Some Body Agrees

, , , , , | Right | April 9, 2018

(Our service desk is undergoing much needed renovations. One of the new things being built for us is a small closet to store extra cartons of cigarettes so we don’t have to run in back so often when we run out of a certain brand. The construction is very loud, and some of our customers are visibly upset, and I’m starting to get frustrated, too, since it’s making it difficult for me to communicate. After a while, a little old lady in her 80s approaches me.)

Customer: “Excuse me, miss. What are you building back there?”

Me: “I apologize about the noise; we’re building extra storage for cigarettes.”

Customer: “Oh, I thought you were building a place to hide all the bodies of the rude customers!”

Me: *laughs* “Oh, ma’am, I wish!”

Customer: *smiles* “Keep up the good work, [My Name]!”

(Her encouragement lifted my spirits for the rest of my shift despite the noise. It’s nice that some people can be understanding.)

Don’t Know What They’ve Been Eating On That Ranch

, , , , | Right | January 4, 2018

(A woman and her teenage daughter approach the order counter.)

Me: “Hello, what can I get for you today?”

Mother: “I’ll have the Caesar salad.” *to her daughter* “What will you have, honey?”

Daughter: “What’s on the Chicken Bacon Ranch?”

Me: “Um, chicken… bacon… and ranch?”

(The mother burst into laughter as her daughter turned bright red.)

Managed To Re-Coup Their Business

, , , , , | Right | January 4, 2018

(Almost every Sunday a large family comes into the mall to eat lunch together in the food court. Five of these people frequent our restaurant. They spend a lot of money and are decently behaved, but they are always demanding, and the old man among them always likes to reach into our container of potato chips with his bare hands. We have developed methods to deal with them and keep them out of things they shouldn’t be touching for sanitary reasons, so luckily the family has become less of a dreaded Sunday chore. I’m working the cash register for this particular visit.)

Me: “Hello, I see you’re having the full salad with soup today? Anything to drink?”

Old Man’s Middle Aged Son: “No, thank you. Could you punch these coupons for me, though?” *he hands me three punch coupons, all of them with a varying number of punches, and rattles off what the rest of his family is having*

Me: “I can certainly punch these for you once the order is complete, but I’m not supposed to punch them until everything is paid for.”

Old Man’s Middle Aged Son: “What? You expect me to walk all the way to my table, and then all the way back up here to get my coupons back? That’s just stupid!”

(The coupon policy is in place mostly because sometimes people’s cards won’t go through after we punch the card, so then we have to give the punch card back to them with a free punch, basically. I know the old man, who usually pays, has never had such a problem or pays with cash. As the supervisor on duty I could probably make the exception, but the son is rude so I decide to be difficult.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but that’s just our policy.”

(The son continues to act like a spoiled child despite his age, when one of the women in the group, presumable his mother based on her age, speaks up.)

Mother: “What is he angry about?”

Me: “I can’t punch his coupons until the order is complete and paid, so he’s angry with me because he has to walk back and get his coupons.”

Mother: “Oh, for cripes sake! [Son], we can bring your d*** coupons back to the table!”

(The son walks away in a huff as the rest of his family completes their order with no problems. The old man approaches the cash register, and after I’ve repeated the order to him he hands me money.)

Old Man: “You all did a very good job. I’m sorry he behaved that way.”

Me: “That’s okay. I hope he has a better day.”

(The man ended up giving us a $10 tip, and the family, minus their rude son, still came back every Sunday)

Shaping Up To Be A Sour Note

, , , , , , | Right | September 15, 2017

(We are a corporate company that sells a lot of sheet music. I have only worked at this place for eight months. I am helping out with customer service calls, when a customer calls in asking me to explain something she sees on our website. I have been on the phone for the last ten minutes, trying to answer her questions.)

Customer: “So, the symbol doesn’t mean it has shaped notes?”

Me: “The symbol you are seeing only indicates that is a capella, not that is has shaped notes.”

Customer: “I know that is a capella, I just want to know if it has shaped notes. Can’t you hear? I’ll say it again… does the music have shaped notes?!”

Me: “[Customer], as far as I can tell, they are not shaped notes. There is no way for me to view the music, since it is an older piece. Is there a particular voicing you are looking for, so I can see if we have it in our store and can look at it for you?”

