I work at an office supply store as a tech associate. I am working closing and am the only tech person in the entire store. A woman comes in with a phone that she says is water damaged. We have just gotten in one of those new tech-dry machines, and she wants to know if we can fix it because she has important documents on there.

Me: “All right, ma’am, I can see what we can do for you. If there are documents you need on here for an upcoming court case, I’d hate for you to lose them. I’ll do everything I can!”

Customer: “Oh, thank you! You’re so nice! I really appreciate you taking the time to help me!”

I take the phone from her, look it over, and see what the damage is. I need to fill out a repair sheet so she can’t come back later and claim that something was working before and we broke it. We make the usual small talk, but as the conversation continues, things start to get a little strange.

Customer: “Yeah, I used to live in a motel until the black mold from the AC kept me from getting up and working, so now I live out of my car with my cat.”

Me: “Oh, no, that sounds awful. I’m sorry that happened to you!”

Customer: “Yeah, now, when I need to use the bathroom I have a setup in my car for when stores won’t let me use theirs. Earlier, I got chased out of a store when I was trying to use their bathroom, so I had to use my in-car setup, and in my rush, I didn’t realize my phone was there.”

I suddenly realize exactly what she meant by “water damage,” after I’ve been handling the phone with my bare hands for a full ten or fifteen minutes.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t think there’s anything that I can do, and since you plugged your phone in to charge it after it got wet, there’s really not much hope of saving anything on there.”

This was actually true, and I needed a way to stop the interaction so I could go and clean myself up in the bathroom. She thanked me and made to leave, while I raced toward the bathroom and used my personal radio to send out an SOS to my manager about what had just happened in hopes that he could offer me some help.

Everyone was shocked by what had just happened, but I ended up having to deal with her for another twenty minutes after I came back because no one else would take her as a customer, and I couldn’t come up with an excuse to leave.

That was the day that we instituted a new policy at the tech counter: always ask how the phone was damaged, and always wear gloves when handling a customer’s phone.

Related:
That’s Just Golden

When I was in high school, I worked a minimum-wage summer job at an amusement park. When I transferred from general floor staff to the birthday party division, my supervisor told me the new position came with a small raise, and I filled out the paperwork to agree to the raise. It wasn’t a lot of money — we’re talking a few cents per hour more — but I was glad to get anything I could.

The trouble was, even though I was told I had the raise, it never appeared in my paycheck. The supervisors were all very nice and apologetic about it, saying it was a backup at corporate, but it just didn’t come through. Wait a couple of weeks, they kept saying, until three months had passed, and I was ready to leave the job to resume school. At that point, I did some back-calculating and discovered that, had the raise been issued when they said it was, I would have earned about $60 more during the summer.

So, I called my former supervisor and agreed to come in and meet him. I showed him my calculations and asked how I could get the money I had already worked to earn.

“Well… I don’t know,” he said. “I guess, since you’re a good guy, I’ll figure out a way to pay you.”

The good news is that he eventually paid me, but really? “Since you’re a good guy”? What if I wasn’t a good guy? Silly me for assuming that working for a contracted amount entitles you to receive that amount.

I thoroughly enjoy a cartoon my husband doesn’t, and I’ve gotten him to watch a few episodes with me. I’ve just told him about a piece of fan-made merch I’ve ordered and show him the item listing. The featured character is one he’s seen in the episodes we’ve watched.

Husband: *Reading aloud* “’I’ve had a real challenge of a day.’ I can see that, with the crab claws.”

Me: “The what?”

Husband: “Crab claws, ‘cause she’s a crab?”

Me: “I’m gonna repeat her name, okay?”

Husband: “Okay.”

Me: “Scorpia.”

Husband: *Moment of thought* “Lobster?”

Me: *Putting more emphasis on her name* “Scorpia. What do you think she is?”

My husband stares at me blankly, clearly not understanding just what my point is.

Me: “Scorpia?! SCORPION?!”

Husband: *After another moment of thought* “Wow, I’m a f****** idiot.”

I have no idea what the heck kind of crab he thought a lady named Scorpia was. I’m not letting him live this down any time soon, playfully, of course.

With all the recent closures, the store I’m in is staying in operation with the only customer interactions being online orders, taken to customers’ cars at curbside. I take one customer her order and verify she’s the one I’m supposed to hand it off to.

Me: “All right! Here you go, have a good one and be safe!”

Customer: “No, thank you for staying busy like this!”

As she’s speaking, she’s pulled a can of disinfectant cleaner from seemingly nowhere and has started spraying her bag over. I’ve never seen someone be so careful about their order so it’s caught me a little off guard.

Me: “Well, I’m just glad we can still get a paycheck, you know?” 

Customer: “Oh, I get that!”

At this point, she notices I’m not leaving, which is purely to maintain polite conversation while seeing her off. She’s now opening the bag and spraying her purchased items directly.

Customer: “No offense, but you can’t be too careful!”

Me: “No, I mean, go for it!”

I have no idea what I was supposed to say, but apparently, that satisfied her and she happily finished spraying her purchase before hiding the can away and leaving.

I’m working in a local bookstore one weekend, and I answer the phone.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Bookstore]. How may I help you?”

Caller: “Do you guys buy books? I have textbooks I want to sell.”

Me: “We do buy used books for store credit, but unfortunately, we don’t buy textbooks.”

Caller: “Well, what other kinds of books are there?”

Me: “Um…” *Awkward pause* “Just… fiction, non-fiction…”

I am trying really hard to not laugh.

Caller: “Well, what about these books on psychology I have?”

Me: “Are they textbooks?”

Caller: “They’re written by an author.”

Me: “Yes, but are they textbooks?”

Caller: “They have an ISBN number.”

Me: “Yes… but did you buy them at a college bookstore for your class?”

Caller: “No. Oh! You buy just regular old books, huh?”

Me: *Pause* “Yes. Yes, we do.”