Return Of The Returner: Lines Of Anger

, , , , , | Right | November 3, 2018

(I’m working at customer service, and returns have been out of control today. We have physically run out of counter space to put returned items, and the line is backed up to the front of the store. Normally, if it isn’t busy, we allow customers to check out back there, but when it’s this crazy busy, I only allow small items, since checking out takes a lot longer than returning something. An old woman is my next customer.)

Me: “Hi. Doing a return?”

Customer: “Yes, and I had to wait fifteen minutes up in the lines at the front before being told to come back here and wait in this line. Why couldn’t they do it up there?”

Me: “Well, those registers aren’t equipped for returns. If you notice, when you first walk in, we have signs directing customers back here for returns.”

(I do the return, and then she announces she has something to buy.)

Me: “I can do that today, ma’am, but with it being this busy, next time this will have to be taken up front.”

Customer: “Well, I guess I am never shopping here again! Never in my life have I been so disrespected.”

Me: “I said I can still check you out here, though. It’s just because ringing up a sale takes longer, and it can be unfair to customers who are here to return items.”

(She slides her card, and I notice her hitting the screen. With some cards, there is an option on screen for credit or debit, but with her card, she has to hit a button on the PIN pad for credit.)

Me: “If you want to do credit, just go ahead and hit the green circle there on the PIN pad.”

(She looks at me as if I have just kicked a newborn baby.)

Customer: *in a shrill voice that is just full of anger* “I wanted debit!”

Me: “I’m sorry, I noticed you hit the screen and thought you wanted to hit the credit button. Just go and enter in your PIN.”

(We finish the transaction and she leaves. The customer who has been stuck after her witnessed her little meltdown and tells me this:)

Next Customer: “I’m not sure what her deal was. Unless I’m mistaken, every store I’ve been to that has a customer service desk requires returns to be done there. She was just an angry old lady that doesn’t know how to read signs. And don’t worry, I’ll go up front for my purchases because of how long your line is.”

(I’m glad that someone else realized what I was trying to say, and I couldn’t care less if that old lady ever comes back.)

Return Of The Returner: Mysteries From The Past
Return Of The Returner: The Buyback
Return Of The Returner: Jeans Of Justice

They Need A Larger Size To Hold In All That Entitlement

, , , , | Right | November 1, 2018

(I am working in the fitting room of a well-known department store. There are no computers or cash in the fitting room, just a phone. I am overloaded with clothes that need sorting and putting away, as well as trying to help customers, answering the phone, and keeping the stalls clean. It’s a Saturday morning and it’s extraordinarily busy, more so than usual. We are also exceptionally understaffed. There are only two managers on duty, instead of the usual four or five. Two team members in my department just didn’t show up for their shift. Every other team member on the floor is on every available cash register, but each line is at least ten people deep. There is just one person at the lay-by counter, which is also the photo desk and the service desk. All the team members are on edge, and the customers are understandably frustrated, but it is glaringly obvious that we are understaffed and busy, and that we are doing the best we can. An irate man, probably about 40 years old, storms into the fitting room with a trolley. In his trolley, there is a backpack, a 3-pack of satin boxers, and four sports shirts in two different sizes. He throws two of the shirts at me and shoves his receipt into my face while yelling.)

Man: “I want you to exchange these shirts for me, RIGHT NOW! They do not fit me at all! I got an XL, but I need an XXL because for some reason they DON’T FIT! This is absolutely STUPID! They wouldn’t even fit a LITTLE PERSON!”

Me: “I’m sorry about that, but–”

(I cannot process exchanges in the fitting room as I have no computers. He needs to go to the lay-by counter. You need the computer to scan the receipt to return the items, and issue a new receipt for the exchanged items, since different sizes in the same style have different barcodes. Yes, it’s a bit frustrating, but that’s just how it works. I try to explain this to him, and I try to explain the fact that he needs to go to the lay-by counter, but he doesn’t accept it. He is getting more aggressive and keeps interrupting me.)

Man: “I am on my DAY OFF from work! I am NOT spending my Saturday morning WAITING IN LINE! I have just come from the lay-by counter and there is only ONE person down there with more than twelve people in line! I am NOT waiting! Process this for me right now! I make $40 an hour! Where is a manager?!”

(Yes, he actually mentioned his wage. I was shocked. I read about it all the time on this very site, but I never thought people actually said things like that. The managers are on the cash registers, too, so even if I did call them for help, they wouldn’t have been able to do anything. As the man is ranting, I harshly fold his receipt in half, thrust it in his direction, and put the XL shirts aside. They are the same as the new shirts, just a different size, and even though the new shirts wouldn’t match his old receipt, I decide to take a risk just to get him out of the store.)

