I used to work for a phone company that had a kiosk in a smaller mall. We would get all sorts of customers, from older folks who couldn’t figure out the newer tech of phones to young ones trying to convince their parents to get them the newest phones.

One I will never forget was a man who went a little too deep into the rabbit hole of conspiracy theories. He owned a flip phone, he insisted that basically all of my coworkers and I turn our devices off when he was near, and he would wear a hat and sunglasses to try to disguise himself from the cameras.

He seemed a little off his rocker at times but for the most part harmless.

Or so I thought.

One day, he came in slightly more hysterical than usual, and I had the unfortunate pleasure of helping him out. Everything I tried to help with seemed to agitate him more. I did the best I could to just get home. After several attempts to work with him, we eventually got it all figured out. All was good, right?

No. About a week later, he called me. On my personal number. When I answered, he was concerned about why I had called him, who I was, etc. I was so confused, but since I didn’t realise it was him, I just shrugged it off and hung up.

When I showed up to work next, the manager and owner of the kiosk was there waiting to talk to me. Apparently, this customer had reported me for harassing him, working with the government to get him, and so much more craziness. I gave them my side of the story, and luckily, they believed me.

I found out later that one of my useless coworkers had given him my number — to mess with both the customer and me. Some good from this story, though: this same coworker got fired for theft and messaging customers when he wasn’t supposed to.

I put myself through university working retail at West Edmonton Mall, which was somewhat of a tourist destination as the biggest mall in the world. However, Edmonton as a city is not really geared toward tourism, and Edmonton is not “on the way” to anything. We had some international visitors, but they were not in the majority, and pretty much anyone who found themselves in Edmonton had to be coming to Edmonton–it definitely wasn’t a travel hub to other places.

The shop I worked in accepted American currency, but we gave change in Canadian. I don’t think more than one or two customers per week ever paid in American dollars.

But I’ll always remember this one woman in particular.

Customer: “Do you accept American dollars?”

Me: “Yes, we do.”

She paid with an American $20, and I gave her her change in Canadian currency. There was a small line-up of people behind her, but she didn’t move. She just stared at her change. It’s worth noting that different denominations of bills in Canada are different colours.  

Customer: “What is this? Monopoly money?” 

Me: “No, it’s Canadian currency. It’s your change.”

Customer: “I don’t want this play money! I want real money back! American dollars.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we don’t give change in American. Only Canadian.”

Customer: “But you said you accepted American currency!”

Me: “We do. But we don’t have a separate float of American dollars. We convert it to Canadian and give you your change in Canadian.”

Customer: “Why?” 

Me: “Because we’re in Canada. And we don’t get enough American customers to justify keeping a separate float of foreign currency.” 

Customer: “I’m not asking for foreign currency! I want my change in real, American dollars!”

Me: “We’re in Canada. American dollars are foreign currency.”

Customer: “So you’re not going to give me my change in American money?”

Me: “No. I can’t. The only American currency I have in my till is the bill you just paid with.”

That’s when she gave me the most withering look and delivered the line that I still remember, more than twenty years later.

Customer: “This is why you’ll never amount to anything. You will spend your life working here.”

Dear readers, I worked there for maybe a year or two more before I got my degree and moved on from retail permanently.

Related:
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 10
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 9
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 8
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 7
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 6

With our ATMs, you cannot deposit coins as the rollers that pull in the envelopes will tear them and the coins end up in the bottom of the bin or jamming the whole thing up.

We had this one girl who was not the sharpest lightbulb in the litter who kept doing this. We phoned her and told her not to deposit coins, and she continued. I got rather annoyed as it could take thirty minutes to fix this issue, so I cancelled her bank card so she’d have to come into the branch for a new card and we could tell her again not to do it.

She came in, I explained this, and she looked a bit puzzled like I was speaking a different language.

Customer: “I didn’t put any coins in, only loonies.”

Loonies are one-dollar coins.

Me: “Nope, those are coins.”

I gave her a new card.

