Unfiltered Story #142158

, , | Unfiltered | March 1, 2019

(My stepmother happened to be the customer in this one. After a night of some drinking, she comes home to find her cell phone gone. Immediately, she gets on the house phone to ask where her cell is. I happen to be sitting in the living room at this time.)
Stepmom: Are you sure no one’s stolen it?!
Stepmom: (pause) Check again!
Me: You lost your cell phone?
Stepmom: Yes! And I left it on a drink machine and now it’s gone! I just wanted a [Soda.]
Me: Are you sure it’s not in your purse?
Stepmom: I already checked! It’s not on me!
Me: Did you bring it?
Stepmom: Yes!
(We go on like this for a few minutes before the employee she’s speaking with comes back from their checking.)
Stepmom: In need that cell phone! All of my contacts are in there! (Becoming rude) I’ll go up there and find it! If it’s not there, you’re paying for my new phone!
(She hangs up and drives off angrily to grab her ‘stolen’ phone. Eventually, she comes back even angrier than before. The next morning, I get to laugh because she had it in a smaller pocket of her purse all along! I felt bad for whoever was on the other end of the line trying to keep her calm.)

This Cashier Sure Likes To Wine

, , , , , | Working | February 27, 2019

(I’m a few months pregnant, and though my belly isn’t “almost bursting,” it’s pretty round and obvious. It’s worth noting that I am unmarried, and thus I have my parents’ last name. I’m in the grocery store with my father, and he decides to grab a nice bottle of wine for a dinner party that his boss is hosting. We walk up to the register together and I pay for my items, then wait at the end of the register, leaning on the cart. My father hands the bottle of wine to the cashier and produces an ID. The cashier checks it, and then turns to me.)

Cashier: *sternly* “I need your ID, too.”

Me: “What? Oh. It’s not for me.” *gestures to my belly*

Cashier: *sighs irritably* “I need to see your ID.”

Me: “Um, okay.” *pulling out my ID* “I’m not 21, though.”

Cashier: *turns to my father* “I can’t sell you this. Selling alcohol to anyone underage is against the law.”

Father: “My pregnant daughter isn’t purchasing it, though. I am. She has already paid for her stuff.”

Cashier: “Sir, I can’t sell this to you, because how do I know you’re not going to give it to her when you leave?”

Father: *sighs* “Okay.” *turns to me, quietly* “Why don’t you go wait in the car? I’ll see if I can go to customer service.”

(As he hands me the keys, the cashier interjects.)

Cashier: “I saw you guys walk in together! I’m not losing my job because some old guy wants to buy his—“ *air quotes* “—’daughter’ alcohol. Who spends this much on a bottle of wine if they’re not trying to show off and impress some chick half his age?”

(Angry, pregnant, and embarrassed, I’m struggling not to openly cry.)

Father: *to me, through clenched teeth* “I’ll take you home and come back another time, when there’s a manager to help sort this out.”

Cashier: “I still won’t be able to sell to you, since I know it’s for her!”

(My father rolled his eyes and we left. We were both livid, and once he’d calmed down, he contacted the district manager and received an apology. He stopped at a different store and got the wine. I haven’t seen that cashier since.)

They Belong To No Tribe

, , , , | Right | February 20, 2019

(I work as a manager in a clothing store for tween girls. One morning I get this call from a customer.)

Me: “Hi, thank you for calling [Store]. This is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, I’m looking for a leotard for my daughter. I’m on the website and it says it’s tribal print. Does your location have any of those?”

Me: “Yes, we do. Can you tell me which color you’re looking for?”

Customer: “Yeah, it says here the color is tribal print.”

Me: “Okay. The tribal print leotard comes in two color combinations. There’s a blue and pink style and a black, coral, and green style. Can you tell me which one you’re looking at?”

Customer: “Um. It’s tribal.”

Me: “I understand the pattern is tribal. Is the background blue or black?”

Customer: “It’s tribal.”

(I just opened the store website, asked for the item number, and typed it in the search bar myself. For the record, it was blue and pink, and we had the size he needed.)