Me: “Yes, I know it is very, very busy. It’s a Saturday, the busiest day of the week, and as you can see, we are a bit short-staffed today. I’m sorry about the wait and I’m sorry about your shirts not fitting you properly, but just take your new shirts and your old receipt and go, please.”

(He huffs and grumbles and storms away. I did not raise my voice once and I somehow managed a smile the whole time, but on the inside I was shaken up. I grew up with my parents yelling at each other and at me and my siblings, so whenever somebody raises their voice or yells, even if it’s not at me, I instantly get stressed and upset and want to cry. It’s embarrassing, but it’s just how I react. What’s more is that I had never dealt with a customer that extreme before in my four years at that store. After he leaves, I’m trying so hard to keep it together and it seems to be working, until a young mother with her baby speaks up from outside one of the fitting room stalls.)

Lady: “Are you okay?!”

Me: “Oh… I… Yeah…”

Lady: “Oh, honey, it’s not your fault, okay? You did nothing wrong! He’s just a grumpy old man, okay? As soon as I heard the yelling, I immediately came out of my fitting room and waited, just in case you needed any help. I was going to have a go at him if he didn’t stop!”

(The absolute kindness of this stranger set off the water works. I managed to get it under control before it was too obvious, but I was flawed by her words. Thank you, ma’am, wherever you are, I really appreciate what you did for me. The worst part about the whole thing, though? I later found out amidst the chaos, he managed to slip through the cracks and steal that backpack and those boxers, worth $24 all together, because he didn’t want to wait in line at the register. What is wrong with these people that think they are so superior to everybody else?)

Unfiltered Story #124585

, | Unfiltered | October 29, 2018

I’m working as the cashier. A woman comes up with a pair of men’s patterned pyjama pants. We have a policy called “love your customer” – whatever they say a price actually is, we have to believe them and change it, even if we know they’re wrong. Her PJ pants scan up as $20.
Her: oh no, they were on special for 12.98
Me: (knows she’s wrong.) Okay. *changes price*
Her: wait … you’re actually changing it?
me: yes, if you say that the others were 12.98 i will change this one
She fumbles as she goes to swipe her card then puts her hands on the counter and breathes heavily.
Her: no I’m sorry, they were 20 bucks, forget it.
me: … okay.

It’s A Bad Sign When They Destroy The Sign

, , , , | Right | October 26, 2018

(It is closing time. I am cashing out the last few customers of the day, and our customer service desk is closed and locked up, with signs propped up saying to go to a cashier if you need any assistance. A customer comes in hauling one of our store bags loaded with tons of merchandise. She walks over to the customer service desk and stands there waiting. After several moments of no one turning up, she notices the signs, takes both of them, and throws them in the trashcan by the desk. She then stands there waiting… and waiting… and waiting… until I finally get rid of the line by my register.)

Me: “Ma’am, if you need assistance, I can take care of you here.”

Customer: “What? No! I have stuff to return! Where the h*** are the folk who are supposed to be here?”

Me: “Ma’am, it’s closing time; the customer service desk is thus closed.”

Customer: “Nuh-uh, not anymore! I took the signs off; it’s now open! Get someone here so I can return this crap now!”

Me: “Ma’am… taking the signs off the desk and throwing them in the trash does not change the fact that the desk is closed.”

Customer: “YES, IT DOES! I’m the customer! What I say goes! Now, get someone over here!”

(I call the manager over and explain what’s going on.)

Manager: “Ma’am, first off, throwing the signs in the trash counts as destruction of store property. Second off, my cashier is right; the customer service desk is closed, and no returns can be done there. If you have stuff to return, please bring it over here to the register so we can get you taken care of.”

Customer: “What is this, the Twilight Zone? There’s no sign here! The desk isn’t closed!”

Manager: “I’m afraid it is.”

(She finally came over to the register, got her return done, and walked out, muttering about how what just happened made no sense to her.)

He Had Bad Techer’s

, , , , , | Related | October 21, 2018

(Dad and I are out shopping when I notice something in the home decor area.)

Me: “Look at this holiday ornament, Dad. It says, ‘Teacher’s make the world brighter.’”

Dad: “That’s a nice gift.”

Me: “No, no, Dad. Look at the word, ‘teacher’s.’”

Dad: “Oh, yeah.”

Me: “What a mistake, right?”

Dad: “Yeah, there’s an A in there. There shouldn’t be.”

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