Forgetting The Juicy Details, Part 2

, , , , , , , | Right | December 24, 2020

We’re holding a late-night Christmas shopping event with a free glass of champagne for customers upon entry and sparkling juice for non-drinkers and children. There’s a sign up stating one per customer, and so far everyone has accepted this.

I’m a supervisor, and one of the only staff members over the age of eighteen, so I am the only one handling the alcohol. A man comes in to browse and takes a glass of champagne. About five minutes later, he comes back to me. 

Customer: “I need another glass of this.”

Me: “Oh, sorry. We’re only allowed to give out one glass per customer. You could have a glass of sparkling juice if you’d like?”

Customer: “But I don’t want juice. There are glasses on the table and no queue, so I’m having another.”

Me: “We can’t give out more than one per customer; otherwise, we would have to charge the minimum unit price, and we’re not licensed to sell alcohol.”

The customer huffs and walks away to keep browsing.

Two minutes pass, and I notice he’s talking to an underage member of staff who joined two weeks ago. He walks back over.

Customer: *Triumphantly* “She says I can have another glass!”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry but you can’t. I’ve already told you why. We only have a limited amount and it’s not fair on other customers.”

Customer: “But she said I could, so you have to! I’ve just bought £120 of pyjamas, too!”

Me: “I’m her supervisor, and she’s under eighteen so she can’t serve alcohol. So no, you can’t.”

He turns around and storms to the counter and returns the pyjamas. 

He storms back towards the front of the store to leave, and as he walks out, he turns over his shoulder. 

Customer: *Sarcastically* “Merry Christmas!”

The bottles of champagne were literally the cheapest available. He could have bought one from the shop right next to us for under £5 and drunk the whole bottle!

Forgetting The Juicy Details

1 Thumbs

Unfiltered Story #219077

, , , | Unfiltered | December 22, 2020

My girlfriend and I recently went to a local car boot sale (or a flea market as our US friends might say) and were looking to shift some of our tat, er, I mean our quality merchandise.

The prices marked are usually just a guide for us and we’re prepared to haggle a little. For instance, one customer went away with £25 worth of items for £20, but we’re getting a surprising number of people asking us if we’ll take 50p for something. For those people, we aren’t prepared to haggle, so it would be full price or no sale.

At about half way through the day, two women, possibly sisters, approach our stall and holds up a plant pot which we’ve got priced at £5.

Woman 1: 50p?

Both women look at us expectantly.

Girlfriend: It’s £5.

Woman 2: Will you take 50p?

As we start to shake our head, the two women are joined by a man who we suspect is their brother. They ask again.

Woman 1: 50p?

Brother: Really? Can’t you see it’s £5? NOT 50p. You can’t keep asking for everything at 50p!

I can only imagine how many other stalls those sisters had been to trying the same thing. That brother had obviously had enough of his sisters attempting to get stuff for peanuts and made it clear. They put the plant pot down and shuffled off empty-handed. And I really do mean empty handed as it was clear that their tactic hadn’t resulted in any purchases from anywhere.

1 Thumbs

Unfiltered Story #216054

, , , | Unfiltered | November 22, 2020

(I am having a bit of a tough summer, so one of my uni friends spontaneously decides to send me a present to cheer me up. At uni, I have a rather unusual nickname, which bears no relation to any name a person could have. One morning, I hear the doorbell ring and open the door).
Postman: Hi. Is there a [nickname] in the house?
(I stare at him for a second. He shows me the package and I start laughing).
Me: Yes, that’s me. It’s my nickname. It must be from one of my friends.
Postman (also laughing): I have to admit, I probably could have gotten this through the letter box but I was so intrigued by the name, I just had to see whose package this was.

1 Thumbs

He Is Never Going To Touch This Touch

, , , , | Right | August 24, 2020

It’s only my first week of working in customer service, around 2013, and reading this website made me skeptical that people really were as stupid as they are in some of the stories. I’ve just started my shift, and I take my first call.

Me: “Good evening, [Company], [My Name] speaking; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi there. I’m looking for an iPod Touch Fourth Generation for my daughter’s birthday. Could I place an order with you?”

Me: “Absolutely, sir. Do you have the catalogue number for that item?”

Customer: *Shouting* “No! But it only took me two minutes to find it, so it shouldn’t take you thirty seconds!”

It takes me about fifteen minutes of in-depth searching, through all available methods, before I figure out the item’s actually discontinued, and he’s looking in a physical catalogue from a year ago.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but the fourth generation of iPods have now been discontinued. We aren’t going to receive any further stock of this item.”

Customer: *Suddenly calm again* “Oh, okay, sorry for bothering you. Bye!”

I then continue taking calls. After about thirty minutes, I overhear a coworker’s call…

Coworker: “I apologise, sir, but I can’t find any iPod Touch Fourth generations on my system.”

Glancing over, I notice it’s the same customer I had earlier. My coworker manages to come to the same conclusion as I did, and the customer seems satisfied that it’s truly discontinued. Fast forward to ten minutes before I finish.

Me: “Good evening, [Company], [My Name] speaking; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, hi. I’m looking for an iPod Touch Fourth Generation for my daughter’s birthday tomorrow.”


1 Thumbs

Relegating That Pit Boss To The Pit

, , , , , , | Working | July 16, 2020

I used to work at a casino. It was a small inner-city place that had just been acquired by a new chain — literally, a chain that was until recently a single venue but then bought four new locations.

Despite expanding, they didn’t really update their methods of running the place. In the age of the iPad, everything still had to be written on paper by the inspectors and then handed to the supervisor hourly for them to put it into the computer, which was nowhere near the actual tables. The company also had a major “do it our way” thing going on — better dealers on paper always went on bigger games even if they weren’t feeling great or were underperforming for whatever reason.

This might not seem important, casino games being games of chance and all, but a dealer that is doing well, going fast and accurately, and getting more individual hands or spins in effectively speeds up the house edge. In short: more games = more money for the house. So, if a dealer who is experienced but also is having a bad day is dealing a big game, they might not be as fast as a less experienced dealer who is doing fine. This didn’t matter to the owners, though; they went only by experience.

We got a new pit boss in; he came from another casino in town as an inspector but then got promoted to fill a vacancy. He did not believe the owners were on the right track with this method, so he fairly openly took care of the dealers. We all loved him; breaks came regularly, he could put us on quieter tables if we weren’t feeling great, and he’d give us big games if we were up to it. Unfortunately, he did this fairly brazenly, so management caught wind. He was put on two-month probation, in which he was supervised directly so he had to do everything by the book.

His results — how much money we made on his shifts — promptly collapsed. He had been doing better than most of the other pit bosses, but over those two months, he fell to the back of the pack.

At the end of this period, management went over the results with him. Armed with evidence that his method was better, he asked if they really thought he should stick to doing things their way.

Management’s answer was still a yes.

He learned to keep his methods a little more under wraps after that.

1 Thumbs