(A customer comes in looking to purchase a gift card.)
Customer: “Are gift cards final sale?”
Me: “Yes, they are.”
Customer: “So, they don’t come with a fourteen-day gift card exchange like everything else?”
Me: “No, madam, they don’t. It does not work that way.”
Customer: “That makes no sense. Never mind!”
Me: “Okay, have a good day. Bye.”
(I’m friends with my managers, and because of that I often sit with them during lunch breaks.)
Manager #1: “I am working five days this week! I’m so tired when I’m done with work I just shower and go to bed! You know they’re making us work six days a week starting next week?”
Manager #2: “That is ridiculous! How can anyone have a life with only one day off?”
Me: “I’m constantly working six days a week even though I submitted a form to take back my extended hours. I’d love to have two days off, especially since I’m enrolled in an online school course.”
(My managers stopped complaining after that, or at least around me.)
(I work at a private music school. I had two students who were both quite young that came for lessons for a few weeks. One week they stop showing up for their lesson time and, after more time goes by, we put another student in their slot so that my time isn’t wasted. After nearly a month and a half of not seeing these children, they show up in our waiting room with their mother, who I have never seen before, as their other parent always dropped them off prior to this event.)
Me: “Hi, it’s been a while. I’m [My Name].”
Mother: “I’ll try and remember that.”
(At this point, I knew this wasn’t going to go very well.)
Mother: “Just so you know, my kids don’t practice. I just want them to be exposed to music, you know?”
Me: *pained* “Sure thing. I totally get you.”
(I bring the first kid into my classroom and start teaching them. A few minutes later, my boss knocks on my door.)
Boss: “Who do you have right now?”
Me: “[Student #1 and Student #2] are here.”
Boss: *shocked expression* “Oh?”
(She goes to speak to the mother, which I am not present for, but based on what my boss told me, I imagine it went something like this:)
Boss: “You were away for so long that we filled the spot with another student. I’m terribly sorry. I’ll teach them for today, since [My Name] has to teach the other student right now. Could we reschedule their lessons and find a day that works for both of us?”
Mother: “That’d be really difficult.”
Boss: *checking records* “Also, it looks like payment didn’t go through for the last month of lessons. Do you have a way to pay for that today? We can take credit card.”
Mother: *shocked* “It didn’t go through? I’ll have to ask my partner what happened.”
Boss: “So… would you like to schedule a different lesson time for them?”
Mother: *icily* “We’ll be in touch.”
(My boss taught the daughter while I finished up the son’s short lesson. The mother left without paying for the month of lessons from before OR the time she had taken up today. We haven’t heard from them since and my boss took great pleasure in removing them from our student roster.)
(I work in the parts department of a car dealership. As such, we sell our fair share of tires. I know not everyone knows their tire size off the top of their head, but most people know enough about their vehicle for us to be able to easily to figure the size out — things like year, model, and trim level, if need be. Not this caller.)
Me: “[Dealer] parts; how can I help you?”
Caller: “I need to get a quote on a set of winter tires for my [Our Dealer Brand].”
Me: “Okay, do you happen to know your tire size?”
Caller: “Uh… No, I don’t, sorry.”
Me: “Not a problem. What model of [Brand] do you drive?”
Caller: “It’s a 2012. or ’11. I’m not sure.”
(We get this a lot: people answering a different qualifying question than the one we asked. Things are still pretty normal it this point, but then this happens:)
Me: “Okay, but which model is it?” *lists off two or three of our most common models*
Caller: “Oh!” *short silence* “I don’t know.”
(I don’t quite know what to say. I’ve never had a customer that was completely unsure of what they drive. So after a short pause, I ask:)
Me: “Is it a car, truck, or SUV?”
Caller: “I don’t know.”
Me: *head-desking already* “Well, is it a—“ *lists off every model we currently sell, or have sold in the last ten years or so*
Caller: “No, it’s none of those.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but it has to be one of those. Are you near the vehicle? Or do you have a copy of your insurance or registration handy?”
Caller: “It’s in the garage. How can I find out what it is by looking at it?”
Me: “There should be a name badge on the trunk or rear hatch.”
Caller: “Okay.” *short pause* “It’s a—“ *garbles the model badly*
(I’m blown away. The name of the model I decipher it to be is six letters long, and pronounced exactly as it is spelled.)
Me: “You mean an [Automobile]?”
Caller: “No, that doesn’t sound right.”
Me: *head on desk* “Okay, hold on a moment.”
(I throw together a quote for some tires that may or may not fit the car, but at this point, in a matter of thirty seconds, the caller has made me lose any motivation to try and sell them some tires. I give the price and tell them that without knowing what kind of car it is, I can’t guarantee the price will be right. The caller agrees, and hangs up.)
Manager: *hearing my side of the conversation* “Fun one?”
(We never heard from them again.)
(I get my first apartment when I am 22 and am pretty naïve about how the world works. I expect that my landlord will be a nice, honest guy that will do his job. This turns out to be untrue. For example, after we have a massive blizzard — Google “Winnipeg Snowstorm 1986” for more details — he keeps making excuses about digging out the parking lot, which means that my car is unusable for more than a week. He doesn’t live in the building himself, so he doesn’t care. After a few more experiences like that, I finally have enough and decide to move. I contact the landlord to conduct the apartment inspection so that I can get my damage deposit back. He calls me a few days later.)
Landlord: “I did the inspection, and you’re not getting your deposit back.”
Me: “What? Why not?”
Landlord: “You left a lot of damage in that place.”
Me: “Like what?”
Landlord: “Well, for starters, you stole the plastic hallway runner.”
Me: “That runner was mine. My parents bought it for me.”
Landlord: “No, it was mine!”
Me: “They have the receipt. Want to see it?”
Landlord: “Okay, never mind. You left a huge mess in the oven.”
Me: “That’s not possible.”
Landlord: “What do you mean?”
Me: “I never used the oven.”
Landlord: “What are you talking about? You lived there for a year.”
Me: “Yes, and I never cooked in the oven. I either used my microwave or got takeout.”
Landlord: “Well, regardless, that place was pristine when you moved in!”
Me: “Is that so? I found mushrooms growing on the bathroom carpet, and the shower curtain was covered in slimy mildew.”
Landlord: “You spilled something sticky on the living room carpet!”
Me: “Yes. I did do that, and I’m more than willing to pay for the carpet to be cleaned.”
Landlord: “You’re not getting your damage deposit back.” *click*
(I ended up having to contact the Better Business Bureau, who ordered him to give me my damage deposit, less the amount that it would cost to clean the living room carpet. He very reluctantly agreed to do so but he insisted that I come over to his house to get my cheque. When I got there at the agreed-upon time, he was wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Yuck. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.)
