I own a small studio boutique where I sell clothes. Everything is designed by me and handmade by me or my assistant. Our materials are all carefully sourced and with various quality certificates. I’ve operated my studio as a physical shop for years and started selling online about a year before this incident. We live in a country where English is not the official language.

One day, a woman in her mid-thirties walks in and she’s on the offensive right from the start.

Me: “Hello, how can I help you today?”

Customer: “I bought a dress online and the quality is absolutely horrible. How can anybody call these rags clothes?! I want a refund right now!“

I’m in shock as I pride myself on the quality of my label. I try to remain calm on the outside while slowly panicking inside.

Me: “Oh, I am very sorry to hear that. We try to offer the best quality we can. May I see the dress? What is it that bothers you exactly? Maybe we can fix it. Did a seam break or something?”

The woman now is digging through her tote bag and continues her rant.

Customer: “The fabric is absolute garbage! I wouldn’t even mop the floors with it. And the seams look like they would break apart in the first wash! I don’t want you to fix anything! I want my money back! I ordered the dress for a special occasion and I’d rather stay home than go there in this piece of s***! Here! Look at this! Would you go anywhere in this and not feel ashamed of your looks?”

With every sentence, my heart drops more, and I’m horrified to hear her trash our work like that. Usually, we get really good feedback for our products. Once she finds what she’s looking for in her bag, she pulls out a piece of clothing in a print I don’t recognize and tosses it practically into my face. I inspect it closer, thinking maybe it’s an older model which she bought from some sort of online aftermarket, and I find the brand label which is not ours.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t refund—”

Customer: “What do you mean, you can’t refund me?! I paid good money for it, I’m unhappy with the product I received, and I want my money back! If you don’t refund me, I’ll report you to the Customers Protection Agency!”

Me: “This isn’t our product. See this label? This is not our logo; our label looks completely different. I can’t refund you for something that we don’t sell.”

Customer: “I don’t care whose logo that is! I bought it online! I have a right to get a refund for online orders!”

Me: “You bought it from our online store?”

Customer: “No, I got it off [Knock-Off Website]. Your store is too expensive. I can get things four times cheaper from there than from your place.”

Me: “So, let me get this straight. You ordered it from somewhere else where they sell cheap clothes and you want us to buy it off from you because the quality is subpar?”

Customer: “Yes! Why is that so hard to understand?! You all sell stuff online; you are closer to me for returning things!”

Me: “It doesn’t work like that. You can file a complaint to the original seller.”

Customer: “I can’t! I don’t speak enough English to explain the problem. Besides, you probably order your products from the same place!”

Me: “No, all our products are handmade in the next room by me or my assistant. I suggest you get a friend or family member to help you with the refund. I cannot refund this for you.”

The woman shoots daggers at me for a few seconds before she starts to storm out.

Customer: “Fine! I’m never shopping here again!”

Related:
Refunder Blunder, Part 52
Refunder Blunder, Part 51
Refunder Blunder, Part 50
Refunder Blunder, Part 49
Refunder Blunder, Part 48

I’m studying abroad and don’t speak Estonian. I’m in a grocery store that I go to a lot, and I grab a pastry from the bakery. I’ve done this probably about twenty times since moving into my dorm. I put the pastry in a bag and then take it to the cashier, putting the pastry on the belt. When the cashier grabs the item, she begins to yell at me in Estonian and it throws me off guard. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong and I can’t understand her.

Me: “I’m sorry? I don’t speak Estonian.”

She then proceeds to yell at the people behind me, who look confused and shake their heads. I’m really nervous at this point. What have I done wrong? She gets about three people down before she gets to a young woman, who walks over to me and looks confused. She listens to the cashiers yell for a minute and then turns to me.

Woman: “She was asking all those people if they speak English. She wants you to get a coffee; it comes free with the pastry.”

Me: “I don’t want the coffee; I don’t drink it.”

Woman: “Okay, yeah.”

She then tried to calm down the cashier for what felt like a while and finally, the cashier stopped yelling and took my money. I appreciate her trying to help me get a good value, but could she not do it in a way that made me feel like I was breaking a law or something?

This story was told by my neighbour. She is waiting at the hospital for an appointment with an orthopaedist. Her number is called, but before she can stand up and go to the correct office, another woman quickly runs in before her. Puzzled, my neighbour goes to the receptionist.

Neighbour: “Excuse me, could you please help me? I have an appointment with [Doctor], but another lady ran in when my number was called. I have been waiting for that appointment and I would hate to miss it.”

Receptionist: “What? Please, come with me.”

She marches to the doctor’s office with my neighbour following her and opens the door to the office where the doctor is just starting with the woman who stormed in.

Receptionist: “Is your name Mrs. [Neighbour]? And was your number [number #1]?”

Woman: “No, my name is [Woman]. And my number is [number #2].”

Receptionist: *Looking puzzled* “[Number #2]? Isn’t that a number used in a different building? Cardiology?”

Woman: “Look, I found a parking spot closer to here and I’m in a hurry. Do I really have to go to a different building? Couldn’t this doctor look at me now?”

Orthopaedist: “Given that my office is not equipped for diagnosing heart issues, it would be useless. Please leave.”

I’m studying abroad and am at the first orientation for international students. Our first session had everyone together, but we are told to go to two different rooms based on if we are from a country in the EU.

I get out of my seat to leave when the guy next to me — a stranger — gives me a hopeless look.

Stranger: “I don’t know where to go.”

Me: “No problem. You go to room one if you are from the EU and room two if you’re not.”

The stranger gives me a blank stare.

Me: “The EU?”

Stranger: “…”

Me: “European Union? A blue flag with stars?”

Stranger: “…”

Me: “Never mind. Where are you from?”

Stranger: “Turkey.”

Me: “Cool, follow me.”

I thought it was an English thing, but I got to know him, and nope, he genuinely didn’t know if Turkey was in the EU or not.

I work at a theme park and I’m on the clock at the most popular ride we have. It was meant as a training device originally, so only one person can use it. There’s a queue of about three and there are labels everywhere stating that everyone gets five minutes on the ride. The current kid is on her second minute when a mom walks up to me.

Mother: “Does everyone really have five minutes?”

Me: “Yes, they do.”

Mother: “Can you let us go before everyone else?”

Me: “No, unfortunately, I can’t. You have to wait in the line.”

Mother: “But my son has been waiting for half an hour! He can’t wait and is crying!”

They showed up ten minutes ago, max. I look at the child; he’s around ten and calmly doing God knows what on his smartphone, slouched on the nearest sofa available for waiting. No tears visible.

Me: “Still no.”

The mother leaves for a few minutes. She goes to our shift manager and asks her the same thing. The manager has been here for the past eight years and does not like idiot customers She also says no. The mom eventually returns.

Mother: “But can’t you reduce everyone else’s time before us? Give them less than five minutes!”

Me: “Not happening, no. One last time: you need to wait for your turn.”

Eventually, the kid’s turn came around. He was stiff as a rock and clearly not enjoying the ride. He didn’t follow any of my suggestions and could definitely have had more fun if he’d loosened up. I think I know why the mum wanted extra time.