Haggle Is A Hassle

, , , , , | | Right | May 16, 2019

(I am working in a shop where all profits go to a local charity. Unlike other charity shops, we buy brand-new stock to sell, as well as accepting donations. None of the staff are paid; we all donate our time.)

Customer: *comes up to the counter with a brand new skirt* “£5.”

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “£5.”

Me: *suddenly realising she’s trying to haggle* “Oh, no, ma’am, that item is labelled as £6.99, but I can give it to you for £6, if you like?”

Customer: “No. £5.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, £6 is the best offer I can make. Our manager is on lunch and we can only take small amounts off new stock.”

Customer: “But I’m not sure if I like it.”

Me: “We do have a changing room, if you’d like to try it on.”

Customer: “£5 because I’m not sure I like it.”

Me: “The best I can do is £6, ma’am.”

Customer: *violently grabs the skirt and bunches it up in her fists* “But it’s creased! £5.”

Me: “Ma’am, it would be creased if you grabbed it like that. Now, you can have it for £6 or £6.99, or I can hang it back on the rail. What would you like me to do?”

Customer: “Oh, FINE!” *throws £10 at me* “But I get 28 days for a refund if I don’t like it?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t accept refunds. We can do an exchange, provided you keep your receipt, though.”

Customer: “NO REFUNDS?! £5 because you won’t refund.”

(I start reaching over to take the skirt back to hang up.)

Customer: “OH, FINE! DO WHAT YOU WANT!”

Me: *after cashing the customer up* “Thank you, ma’am. Have a wonderful day.”

(The customer storms out with her new skirt and my coworker turns to me.)

Coworker: “That just happened, right?”

Kicking Up A Stink

, , , , , , , | Right | January 16, 2018

(I work for a popular pizza delivery company. I am on my way to an address with an order. My car has got the light-up sign on top of it with the company logo on it. I have stopped at a traffic light when suddenly my rear passenger door opens. A lady I don’t recognise puts a whole load of shopping bags in before climbing in herself.)

Lady: “All right, I need to get to [Town an hour’s drive away]. The address is…”

Me: “Whoa! Sorry, madam, but I’m not actually a taxi. I work for [Pizza Place].”

Lady: *looks at me like I’m crazy* “I know that! But you’re better than a taxi service! I’m sure you know the roads just as well, and I wouldn’t have to spend an extortionate amount of money, either!”

Me: “Madam, I’m not allowed to take passengers, and even if I could I never head to [Town]; it’s outside our delivery area!”

Lady: *huffy* “Well! It’s not like you have nothing to gain from this! If you take me home and help take my shopping indoors, I might consider ordering a pizza from you tonight. Depending on how I feel later, of course.”

(By this point, the lights have been green for a while. The cars behind me are honking their horns and the drivers are expressing themselves with rather rude gestures.)

Me: “Madam, I really don’t have time to explain this! I’m sorry, but there’s no way I can give you a lift! You’re going to have to travel home some other way!”

(The lady stares agape before scowling, grabbing her bags and leaving, slamming my car door as hard as she can. I take my delivery as normal. When I return to the shop, my manager pulls me aside.)

Manager: “So, we got a complaint about a straggly young man that wouldn’t take a tired woman with her heavy bags of shopping home?”

Me: “Oh, she rang up, did she? Did she say how she got in my car at a traffic light, knowing full well I was a pizza man?”

Manager: “Actually, yeah. But don’t worry; I talked some sense into her.”

Me: “Oh? You explained how we’re not insured to do that?”

Manager: *raises an eyebrow* “No. I explained how, if she rides in your car to [Town], all her shopping would stink of pizza for months. She asked why you didn’t just say so, and hung up. Okay, back to work.”

(And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you become a good manager.)

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The Marketers Are Reverting To Baby Talk

, , , , , , , | Working | January 10, 2018

(I’m at home with my young son, who has just woken up from his nap and is happily playing with his toys. My phone rings.)

Me: “Hello?”

Telemarketer: “Hello, may I speak to [Son]?”

Me: *thinking she meant “about”* “Um, this is his father. What’s this in regards to?”

Telemarketer: “I need to speak to [Son], please. It’s quite important; is he there?”

Me: “Yes. But he’s also 14 months old. I seriously doubt you want to speak with him, at least until he’s capable of… you know… speaking.”

(I hang up, thinking that’s the end of it. However, shortly afterwards, my phone rings again.)

Me: “Hello?”

Telemarketer: “Hello. I don’t think you realise how important this call is to [Son]. It’s vital that I speak with him on this matter.”

Me: *figuring I can get rid of her quicker if I take the bait* “Okay. About what, exactly?”

Telemarketer: “That’s private, I’m afraid, sir. I need to discuss this with [Son] personally. Data protection, I’m sure you understand.”

Me: “Listen. My son is 14 months — as in one year and two months — old. I don’t know what you want, but I guarantee he won’t be interested. So, I’m going to go ahead and decline your generous offer on his behalf.” *hangs up*

(Ring, ring.)

Me: “All right, what?”

Telemarketer: “You know, if I were the police I could have you arrested.”

Me: “WHAT?!”

Telemarketer: *condescendingly* “If my call was a police matter, you could be arrested for obstruction of justice.”

Me:Are you the police?”

Telemarketer: “I could be! As I said, this is a private matter between [Son] and me. I can’t discuss it with you.”

Me: “And as I said… You know what? I’ll pass you over to him.”

Telemarketer: *smugly* “A wise decision, sir.”

(I put the speaker on and pass the phone to my son, who holds it, staring in wonder.)

Son: “Ah?”

Telemarketer: “Good afternoon, Mr. [Son]. My name is [Telemarketer]. I’m calling on behalf of [Not the Police], and we have wonderful news! You have been selected to receive our exclusive offers that you won’t find…”

(My son giggles and babbles to himself as he turns my phone this way and that.)

Telemarketer: “I’m sorry, Mr. [Son]. I didn’t quite catch that; could you say that again?”

(My son then put the phone right up to his mouth and yelled, “AAAAAAAAHHHH!” down the line, louder than I’d ever heard him. I could make out the unmistakable sound of an earpiece being thrown onto a desk, followed by the muffled voice of the telemarketer shouting, “Good f***ing God!” before the call got dropped. My son guffawed and then went back to playing with his toys. We didn’t get any more calls from them again.)

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