Oh, My Gourd: Seriously?, Part 2

, , , , | Right | February 1, 2018

It is a busy day working on the self-scan machines. A customer asks me to help her, as she can’t find the produce item she needs.

Most of our produce isn’t barcoded, so you need to select the item from a list on the screen. Everything is listed alphabetically and categorized by letter.

The item she couldn’t find? Cucumbers, as they weren’t listed under “Q.”

Oh My Gourd: Seriously?

Not The Brightest Bulb In The Store

, , , , , | Right | January 31, 2018

(I am the store manager for a hat shop. A man stomps into our store right as I open, clearly very upset.)

Customer: “Are you the one who told my wife she couldn’t try on your hats?!”

Me: “I honestly doubt it. All of our hats are available to try on. Do you know when your wife was here?”

Customer: “Last night! She described you and said you refused to get a hat down for her to try on! That’s discrimination!”

(Right at this moment his wife walks in. I clearly remember her from the night before.)

Me: “Hello. I do remember you, ma’am. Sir, the only ‘hat’ I said I couldn’t take down for your wife was the light fixture behind you, because those are not actual hats on it, but lamp shades. They are wired to the fixture.”

Customer: *looking at me with dawning understanding and then slowly turning to his wife* “They aren’t real hats! It’s a d*** lamp shade!”

Customer’s Wife: “I know that, but I wanted to just try it, and she refused to take it down! She wouldn’t even let me take it down myself!”

Customer: “That’s because it’s not a hat! It’s a lamp. Shade.”

Customer’s Wife: “I know that, but I just wanted to try it.”

Customer: *to me* “I’m very sorry about this.” *to wife* “Come on. I’m taking you to the hardware store so you can try on all the d*** lamp shades, if that’s what you want!”

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They Deserve To Be Locked Up In A Cell

, , , | Right | January 31, 2018

(A mobile customer calls in to check if her bill is due.)

Me: “I can definitely check to see if your mobile bill is due. I’ll just need the cell phone number, please.”

Customer: *gives me the number*

Me: “Okay, I searched that number and it’s not bringing up any results. Is this for your mobile account?”

Customer: “That’s the correct number. I only have one number.”

Me: “So, the number is [number]?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t appear that this number is with our cellular services.”

Customer: “Well, no, it wouldn’t be. It’s my home number. My cell number is [other number].”

Now Listen, Sugar

, , , , , | Related | January 31, 2018

(My mom can cook fairly well if she has clear directions that she understands fully. When that’s not the case, she doesn’t have the common sense to realize something isn’t right. For example, she was once using a recipe that was supposed to call for “2-3 cloves of garlic,” but instead called for “23 cloves of garlic,” due to a typo. She added all 23. At no point during peeling or mincing them did she wonder why the recipe needed so much garlic, or why it had to be exactly 23. A while ago, I mentioned in passing that I added a little sugar to some tomato sauce I was making out of some very acidic tomatoes from my garden. I thought nothing of the comment at the time. Now, I go over to my parents’ house, and I smell something cooking.)

Me: “That smells good. What are you making?”

Mom: “Some homemade tomato sauce, like you made a few weeks ago, only I didn’t have enough tomatoes, so I started with tomato sauce from a jar. I just added a bunch of stuff to make it my own.”

Me: “Hmm, what did you add?”

Mom: “[List of ingredients]… Oh, and sugar.”

Me: “Sugar? But if you started from a jar, it shouldn’t need that.”

Mom: “Oops. Now I know for next time. Why don’t you try some? Your father was just about to sit down and eat, but he got a very important phone call and had to take it upstairs.”

Me: “Sure. Thanks, Mom.”

(I take a plate of the vegetable and pasta dish my mom’s made and try a bite. It’s sickeningly sweet. Imagine the sauce as lumpy, tomato-flavored Kool-Aid.)

Me: *after forcing myself to swallow one bite* “Uh, Mom? How much sugar did you add?”

Mom: “About a cup. I thought that should be enough.”

Me: “It really didn’t need that.”

Mom: “But you said to add sugar!”

Me: *with dawning horror* “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Mom: “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

Me: “Have you tried it?”

(She hadn’t, so she took a bite. She spat it out in the sink. We ended up rinsing all the sauce off the pasta and vegetables and using sauce from a jar, instead. My dad, who was hiding upstairs in hope that someone else would tell my mom how awful the sauce was, only came downstairs once all the sauce was thrown out.)

Self-Inflicted Refunder Blunder

, , , , | Right | January 31, 2018

(A new tenant recently moved out without notice just a couple days after moving in. She contacts me to get a refund of part of her rent. I remember the tenant well; she paid her first month’s rent with several large money orders and a small personal check. The boss approves the waiving of the 30-day notice policy for this case, in hopes of making the tenant a little happier so she doesn’t badmouth us around town. I call the tenant back to give her the good news, and to let her know that the paperwork has been filed to get her refund.)

Me: “[Boss] agreed to waive the 30-day notice requirement, so we’ll be able to refund $[amount] to you. I’ve submitted the paperwork to our central office, so a check will be issued next Wednesday and mailed to you.”

Tenant: “What? I can’t wait that long; I have bills to pay at my new apartment! I’ll just come in, and you can write me a check today.”

Me: “Unfortunately, I cannot write a check myself; all our checks go through our central office across the state.”

Tenant: “Hmph. So, I’ll get the check next Wednesday?”

Me: “No, the check will be printed next Wednesday. Unless you want to drive across the state to pick it up, they’ll have to mail it, and it should arrive on Friday.”

Tenant: “Nonsense like this is why I moved out! I’ve never seen another company so incompetent!”

(The next Wednesday, I get a call from my supervisor at the central office.)

Supervisor: “We got notice from [Tenant]’s bank that she stopped payment on her check, so I had to adjust the balance on her account. You’ll need to redo the paperwork on that refund. We’ll just plan on refunding it next week, instead.”

(The purest moment joy in my life was calling the former tenant to let her know that by stopping payment on her check, which we were refunding in full, she had delayed her refund another week.)

Refunder Blunder, Part 32
Refunder Blunder, Part 31
Refunder Blunder, Part 30

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