Once, when I worked in the airport at a kiosk, a man came through for earbuds. He was rude from the start, in a hurry, and acting like I was wasting his time for ringing him up for a purchase he wanted to make, so I skipped the upsales just to get him away from me.

So of course, he comes back ten minutes later with earbuds he broke by ripping them out of the package too roughly (they were, admittedly, s***), and instead of even pretending to be apologetic about it, he throws the package at me. Literally throws it across the counter at me and demands a refund. It’s like 6 AM, and it’s too early to deal with arguing with this douche about why I don’t have to return an item he clearly broke, so I ask him for the card he put it on.

And unsurprisingly, he argues with me before having to exert an untold amount of energy to just reach into his wallet to give me his stupid card, and tosses it to the counter despite my outstretched hand, and I’m coming close to my limit.

What seals it is when I ask for his ID, and he loses it at me, arguing that I don’t need it. I literally could not process a return without customer information and tell him as such, going back and forth with him until he throws that at me too, and then mutters under his breath “f****** b****”.

I don’t know how this was the straw that broke the camel’s back when having things thrown at me wasn’t, but it was, and I don’t think he expected me to call him on it because when I said, “excuse me?” he looked surprised.

Before he could say anything, I cancelled the return, put his cards and the receipt on top of the box, and slid it back over to him, and said with so much satisfaction,”Sorry, I can’t process this return for you, but maybe the local store in your arrival city can.”

I was the only employee there at the time, and a manager, so arguing with me didn’t help his case much, especially not with a Metro police podium right next to my store (we were directly behind the TSA check). As much as I wanted to lose my mind at him, the satisfaction of forcing him to either eat the cost and throw the busted earbuds out or hold onto them to try to return later and purchase another pair for his flight made up for a lot.

I’m the one who submitted this story, and so have the pleasure of working under the Steel Magnolia manager we call ‘Miss Patty.’

As usual, it’s another hot summery day, and another customer is at the customer service desk, where Miss Patty (pearls on, lipstick flawless) is working.

Customer: “I need a refund on this grill cover.”

Miss Patty: “Certainly, sir. Do you have the receipt?”

Customer: “No, but I definitely bought it here.”

Miss Patty: “I understand, sugar. When did you buy it?”

Customer: “…May.”

Miss Patty: “So two months ago?”

Customer: “… May, 202X.”

Miss Patty: “Two summers ago.”

Customer: “It melted. Look at this!”

He dramatically unfolds something that now looks more like a vinyl pancake than a grill cover.

Miss Patty: ” Heavens to Betsy! She’s had a rough go of it, hasn’t she?”

Customer: “That’s your fault. Your products should be built to last!”

Miss Patty: “Sir, this is a $14 cover from the clearance rack, made of vinyl, and it clearly says ‘Store indoors when not in use.'”

Customer: “It y’all’s job to tell me! Don’t put everything on a label!”

Miss Patty slowly blinks, sips her iced tea, and gives the kind of smile you usually see before a tornado drops.

Miss Patty: “Sir, we can’t offer refunds on sunburned plastic that’s been through two Georgia summers and a college football season. That cover did her duty and retired honorably.”

Customer: “This is outrageous! I’m going to leave a bad review and mention you specifically!”

Miss Patty: “You go right ahead, sweetheart. Just spell my name right: it’s Miss Patty with a ‘y’… as in “Y’all don’t read, and it shows.'”

Related:
Calling The Manager (Southern) Bell

This story happened in 2004, while I worked in a call center answering for a prepaid cell phone service. The call center’s break room had a couple of PCs set up on an unsecured network, which the employees were free to use. I was on night shift and had an hour-long lunch break, and since there were a few other employees during that shift, there was little to no challenge for the computers, so I’d spend my entire lunch at the computer chatting with my wife.

One evening, another employee was sitting at the other computer, getting frustrated while trying to find an item on eBay. I offered to help, and he explained that he was looking for a watch to give his significant other as a gift. I told my wife, and she helped too.

A couple of weeks later, my wife came to the call center to bring me my forgotten lunch, and I met her at security. As she was coming in, watch-dude was going out, and I said hi, and introduced them, telling my wife:

Me: “This is the guy we’ve been helping find the fancy watch!”

He immediately glared at me, then glanced toward another woman walking through the lobby toward us, and back at me, and said:

Coworker: “Not too f****** bright, ARE ya!?”

He pushed past and stormed out to the parking lot, and the other lady, who I’m pretty sure heard nothing, followed him.

Never once had he mentioned that his significant other also worked at the center. Never once had he introduced me or even shown me a photo. I didn’t even know what her name was, but somehow I should have known not to say “looking for a fancy watch” in front of this total stranger.

I know it sounds foolish, but this was the first time I was ever openly insulted in front of my wife, and it stung, and decades later, I’m still sore about it.

Reading this story reminded me of my own store manager, Miss Patty (not her real name, but the image you get from it is accurate). She’s a steel magnolia in pearls and lipstick that doesn’t move. Her blood is iced tea that’s just a few degrees above absolute zero.

It’s late summer in the South; hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. A woman storms in, dragging one of those wheeled beach coolers behind her. She slams the cooler onto the counter.

Customer: “This thing’s defective. I want a refund.”

Me: “Ma’am, this cooler is… full of sand.”

Customer: “Well, yeah, we took it to the beach. That’s what it’s for.”

Me: “It smells of beer.”

Customer: “Yes! Warm beer, because the ice melted! That’s the problem!”

At this point, Miss Patty manifests:

Miss Patty: “Now what seems to be the issue today?”

Customer: “Your cooler doesn’t work! It didn’t keep our drinks cold for the whole weekend, and now it’s all gross. I want a refund!”

Miss Patty inspects the mud-splattered, beer-soaked cooler, pauses, and clasps her hands in front of her.

Miss Patty: “So you put ice in it… on… Friday?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Miss Patty: “Then you took it to the beach in hundred-degree weather?”

Customer: “Yes, on Sunday!”

Miss Patty: “And you got a bee in your bonnet because it didn’t stay cold all weekend?”

Customer: “Exactly!”

There’s a long pause. Miss Patty tilts her head, folds her hands neatly on the counter, and gives the sweetest, slowest smile you ever did see.

Miss Patty: “You’re a special lil’ pumpkin, aren’t ya, hun?”

Miss Patty did allow the refund, but did so in her truly Southern Belle way.

Miss Patty: *To the customer as they’re leaving.* “Mind the door on your way out, pumpkin! Wouldn’t want it to knock any of those loose thoughts loose-er.”

Related:
These Southern Belles Need To Hang Out With The Old Scottish/Irish Women

A customer has become angry with me because I’m struggling to explain the difference between two products:

Angry Customer: “Why can’t you just tell me the difference between them?!”

Employee: “Because one’s a reciprocating saw and the other’s a riding mower, and frankly, if you don’t know the difference, there’s no way you should be within twenty feet of either.”

Related:
This Cannot End Well, Part 6
This Cannot End Well, Part 5
This Cannot End Well, Part 4
This Cannot End Well, Part 3
This Cannot End Well, Part 2