I work the returns desk at IKEA. A customer comes up, speaking immediately in a complaining tone.

Customer: “I ripped the building instructions for my table in half when I ripped open the box!”

Me: “Well, we have all the instructions available online as PDFs that you can—”

Customer: “No! I won’t be able to build my table with that! Get me your manager!”

I call my manager over and explain the situation.

Customer: “I want you to get me a replacement set of instructions, and I want a gift card for my inconvenience!”

Manager: “So, you still have both halves of the instruction booklet, yes?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Manager: “What’s stopping you from just putting them together?”

Customer: “How will I know which half is which?”

Manager: “If the manual tells you to put the legs on the top, then you should start again and switch halves.” 

She was not happy, but my manager conceded and printed out the online PDF for her. She did not get any gift cards!

I used to work at the front desk at a furniture store. This was a horrible job, and if I’d been thinking about it, I could have actually gotten a lovely Labor & Industries settlement when I left, but I was young enough that when I got a new job, I just left as fast as possible. It took me about a year and a half, but I finally managed to get that new job. 

Even though the furniture store was a nightmare and a half, I was also nice enough (or naive enough?) to still want to give them notice. So, I got the new job, signed all the paperwork, and asked them to give me some time so I could give my current job notice. I kind of liked the irony of the fact that I handed my resignation in on a day that was supposed to be my day off, but my manager was forcing me in to watch a demonstration of some new furniture.

This presentation was before the store was opened, so my manager thought it was fine to tell me to get up early on my day off and come in. She was willing to let me come in in whatever street clothes I wanted, but asking to be paid for it was like asking her to give me a kidney.

Anyway, I walked in and headed up to where she was waiting at the front desk.

Me: “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Manager: “Sure.”

We went back to the office, and I pulled out my letter.

Manager: “Oh, no.”

Me: “So, I got a new job. I leave in two weeks.”

Manager: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yep. [Date] is my last day.”

She gave a heavy, put-upon sigh because she wouldn’t be able to blame me for her not paying vendors anymore.

Manager: “Okay. Well, I guess if you’re leaving, you don’t have to stay for this demo, either.”

Me: “Great. See you Thursday.”

And I walked out. While I was upset at not being able to sleep in, by this point, I was awake enough that going home and back to bed was out of the question. So, I ended up swinging by my mom’s work, having lunch with her, and having a mini-celebration for breaking out of the store.

Sometimes I wonder if they’re even still in business, but I haven’t been bored enough to actually check.

I am interviewing for a job at a large furniture store for a customer service job.

Customer Service Manager: “So, do you have any questions for me?”

Me: “Well, since this is a customer service position, what are your customers like?”

Customer Service Manager: *Smiles* “You have time for a story?”

Me: “Absolutely!”

Customer Service Manager: “We had a customer who returned everything he bought. He was always dissatisfied with the product and the service. Delivery was bad, the product wasn’t good, the sales staff was rude, the checkout was too long, and on and on.”

Me: “And was it?”

Customer Service Manager: “You’ve seen our place. This is not a poorly run or shabby organization. It is hundreds of thousands of feet of showroom and runs very professionally. We’re sat in the middle of a cornfield in Kansas. People travel from states around to shop here.”

Me: “Fair point!”

Customer Service Manager: “So, anyhoo, I fired that customer mid-rant on his last visit. I thanked him for his input. I gave him his money back and I told him he was fired.”

Me: “You can fire a customer?!”

Customer Service Manager: “You betcha! I believe the exact words I used were: ‘It’s obvious that our company and our products are not up to your standards. We appreciate the opportunity you gave us, but we obviously can’t meet your needs. Please leave and do not ever come back.'”

That story almost convinced me to take the job. I went to work on the customer pick-up dock instead. When asked why, I explained to them:

Me: “I would rather be on the dock helping happy people load their new toys in their trucks than in customer service trying to satisfy unhappy people returning stuff.”

A customer comes up to me as I am walking between departments at our furniture store.

Customer: “I need you to promise me this sofa will be delivered by Christmas.”

Me: “I can’t promise that, ma’am. No one in the store can. We can try, but as we’re already well into December—”

Customer: “I need someone to promise this to me or you’re losing a customer.”

Me: “Head on over to the customer service desk and we’ll look into what we can do for you.”

The customer harrumphs but heads in that direction anyway. I take a moment to complete a more urgent task and then head over there myself. Before I can even open my mouth:

Customer: “I was just talking to one of your staff, and that idiot told me—”

Me: “That idiot was me, ma’am.”

Customer: “No, he was wearing glasses.”

Me: “I’m still wearing those glasses.”

The customer squints and leans in, and a look of horror comes over her face. 

Me: “Maybe I could recommend you get some also?”

I work in a furniture store. A customer comes up to me.

Customer: “Can I be served by someone who doesn’t earn minimum wage, please?”

Me: “Uh… Well, I am happy to say that everyone working at [Furniture Store] earns above minimum wage, ma’am. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Then I’d like to be served by the sales associate who earns the most.”

Me: “I… don’t think we’re aware of each other’s salaries, ma’am, but I can bring you to our most experienced sales associate? They’ve been here the longest, and they’re a manager.”

Customer: “I suppose that’s fine. I need someone who cares.”

Me: “Ma’am, we all care when it comes to serving our customers.”

Customer: “The more someone gets paid, the more they care. I need to be served by someone who cares.”

I decide not to press the issue, and I bring her to the floor manager. They spend some time going through some sofa options, and as luck would have it, we have the one she wants in stock in our warehouse. I tell her this.

Customer: “That’s fine. I have my pickup, so just get them to load it in that. I’ll pull around.”

Me: “Of course, ma’am. And you’ll be happy to know that our warehouse workers also all earn above minimum wage as a company policy.”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t care about the warehouse people. They can be underpaid illegal immigrants for all I care; all they need to do is load my car.” 

Well… so much for caring.