(A local bank has changed its phone number, and the new number happens to be very similar to mine. I keep coming home from work to messages, many of which contain very sensitive information such as bank account numbers, card details, and PINs. I delete them immediately and contact the bank to tell them. The bank manager apologises and says he will send out a letter to all their customers telling them to be extra careful when dialling, but also to remind them not to leave sensitive information on any messages. Despite the manager’s best efforts, I keep getting calls and coming home to messages. I can’t change my number because the phone company will charge me for it. I figure that the customers will eventually get the message. Besides, most of the callers are polite, if a little embarrassed when I tell them they have the wrong number. One morning I get roused at 8:00 am by a phone call. I am still half asleep when I answer.)

Me: “Uh… hello?”

Caller: “That’s a terrible way to answer a call. So rude.”

Me: “Who is this?”

Caller: “My name is Mrs. [Caller]. I need to make an appointment to discuss my savings account with you—“

Me: “Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve got the wrong number. This isn’t [Bank].”

Caller: “How dare you interrupt me?! Are you new?”

Me: “I don’t work at [Bank]. You have the wrong number.”

Caller: “Look, just make me the appointment; this is very important.”

Me: “You have called a private residence. This is not [Bank]. You need to hang up and try again.”

Caller: “You insolent little b****! I demand your name!”

Me: “I’m not giving you my name. You’ve got the wrong number!

Caller: “You’re just saying that to cover your a**. Typical young person; you’re all lazy and rude. Get me your manager now!”

Me: “This. Isn’t. [Bank]. You have called a private residence. The new number for the bank is one digit different to mine. You have the wrong number. I cannot get the manager because I am not in the bank; I am in my house. You are not speaking to a [Bank] employee.”

Caller: “That’s it! I’m going to make a complaint and get you fired! You are a rude and insolent little b****.”

Me: “Good luck with that. I don’t even work for [Bank]. Like I keep telling you, you have the wrong number.”

Caller: “How dare you?! That’s it; I’m coming down to the bank. I know the branch manager personally. I hope you enjoy the unemployment line.”

Me: “I hope you enjoy trying to fire somebody who doesn’t even work for the bank.”

(I hang up.)

After being rushed to hospital via ambulance, I was put in a bed on the ward around two in the morning.

Each bay had four beds in it, and each bed was labelled one through four. The patients’ names were above the beds, and the charts were located at the bottom of the beds.

I hadn’t been asleep for long when I was suddenly thrown upright by someone fiddling with my bed and adjusting the top so I was sitting. Another nurse grabbed my arm before I had fully woken up, so there was one on each side. One was taking my blood pressure and the other was about to insert a needle into my cannula.

Neither had said a word to me.

Tired, cranky, and having only just gotten to sleep after being transferred up from A&E, I asked them what they were doing.

“Just giving you your medicine, Catherine,” one of the nurses replied.

My name is not Catherine.

I asked them to check my chart and to get the needles away from me. They did, grumbling as if I was being dramatic, only to both go wide-eyed. I was in bed two and apparently, they needed the woman in bed one.

I thought nothing of it. I was only happy that they hadn’t injected me with a random drug as I was pregnant, and who knows what could have happened.

It wasn’t until the next morning that I found out that Catherine in the bed across from me was 102 years old and suffering from dementia.

I was twenty-five and heavily pregnant at the time.

I don’t know how they managed to mix us up, but it did not give me much confidence in the nurses during that hospital stay.

(I overheard this conversation
is at a collection point in a well known store.)

Customer: It’s for Ahmed. No, no, actually, make that James.

Shop Assistant: Sir, we need your real name.

(A woman comes up to the counter.)

Me: “Hello. Did you find everything today?”

Customer: *no answer*

(I continue to scan the items until I get to the total.)

Customer: “That’s not the right f****** price!”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. Which one is incorrect?”

Customer: “The handbag, you f****** idiot!”

Me: “Okay, if you show me where the handbag is from, I can have a look at the signage and correct the price for you.”

(She walks me over to the bag and I explain that this particular item is not on sale.)

Customer: “Get me your manager!”

(I walk over to the phone and call the manager to come down.)

Me: “The manager is just coming down; she will be with you in a moment.”

(Less than thirty seconds later, the woman slaps her hand on the desk and screams abuse at me.)

Customer: “WHERE IS THE F****** MANAGER?! IF I DON’T HAVE A MANAGER HERE IN TWO SECONDS I WILL HAVE YOU FIRED!”

(My colleague then politely replies for me.)

Colleague: “If you would just like to wait a few more seconds, I’m sure the manager will be right with you.”

(The woman then really makes a turn for the worst. She leans over the desk, grabs my colleague’s shirt, and pulls her in.)

Customer: “YOU F****** LITTLE COW! I WILL HAVE YOUR JOB FOR THAT! YOU NEED TO LEARN SOME F****** MANNERS! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?! HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT?! CONSIDER YOURSELF FIRED!”

(My colleague is in tears and another colleague comes to take her away from the situation. She takes my colleague away and another one comes in.)

Colleague #2: “How dare you talk to our staff like that?! What gives you the right to talk to an employee like that, let alone touch them?!”

