(I work in a major wireless retail store. A customer comes in with a newer smartphone that he recently purchased. It is no longer working after being dropped in a pool. After going over multiple options, including insurance which ships overnight, the customer opts to buy out his current phone agreement in order to get a new device in store.)

Me: “Today you’ll have to pay the remaining amount of your current device, which is $450, plus the tax on the new phone, and then your monthly payments will start over on the new phone.”

Customer: “But you said I’m buying out of my agreement? I don’t want to have a payment.”

Me: “Yes, sir. You’re buying out your broken device that you still owe on, but then you said you would like to purchase a new phone today in the store instead of going with the insurance.”

Customer: “You mean because I broke my phone, you’re going to charge me for a new one?”

Me: “Yes, sir, electronics do cost money. Again, if you do insurance, you’ll just pay a small deductible and you’ll get a new phone tomorrow; that would be cheaper.”

Customer: “I told you I don’t want to do the God**** insurance, but it’s poor business to charge me for a new phone just because I destroyed my other one.”

Me: “If I go out and wreck my car, and want a brand new one, I still have to pay off the old loan, and then I’d start a fresh loan on a new car. I don’t get a free one.”

Customer: “Well, no one would do that. That’s why you have insurance!”

Me: “…”

Related:
Not Much Assurance About The Insurance, Part 7
Not Much Assurance About The Insurance, Part 6
Not Much Assurance About The Insurance, Part 5

I was “kidnapped” by a friend for a week-long vacation to a popular Orlando theme park. We drove down in my car, and I was ridiculously excited to do valet parking for the first time in my life. It was an amazing wizarding adventure, and something I’d never have been able to afford myself. (Thanks, [Friend]!)

The day of our departure dawned and we were packed up, checked out, and chatting with the bellhop as we waited for my car to be brought around. After a while, the bellhop went to check what was taking so long. A few minutes later, a valet approached us with a look of dread on his face. He said, “Well, here’s the thing. Your car won’t start.”

My ancient car had never failed to start before. I became increasingly upset as the reality of the situation sank in, and my friend wasn’t much better. It was Sunday, so most car repair places were closed. The valet did some research, and let me use his personal cell phone to call the only open repair place to have my car towed in and checked over.

My friend and I sat in the lobby to wait for my dad, who would arrive in about eight hours. The valet introduced us to a high-up management-level man who bought us each a cup of hot chocolate. A bit later, the valet returned and introduced us to a manager, whom he had briefed on our situation. The manager arranged for us to check back into the hotel for the day, and asked us to let her know if we needed to stay the night. Meanwhile, the valet told us he had arranged for my dad to have free valet parking when he arrived.

I’ve got Asperger’s and anxiety issues, and do not handle unexpected situations well. Getting to wait in a private room, away from other people, was a huge comfort for me. I calmed down, called my dad to discuss “rescue” arrangements, and let the hotel know we’d be staying another night. The manager charged us less than the in-state resident rate (a massive discount for such a nice resort hotel), and arranged for a roll-away bed to be brought in for Dad to sleep on. (It was the nicest roll-away bed I’ve ever seen; it was a real mattress.)

Considering my car trouble was in no way the hotel’s fault, the staff went far above and beyond to help us. I know customer service is a big priority for tourist resorts, but those individuals certainly went the extra mile. They helped turn what started as a disastrous day into one that ended with relaxed smiles. To all of you working at the resort that day, thank you!

(When I move to St. Petersburg and get a phone number [in the days of all land lines], the number I receive has previously been that of an electrical contractor. I receive many calls from people looking to contact them. I usually just say that they no longer have this number, and I don’t know if they are still in business, and then hang up. But late one night, nearly midnight, I get a call from what is obviously an elderly lady. I go through my usual spiel, but before I can hang up, she becomes so obviously distressed that I continue to talk with her.)

Her: “Oh, dear. I don’t know what to do.”

Me: “About what?”

Her: “None of my lights are working.” *I immediately suspect a power outage.*

Me: “So, why are you trying to call the electrical contractor?”

Her: “They did work for me last year, and I thought they could help.”

Me: “I see. Well, your area is probably just having a power outage.”

Her: “What should I do?”

(At this point I suspect she’s one of those widows that had a husband take care of everything for her, and she genuinely doesn’t know what to do.)

Me: “Can you look outside and see if anyone else has lights on?”

Her: “Yes, I can see outside. No lights anywhere.”

Me: “Almost certainly a power outage. I have a phone number for you to call. Do you have a flashlight and something to write on and with?”

Her: “Yes.”

(I then told her the local power company’s outage number [brief outages were so common that I had the number memorized], and told her that she’d get a recording asking her to leave her address and phone number. I explained that they monitored the incoming recordings, and if she was the first in her area to call, that she’d be the reason everyone in her area got their power back, because her call would be the one to let the power company know to get working on the issue. She seemed happy about that [neighborhood savior], and bid me goodnight, and hung up. She was pleasant, but she also convinced me to make sure that any wife I had [I was single at the time] would know how to deal with things like that.)

(Our work environment is pretty casual, and most everyone has a nickname of some sort, while several of the guys go by nicknames exclusively for the most part. One of these guys is someone who doesn’t often have cause to interact with clients or partners, which is what typically prompts us to use real names out of professionalism. One day, I need his help with something for a potential client.)

Me: *e-mailing the client and copying my coworker on it* “Hi! So I think we’ll be able to work something out. Let me introduce you to [Real Name] who knows more about the topic than I do and can get you started.”

Nicknamed Coworker: *in a private e-mail* “Hey, did you mean to copy someone else? Who’s [Real Name]? Did we hire someone new in my department?”

Nicknamed Coworker: *in another private e-mail sent less than a minute later* “I forgot that I am [Real Name].”

(He didn’t live that one down for a while.)

Related:
Named And Shamed, Part 5
Named And Shamed, Part 4
Named And Shamed, Part 3
Named And Shamed, Part 2
Named And Shamed

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(We have a rather gullible regular who has somehow grown up convinced that if a thing is in print, it has to be true.)

Regular: *as she’s being rung up by my coworker* “Oh! Did you hear? There was a shark attack last week!”

Coworker: “Oh, my goodness! Where?”

Regular: “[Nearby Apartment Complex].”

Coworker: *pause* “Pardon?”

Regular: “Yeah, apparently some family had a shark mounted on the wall. That must have angered the other shark. It broke down the door and bit an 11-year-old on the face!”

Coworker: “…”

Me: “[Regular], that never happened.”

Regular: “It did! It was in the news and everything!”

Me: “[Regular], think about it. How could a shark hold its breath on land long enough to somehow travel five miles away from the water and cross a dozen busy roads, just to break down a door and attack a child? All without legs?”

Regular: “Hold on! I’ll bring up the article!”

Coworker: “[Regular], we don’t mind you Googling it, but there’s a line behind you. I’m afraid you can’t stand here at the registers looking for it.”

Regular: “No worries. I’ll come back and show you the article!”

(She paraded out the door, fiddling with her phone, still searching. My coworker put his hands together and loudly mock-prayed, “Please don’t let her discover Sharknado! Please don’t let her discover Sharknado!” A few days later, she came back, having forgotten about the “shark attack,” but full to bursting about the news that all major movie companies were going to create DVDs that would completely erase themselves after a single viewing of a movie, forcing everyone to have to buy it again to watch it a second time. No one could convince her that the movie industry would become bankrupt virtually overnight if they did so.)