “Hi, [Customer], we will be delivering [order] next week. I don’t need a call back, so have a good day.”

(I’m thinking, “Please don’t call me back. Please don’t call me back.” Two hours later:)

Me: “Hi, [Customer], how can I help you?”

Customer: “Your invoice still hasn’t come from my delivery six weeks ago!”

Me: “I’m sorry, it came back here. I’ve sent it back out in the mail. I wish you had email or fax; we’d be able to avoid these problems, then.”

Customer: “No, I don’t do any of that new stuff like fax! I don’t understand why my mail didn’t come.” *cue a long rant about the postal system* “Now, this delivery for next week — where is my other [products from Wednesday] order? We talked about this. Why isn’t it on next week’s truck?”

Me: “That was only reordered on Wednesday; there is a rush on it, but it still takes three weeks to make, minimum.”

Customer: “Fine! Don’t send my delivery next week. This is for the same client and there’s no point giving part to them!”

Me: “Okay. I’ll put it back in the drawer for later.”

Customer: “Good. I’ll call you back next week to talk about its status.”

Me: “I’m accounting; I can’t do anything related to production status. You need to talk to production.”

Customer: “Well, we’ll talk more about it Monday.” *click*

(I’m going to be sick Monday, I think.)

(One of our customers is a little old-fashioned, though not very old. He used to be a fax/phone-only guy, but when his fax died I talked him into getting email. He’s a small, one-man operation, working out of his house. We’d been using the email for seven months when I got this call.)

Customer: “Hi, [My Name].”

Me: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: “You can start using my fax again, that’s how.”

Me: “Your fax? I thought it broke?”

Customer: “Yep, I bought a new one!”

Me: “You bought a new fax machine?”

Customer: “Yep! Personal fax machines are hard to find now, but I got one! So you can get rid of the email account!”

(Why would you replace your email with a fax machine?!)

On my way back to the office after going to grab a tea and some food, I decided to take the underground route as opposed to going the outside route. I was on the escalator going down watching two ladies at the bottom. The up escalator was off for maintenance and blocked off so we were required to take the stairs.

The two women stood at the bottom looking rather confused. Finally, one of them moved forward, walked up a couple steps, stopped and looked around, and turned to the other and asked, “Why is it not moving?” Her friend, looking equally perplexed, shrugged her shoulders in response.

One of the women looked at me for a moment as I turned my gaze to the clearly out of service escalator on the other side. She followed my gaze and it suddenly dawned on her. She looked at the other woman and exclaimed, “Oh, it’s broken; that’s why it’s not moving,” and proceeded to run up the stairs. The other one looked around and said, “Well, it should be more clearly marked!”

(I live in a small Canadian town and the area is a well-known spot for touristic deer hunting, so it’s not unusual for us to have a number of American customers. I can tell this is the situation for one group of men that comes in one day; all are wearing full camouflage and have thick Southern accents.)

Customer: “You didn’t give me my change!”

Me: “Yes, I did.”

Customer: “You’re trying to rip me off, aren’t you?! You owe me two dollars change, and now you’re trying to convince me that this is two dollars! I know better than that! What are these gold things?!“

(He shoves his hand towards me… where he holds two loonies. I have a very hard time not taking my palm to my face.)

Me: *calmly* “That’s two dollars; in Canada, we have a loonie, which is a dollar coin instead of a dollar bill.”

(He said nothing and walked back to his table.)

(I work in a call center for a taxi company as a dispatcher, which means that in addition to taking customer calls, I handle complaints and deal with drivers directly. We often get calls from hotels for guests, and a small motel has just reopened under new management. The phone rings:)

Me: “Good afternoon, [Taxi Company]. May I start with your phone number?”

Customer: “Hi, I own [Motel] and I’m just calling to let you know I’m giving you all my business.”

Me: “Thank you; that’s very kind.”

Customer: “Remember my phone number; it’s very important. I’m very important and I will be calling you all the time. I’m going to be calling all the time for all my customers, so make sure to remember my number. It’s very important and you’ll get lots of good business.”

Me: “Thank you, sir; have a good day.”

(I can already tell this guy is crazy. That afternoon, he calls and one of my coworkers answers, and the guy screams at him for not already knowing who he was before ordering a cab for a guest. I find out later he called again soon afterward and was as happy as can be despite no difference in the calls, confirming my diagnosis of crazy. The next day, he calls again and wants to speak to a supervisor. The call is transferred to me.)

Me: “Hi, dispatch, how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi, I’m [Customer], owner of [Motel].”

Me: “How can I help you, sir?”

Customer: “Last night, I ordered a taxi for [Female Customer].”

(I go through the system and find the order, assuming it’s about a lost phone or something.)

Me: “Yes, sir?”

Customer: “Okay, I want to know exactly where she went. I want to know what route they took, who met her there, any stops on the way, and I want that driver’s name and number so I can call him for details.”

Me: “Sir, I’m not allowed to discuss any of that with you.”

Customer: “I ORDERED THE CAB!”

Me: “Yes, sir, but it’s against the Privacy Act for me to discuss any information like that with anybody other than the actual customer.”

Customer: “THERE IS NO PRIVACY ACT! YOU TELL ME!”

Me: “No, sir, I’m not allowed to.”

Customer: “THERE IS NO PRIVACY ACT! I AM INDIAN! YOU TELL ME!”

Me: “It doesn’t matter what race you are, sir; it’s illegal for me to—”

Customer: “NO, IT ISN’T!”

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Customer: “FINE. I WILL NEVER CALL HERE AGAIN! YOU’VE LOST ALL MY BUSINESS! YOU’LL BE OUT OF BUSINESS WITHIN A WEEK!”

Me: “Have a good day, sir.”

(He ordered a few more cabs, but then stopped phoning. We never heard from the lady, so I hope she recognized his crazy and fled. I still don’t know what his race had to do with anything, or what he hoped to accomplish by just insisting the law didn’t exist.)