Get Me To The Card On Time

| MI, USA | Right | April 21, 2017

(Our store has a store credit card customers can use to buy items and to save money. For whatever reason, the bank that controls it is bought out and they have to send customers all new cards, and the bank statements that we used to be able to scan to let customers make payments on their accounts don’t work anymore, so they have to have their new cards on them in order to pay.)

Me: “Hi! What can I do for you?”

Customer: “I want to pay my credit card bill.” *he hands me his statement and a check*

Me: “Okay, do you have your new card on you?”

Customer: “No, why?”

Me: “Okay… I’m going to have to have your new card in order to make the payment.”

Customer: “Why?! I have the statement right here!”

Me: “Yes, but the statement doesn’t work anymore. The account numbers are different so we need your new card in order to make a payment. I can try scanning it but it won’t let me.” *I scan it and my computer beeps at me with a warning saying that it cannot process it at this time* “I’m sorry, sir. I’m going to have to have your new card.”

Customer: “But I don’t have it!”

Me: “Did you receive it in the mail?”

Customer: “Yes! I just don’t have it on me!”

Me: “Okay… there’s just nothing I can do store-level unless you have your card. I can give you a number to call or you can pay online.”

Customer: “Great! It’s due today! Now I’m going to have to f****** pay the 35 dollar overcharge fee because you won’t f****** take my bill!”

Me: “I’m really sorry, sir… there’s absolutely nothing I can do unless you have your card.”

Customer: “Just f****** great!”

(He stormed off and I saw him standing there yelling at his friend because I won’t accept his payment. He stood there for the next hour or so instead of going home to get his card to make his payment on time.)

Getting Lippy With The Lipstick

| New Zealand | Right | April 19, 2017

(I am sixteen, in the mall after school, still in my high school uniform, which is a black sweater with a school crest and black skirt. I pick up a few things I need and text my dad to tell him where I am. I decide to look at some lipsticks while I wait for a reply when I catch this woman staring at me. She’s staring so hard I keep glancing up from my phone to make sure she’s not going to do something suddenly. Eventually I decide to say something.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

Woman: “I’m looking for some lipstick. What are you doing?”

Me: “Um, texting my dad…”

Woman: “They let you have a phone?”

Me: *not understanding* “Uh, yeah, I mean I have to buy my own credit but I only really use it so they can call me—”

Woman: “Whatever. Put it away and help me.”

Me: “Pardon?”

Woman: “I want a new lipstick! I’m in a rush. Do you mind?”

(I gesture to the range of lipsticks on the counter between us. At the same time I get a text back from my dad and look back down at my phone. When I do so, the woman slams her purse on the counter, sending a bunch of eyeshadows and blushes onto the floor, where they shatter.)

Woman: “I can’t believe this! I shop here all the time and I’ve never been treated so badly in ten years!”

(Just then, my dad shows up.)

Dad: “Ready?”

Me: “Uh, yeah.”

(My dad looks at the mess at the floor and then at the woman who is now shooting evil looks at him, too. We join the checkout line and the woman follows us, still shouting about the appalling service.)

Dad: *to employee* “Can you call a manager?”

(The employee calls the manager, who arrives quickly and looks between us and the furious but now silent woman who has followed us all the way to the front door.)

Dad: “That lady has been harassing my daughter and quite a bit of your display.”

Woman: “She should be fired! She wouldn’t help me find what I wanted!”

Manager: *looks at my high school uniform and then at the woman, and radios mall security*

(I ended up with a free lipstick for my trauma!)

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They Are In The Lower Percentile, Part 2

| London, England, UK | Right | April 16, 2017

(I work in a well-known department store which is famous for having frequent sales.)

Customer: *holding up two dresses from the sale rack* “Are these the same price?”

(I look at the labels which she too would have seen, both are reduced by 50%, Dress A was £10 and is now £5, and Dress B was £16 and is now £8. I point at the labels and say the prices.)