The next morning, the machine had an error, and I opened it up. Yep, she had deposited coins — but no loonies, only toonies (two-dollar coins).

She came in again and I explained the “no coins” rule again. She got angry as we were “always changing the rules” and closed her account.

A few weeks later, I was talking to the techs servicing our ATMs, and they mentioned that the bank across the street had an issue with coins. Yep, our little friend had gone there and was doing the same thing.

Related:
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 9
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 8
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 7
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 6
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 5

I once had a “friend” who was a little self-centered. He insisted the gang always have our hangouts at his place, so he wouldn’t have to waste his precious time traveling. He didn’t show gratitude for this perk by being a good host, either.

There was no couch for anyone to crash on. One time, he said:

Selfish Guy: “Why do I need a couch when I live alone?”

Us: “Uh… because you beg everyone you know to come and drink with you a couple of nights a week?”

He also never lifted a finger to help with the commute he was imposing on the rest of us. His best friend, who lived something like sixty or eighty blocks away and was always broke and exhausted from juggling school and being a caretaker for a sick relative, had to take a taxi home, being unfit to drive. Then, the next day, he’d have to take a bus or taxi all the way back to pick up his car. I thought if [Selfish Guy] was insisting the party always be at his place, he could have taken a small share of the hassle by picking up [Friend] to save him the enormous cab fare, but he said he was too comfy to go out. I suggested we meet at [Friend]’s home next time since he had the least time, money, and energy to spare of any of us, so if anyone deserved to skip traveling it was him, but [Selfish Guy] wouldn’t hear of it. It was “way too far” for him to go! Note that it was the same distance he always asked [Friend] to travel.

You get the picture. And yes, I did eventually smarten up and stop hanging out with him.

But my story is about the one time this spoiled brat didn’t get his way.

[Selfish Guy]’s condo had a quirk where the kitchen faucet was connected opposite to normal. The hot was cold and the cold was hot. Several times per hangout session, one of us guests would go to get a drink of water, and as you do, would turn on the cold, let it flow a good while, and then put a hand in the flow to check if it had reached maximum coldness. Due to the backward handles, this would result in us sticking our hands in extremely hot water! I suggested he fix it, but he said:

Selfish Guy: “I’m used to it, so it doesn’t happen to me. Why would I care when I’m not the one getting scalded?”

I peeked under the sink one time and found out why the installer had done it this way: the hose to one side was too short to reach the other side. So, on my next visit, I had a hose of appropriate length and some wrenches hidden in my bag. When [Selfish Guy] went to use the toilet, I did the repair in an instant.

Later that night, [Selfish Guy] got thirsty and went to the sink. He let the tap run a while, then put his hand in the flow… and screamed in pain as the unexpected hot water burnt his hand!

Everyone there just got a look of blissful contentment. Why should we care when we weren’t the ones getting scalded?

I’m the author of this story and [Coworker] is at it again. I came into work to see small cellophane bags of chocolate eggs hanging on people’s office doors and on their desks. Notably, there wasn’t one on my desk.

An hour in, [Coworker] appeared.

Coworker: “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t give you any Easter eggs. They’re really only for Christians.”

Me: “Ah, so you’re really representing Christian charity.”

[Coworker] bristled at that.

Coworker: “I just don’t think people like you deserve to celebrate along with us.”

Me: “Okay. Wow. But how about those guys?”

I pointed over at a couple of coworkers munching away on their chocolate.

Coworker: “Of course, they should get chocolate! They have God in their hearts!”

Me: “Mmm, no, they don’t.”

Coworker: “Yes, they do! They pray. They go to church.”

Me: “Well, they go to temple. They’re Buddhist.”

Coworker: “Whatever. At least they follow God’s teachings.”

Me: “They really don’t. They reach for enlightenment; there are no gods in Buddhism.”

Coworker: “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Me: “Okay, well, enjoy your Easter weekend.”

Coworker: “I will!”

She angrily stormed away.

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Music Is Music, My Friend