Customer: “I don’t care about the voicing, I just want to know if it is shaped-note. Is there a supervisor around I can talk to, since you apparently don’t know your product?”

Me: *tired of arguing with this customer* “Yes, hold on.” *I put her on hold, which she sighs at as I do, and ask my coworkers about it, and they tell me the same thing I’ve been telling her.* “Okay, they said that there is no way to tell if it is shaped-note if it does not specify it in the description.  Since it is not a common notation, they would have it in the description if it had shaped notes.”

Customer: “So, you’re saying it is not shaped-note? Are there any that are?”

Me: “As far as I can tell, we have none that are shaped-note for that specific piece. It might be in a collection book, but when I search for it, nothing comes up with that title.”

Customer: “Well, you are no help at all. You clearly should not be in the in music business if you don’t even know your own product that you sell! You have wasted my time. I hope you are happy.” *hangs up phone*

Me: *turning to my coworkers* “Well, apparently I have no idea what I’m doing in this business.”

Developing Arrest

, , , , , | Right | June 10, 2013

(I work as a supervisor at a bar. Fargo is hosting the ‘North Dakota High School State Wrestling Tournament’ this weekend. I receive a phone call.)

Me: “[Bar]. My name is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Caller #1: “Hi. My name is [Caller #1]. I was wondering if you accept school IDs? I’m from out of town, and grabbed the wrong driver’s license.”

Me: “Um, well, no, because they are not state regulated. You have to have papers if your driver’s license or state ID is clipped.”

Caller #1: “Well, my drivers license is clipped; can I speak to your manager?”

Me: “I am the supervisor.”

Caller #1: *click*

(Two minutes later…)

Me: “[Bar]. My name is [My Name]. How may I help you?”

Caller #2: “Yes, my name is [Caller #2]. I was wondering if you accept school IDs? I’m from out of town, and grabbed the wrong driver’s license.”

Me: “Your name is [Caller #2]?”

Caller #2: “Yes.”

Me: “Is the license you grabbed clipped?”

Caller #2: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, you need to have your papers issued to you by the state for your clipped drivers license or state ID.”

(I then hear a hushed voice in the background. It is [Caller #2] talking to [Caller #1].)

Caller #2: “[Caller #1], what do I do now?”

Caller #1: “Ask for the manager.”

(Without letting [Caller #2] even ask, I respond.)

Me: “I am the supervisor.”

Caller #2: *click*

(Three minutes later…)

Me: *sighs* “[Bar]. My name is [My Name]. I am the supervisor here; how may I help you?”

Caller #3: “Hi, my name is [Caller #3]. I was wondering if you accept school IDs? I’m from out of town, and grabbed the wrong driver’s license.”

Me: “Are you friends of [Caller #1] and [Caller #2]”

Caller #3: “YES!”

Me: “Oh, well, hello then. I talked to my general manager, and he says to come by the bar! What time will you three ladies be showing up tonight?”

Caller #3: *in a hushed voice to [Callers #1 and #2]* “We are soooo in!” *returning to me* “We will be there at 9:30 sharp.”

Me: “Well, I hope to see you all here tonight.”

(Later that night, [Callers #1, #2, and #3] show up at 9:30.)

Caller #3: “We are here; the supervisor said you accepted student IDs!”

Me: “Hi! You must be [Callers #1, #2, #3]. Let me see your clipped drivers’ licenses, and student IDs.”

(I check them. The licenses and student IDs are clearly not theirs. The pictures in each of the girl’s licenses have a different facial structure, and one girl is miraculously missing a birth mark on her chin.)

Me: “All right, ladies, we have a VIP party in the back. Let me lead you there.”

Caller #1: *to Callers #2 and #3* “Oh, my God! VIP? This is the best [High School] trip ever!”

(I walk them around the building, with all of their IDs still in my hand.)

Me: “All right, officers, they’re all yours.”

(A couple of police officers are waiting for them at the back. As they are being handcuffed, one of the callers has a question.)

Caller #1: “Can we at least get our IDs back?”

Officer 1: “You can tell…” *reads names on all three IDs* “…that they can come pick them up at the station. We would like to have a word with them.”

(To my knowledge, they were processed to scare them, and then released to their parents. The girls on the IDs were charged with ‘furnishing alcohol to minors,’ and ‘providing identification to a minor for the sole purpose of obtaining alcohol.’)

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