(By this point my manager has seen all of the events and comes over to intervene.)

Manager: “What seems to be the problem?”

Customer: “I’m f****** suing you for false advertisement! On top of that, your b**** of an employee just verbally assaulted me! I’m going to the head office and the police about this!”

Manager: “Actually, madam, you were verbally abusing my staff. I have heard the entire altercation and I have a good mind to call the police myself and have you arrested.”

Customer: “You can’t call the police on me! I know my rights!”

Manager: “Actually, I can call the police, and if you don’t leave my store immediately, I will.”

Customer: “I’m not leaving until I get my free handbag and make my complaint!”

Manager: “One, you are absolutely not getting a free handbag. Two, here is the number for the head office; feel free to make as many complaints against me as you like.”

(My manager then gets very close to the customer and says very clearly:)

Manager: “AND THREE, IF YOU EVER TALK ABOUT OR TO ANY OF MY EMPLOYEES LIKE THAT AGAIN, I WILL DROP YOU.”

(The customer turned white and grumbled out of the door.)

(I am working at a supermarket deli counter. It is quiet, so my supervisor is taking time to finish some paperwork just behind me while I keep an eye out for customers. A man comes up to the counter.)

Me: “Hi there. Can I get you anything or do you need some time to decide?”

Customer: “Oh. I’d like some spam, please.”

Me: “Sorry, we don’t sell spam here. We do have corned beef which is similar but with beef, or luncheon meat is pretty similar, too. Otherwise, the spam is in aisle ten with the tinned meats. I can help you find it if you like.”

Customer: “No. You have spam. There.” *points to one of the many ham joints we have* “It’s all spam because it’s not real ham; it’s all reformed so it’s spam.”

Me: “Which one would you like?”

Customer: “It’s spam. Not ham.”

(My supervisor looks up and gives me a funny look before turning back to her paperwork.)

Me: “Okay. Which would you like? We have some smoked ones here, dry ones over here, and we have some with crumb coatings here. If you’re not sure, you can sample as many as you like.”

Customer: “This one.” *jabs his finger, pointing to one, scowling at me as he does so*

Me: “The Wiltshire?” *points to it*

Customer: “Yeah. That’s spam.”

Me: “Is this the one you want or would you like to try some first?”

Customer: “Yeah, can I get three slices of that spam?”

Me: “Do you want it sliced thick or thin?”

Customer: “I don’t know. How thick should spam be cut? Because it’s spam, not ham.”

Me: “It depends. If you’re using it for sandwiches, you can have it thick or thin depending on what you prefer. But if you’re using it in a salad, thicker is usually better.”

Customer: “I’ll have the spam cut thick.”

(I cut him the first slice, showing it to him to see if that’s thick enough. He’s happy with it so I slice the other two, weigh it, and tell him the price.)

Me: “Can I get you anything else?”

Customer: “Yeah, what’s that spam?” *points to another ham joint*

Me: “That’s honey roast. It’s really nice. Would you like to try some?”

Customer: “No. I’ll just take what I’ve got.” *reaches up to the counter and takes his ham* “But you shouldn’t call it ham. It’s spam. It’s illegal to call food something it’s not. You’re breaking the law.”

Me: “I can get you a manager so you can tell him about your concerns, if you like?”

(The man mutters something under his breath and shakes his head.)

Me: “Can I help you with anything else?”

Customer: “No.”

(The man wanders off. A few minutes later, the manager on duty comes over.)

Manager #1: “I have a complaint from a customer.”

Supervisor: “Let me guess. It’s spam man.”

Manager #1: “I… There’s a customer claiming you argued with him about the ham and were very rude.”

Me: “I didn’t argue with him at all. He tried to say our ham was actually spam because it was reformed and so, legally, we shouldn’t call it spam, so I left out the word ‘ham’ and called it by its name, like ‘Wiltshire’ or ‘honey roast.’”

Supervisor: “That’s true. The customer kept going on and on about it being spam, not ham, but there was no argument.”

Manager #1: “You’re sure? Because that’s not what he’s saying.”

Supervisor: “I was here the whole time doing paperwork. I can guarantee you [My Name] did not argue with him whatsoever. It’s obvious he was trying to start an argument, but [My Name] didn’t rise to it. In fact, when he kept insisting about the spam, she offered to go and get you so he could speak to you about it and he said no.”

Manager #1: “Okay, I’ll go and talk to him. I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

(As soon as the manager leaves, my supervisor turns to me.)

Supervisor: “Misunderstanding, my a**.”

(The rest of the shift went by and we didn’t hear anything. The customer didn’t come back, and the manager didn’t say anything. The next day, however, I came in and I was called into the office by [Manager #2], the manager on duty that day. It turned out the customer came in that morning and complained about me again, saying I had been rude and abusive. [Manager #2] said I would have to be written up because she’d had to give him a £20 voucher to keep him happy because of my behaviour. I tried to explain what happened but she wouldn’t hear it. I told my supervisor and she was furious and headed to [Manager #2]’s office. [Manager #2] ignored her, too. It was only when [Manager #1] came back into work later that week and explained what had actually happened that [Manager #2] dropped the write-up, but she still warned me to “watch my attitude” around customers and not to argue with them in future.)