It is August in Phoenix, Arizona — a desert. The day starts over 100°F/38°C and it’s going to be 115°F/46°C later in the day. We are moving from one house to another.

My wife has to stay at the house we are moving from for a while and then has to get to the new house to meet the cable installer, and we have three little kids who cannot carry heavy boxes.

We have rented a large truck with a ramp to help with the move. We rented from a location near the new house so it wouldn’t be that long a drive at the end of the day. A friend was supposed to help me, but he broke his toe the night before, so I am on my own. Did I mention the temperature? I have to load items from the old house, drive to a storage locker and load items from there, and then go to the new house.

All day, the ramp doesn’t work correctly. It’s difficult to pull out of the back of the truck and nearly impossible to get it back in when I’m done. I have been fighting with it all day, and it’s hot and I’m frustrated. At each stop — sometimes twice at a stop — I call the rental company to tell them the ramp is broken and that they need to send someone to fix it. Each time, the customer service rep tells me that they will connect me to technical support where they can explain to me what I’m doing wrong. As far as they are concerned, it’s not broken, so it must be user error. Each time, I try to convince them it’s not me but the ramp, but they won’t send anyone.

At the end of the day, I finally unload the last of the items into the house or the garage. The ramp is sticking partway into the garage, so we cannot close the garage door. And at this point, the ramp. Will. Not. Go. In. I try all the tricks I have used throughout the day to get the ramp to move and it won’t go.

I call customer service again, and again they want to transfer me to tech support. I stop the woman right there.

Me: “Do not transfer me to technical support. It’s not that I do not know how to do this. I have been fighting this all day and I have been transferred to technical support three times already today. It is not user error. It is broken. It is 10:00 pm and I am hot and tired. Right now, the ramp is sticking into my garage so I cannot close the garage door. I was told when I picked up this truck today that it was heading out on a long-distance move tomorrow morning. So, you have two choices at this point: you can send a mechanic to fix this and I can return the truck, or I will drive it back to the rental center a mile from here now with the ramp dragging the whole way and I will not be responsible for any damage to the truck.”

She agrees to send a mechanic and, in the meantime, I hop into the pool to cool off. When the mechanic arrives at around 11:00 pm, I explain the problem. He gets under the truck and takes one look at the latching mechanism.

Mechanic: “Yeah, this thing is completely busted. The metal was fatigued and it snapped. I’ll have to take it back to the shop and weld it back together. This isn’t going anywhere tomorrow morning.”

He told me to slowly push the ramp back in while he held the broken latch out of the way, and we got the ramp back in. He followed me back to the rental center to make sure I got there safely, and I presume he got to work on the repair.

Sometimes, when a customer says it’s not user error, they might even be right.

I’m buying groceries like usual when an item won’t scan.

Cashier: “I’m sorry, but this item isn’t scanning up.”

Me: “Oh, no problem. I’m not in a rush.”

Cashier: “I guess that must mean it’s free, then!”

Me: “I… Uhhh… Pardon?”

She called for a price check, but I never expected to be on the receiving end of that line!

I have just noticed some fraudulent charges on our bank account at a big box store in Texas from my husband’s debit card. I immediately check to see if he still has his card — he does — and then call to get it canceled.

As a matter of “security,” I know that the card shouldn’t even work out of state without someone calling in and setting a travel advisory.

Because it’s after hours on a Sunday, I have to wait until the next day to dispute the charges, which results in the following exchange.

Bank Accounts Manager: “What can I help you with?”

Me: “My husband’s card was used in Texas, and I need to dispute the charges and get him a new card.”

Manager: “Okay. What is the name on the account?”

Me: “[My Name], and my husband is [Husband].”

Manager: “Okay, yes, I see those charges. It never should have happened because we locked down Texas after a lot of these happening.”

Me: “Well, I just need to dispute the charges and get him a new card.”

Manager: “Oh, he doesn’t need a new card.”

Me: “I already canceled it with the rep last night, so he will definitely need a new one.”

Manager: “Well, you shouldn’t have done that! He doesn’t need a new card.”

Me: “Regardless, could you please just order it for me?”

Manager: “Okay. I have the charges disputed and the money back into your account, and the new card is ordered. Is there anything else you need?”

Me: “No, thank you. Have a good day!”

It wasn’t until after I hung up that I realized she never asked me for identifiers beyond the name on the account. Gee, I wonder how the card was unlocked for use in Texas?

I had to call a second time about a month later when the card didn’t arrive. It turned out that she had never ordered it.

I have an item to return to a large, nationwide chain store. Every store in this chain shares an identical floor plan and in every location that I’ve been in over the years, the register closest to the door has been the only register open.

Today I walk in, store bag visibly in hand, and although the first register is “active,” there’s no cashier. I reach the next register which is, unsurprisingly, closed. I stop walking as I can’t see the status of the rest of the registers, but I can see that the entire counter is unattended. However, a woman — not wearing the store uniform or a badge — has spotted me from where she’s standing in a nearby aisle and, though she doesn’t verbally acknowledge me, she starts walking toward the registers in a manner that I “read” as a store employee recognizing that a customer needs assistance.

I turn back toward the first, open register, but the woman fails to appear as I reach it. Assuming I misread the body language of someone who is actually another customer, I glance around for an employee. I see the same woman waiting wordlessly behind the farthest register. Oh! Ooookay, then.

I head over, take the item and receipt out of the bag, and place them on the counter. I’m two-and-a-half words into “Hi, there’s nothing wrong with this; it’s just too big,” when the silent woman suddenly interrupts me.

Woman:*Sharply* “So, I take it this is a return?” 

Having spent time in retail, my “maintain a smiling attitude” automatically kicks in and I force a light chuckle.

Me: “Sorry, yes.”

Woman: “I’m not a mind reader.”

I need some batteries, which are kept behind the counter so no one steals them.

Me: “Some AA batteries, please.”

The cashier’s eyes actually water up with tears as he gets them for me.

Cashier: “Thank you for treating me like a human being.”

Poor guy. I can only imagine the day he had.