Customer: *smiles* “I only want these if they’re the same price. Can you check and see if they’re the same price?”

(I scan them and repeat what it says on the labels.)

Me: “You see, they were different prices to start with, and they’re still different prices.”

Customer: *still not understanding what I am saying* “I only wanted them if they were the same price…”

Me: “They’re not the same price.”

(I realise now that she thinks them both being the same percentage off makes them the same price. I don’t know what to tell her. I want to tell her how stupid she is but I’d lose my job.)

Customer: “Can you check?”

Me: “I just checked. Look, their current price is on the labels, and that’s exactly what the scanner is telling me. 50% off 10 is 5 and 50% off 16 is 8.”

(I know checking them again won’t change their price but she is just smiling at me, still confused.)

Customer: “I only want them if they’re the same price?”

(I feel like screaming. I don’t know what she wants me to do.)

Me: “Sorry, they’re not the same price. They’re different prices. They’re different dresses and different brands and differently priced, even in the sale. It’s the same percentage but different price.”

Customer: “I only wanted them if they are the same price…” *walks off smiling, but looking very confused*

(I was so frustrated I ran to the break room so that I could calm myself down.)

 

To Give Credit Where Debit Is Due, Part 6

| Omaha, NE, USA | Right | March 27, 2017

(I work in the garden center of a large department store. We only have two cash registers, but only use one unless it is really busy. We are incredibly busy one day, with a line six or seven deep, so I open up the second register. Just as I do so, the first register requires a manager override.)

Me: “Ma’am, I can help you over here.”

Customer: “Thank you!”

Me: “Are you paying with a debit card today? This register will freeze if we try to use a debit card and we would need a manager to reboot it.”

Customer: “No, I’m not.”

Me: *checks out her items* “That will be [total], please.”

(Customer uses her debit card. The register freezes.)

Me: “You processed it as a debit card. The register won’t accept it and it’s frozen now.”

Customer: “Well, just cancel it.”

Me: “I can’t. The register won’t let me do anything at all.”

Customer: “Then check me out on the other register.” *the other line hasn’t moved for several minutes*

Coworker: “We can’t. I need to void an item that needs manager approval.”

Customer: “Then call a manager.”

Me: “We have. The only manager that can unlock the registers is on the other end of the store, and they have to deal with the registers up front first. It could be a little while depending on how busy they are.”

Customer: “Well, maybe you should learn how to use your machines.”

Me: “We know how to use the registers. I told you it won’t take debit cards, you used a debit card, and now both machines are frozen.”

(This goes on for about ten minutes, with me explaining over and over that, no, I couldn’t do anything without a manager, yes, I have called for them multiple times, and no I didn’t know how long they would be.)

Customer: “Well, fine! I’ll just go up front where they know how to do their jobs!”

(A manager came back about two minutes later. The line was cleared five minutes after that.)

 

Coming To The Land Of Twenty

| Department Store|Vancouver, OR, USA | Right | March 27, 2017

(I am working my first real shift at my new store. The coworker who is training me is pulled away to deal with another problem, leaving me alone for all of two minutes.)

Me: “Okay, your total is $28.67.”

(The customer hands over $20. I wait a couple seconds to see if she just needs time to find the $8.67 left. She just looks at me.)

Me: “$28.67, please.”

(Customer points at the bills in my hand.)

Me: “Yes, this comes to $20.”

Customer: “Yes. $20.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am… it is. Your total is $28.67.”

Customer: “Yes. $28. Is $20.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “Is short. Eight short.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

(My manager comes around and asks what the problem is. I explain. She turns to the customer.)

Manager: “Ma’am, you’re $8.67 short. Unless you have another method of payment, I’m afraid we’ll have to take something off.”

Customer: “Oh. No want, then. Goodbye.”

(She picked up her purse and walked away without another word. The customers in line, my manager, and I all looked at each other before continuing on as usual.)

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