Me: “I bought this skillet yesterday and when I got home I started to wonder if this handle is oven-safe. I called your customer service and they told me that it is not and that I can exchange it. But why didn’t you mark the product ‘not oven-safe’?”
Employee: “We don’t label products with what they are not suitable for but instead with what they are suitable for.”
Me: *pointing out the “not suitable for microwave oven” sign on the product*
Employee: “…”
I was a bridesmaid in my friend’s wedding. A couple of months before the wedding, she booked an appointment for her and her four bridesmaids to get our hair done the morning of the ceremony at a popular hair salon in the mall. The time was for 11:00 am on a Sunday, and because some of us were on a tight income, she confirmed the price for each person, $30, multiple times.
The day of the wedding arrived and we all headed to the mall. We showed up maybe five minutes early, just to make sure we would start on time, only to find the salon dark with the metal shutter gate still down. No one was even setting up. My friend called the salon, hoping that maybe someone was in the back, but no one picked up. At around 11:30, the manager finally showed up and seemed surprised to see us there. She asked what we were doing and when my friend explained that she had an appointment at 11:00 am, the lady gave her a weird look and said she must have the wrong salon, since they don’t open until noon on Sundays.
My friend insisted she go check, and sure enough, her appointment was listed correctly. The manager apologized, said the person who had signed off on it absolutely knew their schedule and she had no idea why she would make an appointment when they weren’t open. It was almost 11:45 by this point, but she went ahead and opened a few minutes early just to get us all started. By the time we were nearly finished, we had relaxed, thinking all was well despite the rocky start.
Then, the first person done went to pay and found out it was double what we were quoted. When the bride mentioned the quoted price, she got another weird look from the manager who said that basic up-dos start at $30, but bridal styles typically start around $60. Despite knowing the same person who messed up the appointment quoted the wrong price, she wouldn’t budge on it. One of the other poor bridesmaids only brought enough money with her for the original price plus a tip and started crying. Thankfully, the bride’s sister was able and willing to cover what we couldn’t, and the rest of the day was wonderful, but it was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had with a hair salon.
(We are disembarking from a fairly large cruise liner, having just been on a ten-day cruise to New Zealand. I am a fairly young teen girl travelling with my two-years-younger sister, my mother, and my wheelchair-bound grandmother. Of course, we have a large suitcase each which we need to pick up after disembarking. Being the strongest, I am in charge of pushing my grandmother, especially since my mom has arthritis and shouldn’t be helping with heavy pushing. When getting the suitcases, there are a few helpful staff assisting with gesturing and helping the crowd disperse. My sister and I are in charge of getting the luggage. I park my grandmother in her wheelchair in a corner with my mother to watch while my sister and I take two suitcases each. A Caucasian staff member approaches my mother and my grandmother. My grandmother does not speak English and we are not Caucasian.)
Staff: “Hi. Could you please move out of the way to allow my disembarking passengers through?”
Mother: “Oh, yes, of course.”
(The staff member proceeds to stand right in front of the wheelchair, blocking its accessibility with her back facing the wheelchair. My sister and I are able to see everything from a distance but are unable to help due to the many suitcases separating us. My mother tries her best to move the wheelchair away towards us with the limited amount of space between the staff’s back and the suitcases without injuring anyone but ends up brushing the leg rest against the staff’s leg.)
Staff: “EXCUSE ME! DID YOU JUST RAM YOUR WHEELCHAIR INTO MY LEG?!”
Mother: “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to brush against your leg. If you would allow me some room to move, I will be out of your hair as soon as possible.”
Staff: “HELLO! YOU CAN’T JUST RAM YOUR WHEELCHAIR AGAINST ME! THAT IS EXTREMELY RUDE! NOW YOU’VE INJURED MY LEG AND I WILL NEED TO SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION!”
(My mother is a general practitioner.)
Mother: “Oh, I see. If you believe you need medical attention, I am a doctor. I can see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Staff: *turns away and walks away* “I WILL GET SECURITY IN HERE FOR THIS ASSAULT!”
Mother: *keeps silent because there’s no point arguing*
Staff: *walks towards superior staff and probably complains*
Superior Staff: *nods but does nothing*
(My sister and I manage to drag our suitcases to join my mother. My sister is fuming. I am, too, just silently.)
Staff: *turns to other Caucasian passengers and points to us* “CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT THEY JUST DECIDED TO RAM THE WHEELCHAIR INTO ME FROM THE BACK, UNPROVOKED?!”
Passenger #1: “How rude!” *sympathetic noises*
Staff: “I know. Now I think my legs are injured because of what they did!”
Passenger #2: “How could they?” *more sympathetic noises*
Staff & Passengers: *shoot us a dirty glare*
(Honestly, I have no idea what made her target us — maybe it was because we were not Caucasian in a largely Caucasian area? — but that was highly uncalled for, especially gossiping about it to other random passengers. Whenever I think of this, I fume internally because I thought that racism was less prevalent, especially when there are actual laws against it. But I guess you will always meet these kinds of people. The best way to deal with it is to be the bigger person and ignore it.)
(It is time for my mom to renew her driver’s license and she decides to just go ahead and get a “Real ID” instead of a regular license. She has all the necessary paperwork, except she can’t find her marriage certificate to prove she changed her name. Figuring she can just get a copy at the DMV, she heads out. At the DMV, after waiting in line for two hours, she pays the fee to get the copy pulled up. They look, but they can’t find her marriage certificate. Mom guesses it’s because she and Dad got married in the dark ages — 1990 — before everything was digitized. The DMV tells her that she has to call the Virginia Vital Records department in Richmond. She gets home and calls them. She is on hold for over forty-five minutes before she gets to speak with someone. She explains her situation and the rep drops this:)
Customer Service Representative: “Oh, the reason the DMV told you to call us is so we can tell you we received the request. You should receive a copy of your marriage certificate within two weeks.”
(Mom was furious. Two hours at the DMV, forty-five minutes on hold, and one long scream later, Mom calmed herself by breaking her diet and eating a single cookie.)
(Having just finished my weekly shop, I go to the till and scan all of my items. After bagging — in the UK, we bag our own items — I follow the prompts on the card machine. The card machine flashes a strange message, which looks sort of corrupted, and then it asks me to remove my card, which I do.)
Cashier: “Excuse me? You need to put your card back in.”
Me: “It told me to remove it; I think there’s something wrong—”
Cashier: *patronizing* “Okay, sweetie! You need to put your card in. I’ll tell you when to put your PIN in, and then when to take it out.”
Me: “I know how to do that! There’s something wrong with the machine.”
Cashier: “Just put your card in, sweetie. I’ll tell you when.”
Me: *rolls eyes to myself* “Fine.”
(I put the card in the machine and this time it makes a horrible beeping noise. I’ve worked in retail and have never seen anything like it before. It asks me to remove my card again.)
Me: “It’s telling me to remove my card again.”
Cashier: “Nuh-uh, sweetie, you need to put your PIN in first.”
Me: “I’m not putting my PIN in that thing! Could you swipe it, please? I’ll sign.”
Cashier: “You removed it too soon!” *speaking to me like I am five years old* “Put it back in.”
Me: “You know what? I’ve got cash. Just put it through as cash.”
Cashier: “Sure thing, sweetie!”
(I walked to customer service and reported the faulty machine, but didn’t say anything about the cashier. As I was leaving, I realised I had forgotten something so I darted through the tills again. I chose a different till. I overheard the manager explaining to the cashier that she wasn’t even meant to be logged in on that till because it had a known fault and was waiting for a repairman.)
