Customer: “Hi, can I have a Frappuccino?”
Me: “Sure, what flavour do you want?”
Customer: “Umm, what’s the vanilla?”
Me: “…It’s a Frappuccino with vanilla flavour.”
Customer: “Yeah, but like, what is vanilla? Is it like caramel?”
Me: “It’s a creamy flavor that comes from the pods of an orchid.”
Customer: “Orchid? Like a flower? Eww. I don’t eat plants. Can I just get the chocolate mint?”
Related:
Who’s Gonna Tell Them?
Working self-checkout, the customer says she doesn’t want to take the yogurt she has ($3.50 each but on sale, two for $6). I’m walking towards her to grab it, and she says:
Customer: “This is so stupid! The sign says two for $6, but one is $3!”
For a second, I thought I forgot how to add because it was so dumb.
Me: “Ma’am, two for $6 means each one is $3.”
Customer: “No! Two for six means it’s two! Two is in the name! Two for six! The only numbers I should be seeing are two… and six!”
Me: “If you buy two, it costs six, so you will only be seeing those two numbers.”
Customer: “Then why am I seeing a three?”
Me: “Because…” *Sighing, not believing I’m explaining this to a grown woman.* “…three is how much it costs when you only look at the price of one. Since you’re buying two, ignore that number, and just look at the total.”
Customer: “H*** no! Ignoring numbers is how you people stole the last election!”
Related:
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 34
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 33
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 32
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 31
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 30
I work at a downtown hotel in a city where one of the largest annual events is taking place this weekend. We’re totally sold out, as is every hotel for miles in every direction.
Customer: *Walking in late at night.* “I need a room.”
We’re fully checked in, so I know she’s a walk-in.
Me: “We’re sold out tonight, ma’am. We’re sold out for the whole weekend.”
Customer: “I know you’re just meant to say that, but you always keep a room or two held back for walk-ins like me.”
I could have just said “oh, darn, we had two walk-ins come in already to take THOSE rooms, but my customer service brain doesn’t want to lie to the customer, so I take the hard way:
Me: “Ma’am, we have been sold out for weeks leading up to this weekend because of [Event].”
Customer: “Are we going to have a problem here?”
Me: “…no, ma’am. All I can do is inform you we are sold out.”
Customer: “Then you need to find me a room!”
Me: “I can name two hotels that have a room available, but both are an hour away, one town over.”
Customer: “And you think that is acceptable?!”
Me: “That is not for me to say. That is all that is available.”
Customer: “Do you enjoy being a b****?”
Yes?
Me: “I am simply answering your question, ma’am. It is not intended to be interpreted any other way.”
She stares me down hard for a few seconds, but then says:
Customer: “Fine! But I’m gonna write in about how terrible the customer service is here, and I want you to think about what you just did to make that happen!”
She turns and starts storming out, uttering one more insult my way that involved some vulgar language.
At that point, I got a memo come through on the system, alerting us of a last-minute cancellation at a nearby hotel (all the downtown hotels do this for each other on sold-out event days like this). I could have called out to the customer before she made it out of the lobby to inform her, but d*** it I was TOO BUSY thinking about what I just did.
Back in the late nineties, I worked at a Panera Bread. I remember when I had to go out back to ask the manager (who is very professional but also a great joker).
Me: “Hey, [Manager], can you come out front and say you’re Mr. Panera?”
Manager: “Uh… there is no Mr. Panera.”
Me: “Yeah, but this customer just said that if we didn’t refund her order, she’s gonna call Mr. Panera himself and have me fired! Apparently, he’s good friends with her husband. They even grew up together!”
Manager: *Sighs.* “Fine.”
My manager walks out to the front, sees the customer in question, and says:
Manager: “Ma’am, who is your husband? If we grew up together, he never mentioned you. Oh, wait, are you the wife who s*** her pants at her wedding? Oh yeah, you look like her. How’ve you been since… You know… the procedure?”
She did not wait around to hear what else my manager could come up with.
Some boys were roughhousing a little bit near a fossilized dinosaur exhibit. One of them throws his water bottle at the other, sending some water spraying. Their mom immediately scolds them, and to her credit, approaches me to admit what happened:
Customer: “I’m so sorry, my sons were tussling, and they spilled a water bottle over the dinosaur bones.”
Me: “Thank you for letting us know. As long as the boys remain well-behaved for the duration of their visit, that should be okay.”
Customer: “But… the dinosaur won’t come back to life, will it?”
Me: “Uh… ma’am?”
Customer: “It’s dangerous to, you know, hydrate the dinosaurs, right? It brings them back to life?”
Me: “Ma’am, that is not even close to accurate. Also, these aren’t bones; these are fossils, which are made of mineral and stone in the shape of the bones.”
Customer: “Oh! So that’s why they won’t come back to life. They’re not the real bones.”
Me: “I… uh, ma’am, they wouldn’t come back to life even if they were real bones.”
Customer: “I don’t think so. I saw it on some video on YouTube, and no offense, but you just work in a museum.”
I was left dumbfounded. I will forever remember the woman who thought dinosaur fossils could be rehydrated back to life like a succulent.