This Will Make Sense In The End

, , , , , , | Related | February 14, 2019

(I live in Georgia and work in a “New York Style” pizzeria. I’ve been there for years and have come across many customers that insist our pizza is the greatest thing since sliced bread, and some that, well, don’t. I’m working a double this particular day and it’s after the lunch rush when we’re pretty slow. A middle-aged woman with blonde hair comes in, places an order to go, and takes it back out to her car, but she doesn’t leave. About ten minutes pass and she comes storming back into the store.)

Woman: “What is this s***?!”

Me: *startled* “I’m sorry? What can I help you with?”

Woman: “This! This s***! I am from New York and I can tell you this is some primo-grade horse s***!”

Me: “Um, I’m sorry to hear that you don’t like it. Is it the pizza itself? Was it under- or over-cooked?”

Woman: “I just got off a plane with my husband and wanted something decent to eat. I can’t believe you call this—“ *mockingly* “—NEW YORK STYLE!”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that it wasn’t up to your standards, and I’d like to make this right. If you tell me what I can do to help you, we can work from there.”

Woman: *bellowing* “I WILL HAVE YOUR JOB! GET ME YOUR F****** MANAGER NOW!”

(My manager, [Manager #1], is in his office and I pull him to the front, then I go hide in the back kitchen until the angry woman leaves. When [Manager #1] returns, he tells me that he ended up just refunding her food, and my job was safe from “entitled crazies.” About an hour later, there’s a shift change, and [Manager #2] comes in. I inform him that I’m covering a couple of shifts later that week, and today is a double-shift. He tells me that if the evening shift is slow, he will plan to send me home early since I’m getting close to overtime; I happily agree. About 7:30 rolls around.)

Manager #2: “[My Name]! Want to go home now? I don’t think it’s busy enough that we’ll need you.”

(Excitedly, I gather my things and clock out. It just so happens that my dad has recently found out that his father — my grandfather — is not biologically related to him, and my dad, using one of those DNA tests from an online ancestry network, managed to track down his half-brother! My uncle is coming to Georgia to meet us and I managed to get off of work early enough to stop by my parents’ house to meet them! Now, don’t beat me to the punch.)

Me: *walking into my parents’ house, calling out* “Hey! I managed to get out early!”

(I walked into the living room and saw a man that looked creepily similar to my father, and a familiar blonde woman. The woman’s jaw dropped, and as I imagined, so did mine. The woman was fairly quiet for the rest of the evening. While I was in the kitchen doing dishes, the angry-customer-that-was-actually-my-aunt sneaked in and embarrassedly apologized to me. My aunt and I never did develop a close relationship, though my uncle comes to visit once or twice a year from their home in New Jersey. I eventually opted not to mention to my dad my previous encounter with his sister-in-law. Also, it turns out my uncle thought the pizza was great!)

They’ve Had One Too Many Brain Freezes

, , , | Right | February 13, 2019

(The theme park in my town has paired up with the fast food ice cream shop where I work. Employees of the theme park get a buy-one-get-one-free deal on [popular, expensive ice cream treats]. Many people use this discount all the time, and I have never had a problem with it until this customer.)

Me: “Thank you for choosing [Fast Food Restaurant]. Can I take your order?”

Customer: “Yeah, I work for [Theme Park]. I would like the BOGO [ice cream treat].”

Me: “Okay! What flavors would you like?”

Customer: “Uh, what flavors do you have?”

Me: *internally groaning because we have many, MANY flavors* “The list of all our [ice cream treats] should be on your menu on the right-hand side.”


Me: “Or I could list them for you.”

Customer: “Yes, please.”

Me: “All right. Well, we have Oreo, Reese’s—“ *proceeds to name as many flavors as I can recall off the top of my head, listing at least twenty*

Customer: “Okay, well, I’ll have Oreo.”

(Internally groaning again, because that was the first flavor I listed.)

Me: “Can do! Would you like both [ice cream treats] to be Oreo?”

Customer: “Oh, well, I only want one.”

Me: *practically banging my head against a wall* “Well, the discount for [Theme Park] employees is BOGO, or buy one get one free, which means you get two. You could always eat one now and save one for later.”

Customer: “Oh, no, I only want one.”

Me: “All right, well, what size?”

Customer: “What sizes do you have?”

Me: “Mini, small, medium, large, and extra large.”

Customer: “Okay, I’ll take a small.”

Me: “All right. That will be $3.41. Pull up to the window, please.”

(I went on break after that.)

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