My husband lost a bet and had to grow a beard for three months. It didn’t suit him and it made him look a lot older. He’s thirty-four and I’m thirty-three, but now it looked like we had a huge age gap. A bet is a bet, so [Husband] wore his ugly beard and started jokingly calling me his young trophy wife. 

It was all good fun until a new neighbour moved into the next-door apartment, a woman in her early twenties. She must have seen [Husband] and me together or maybe even overheard us talking in the corridor. And from what she saw, she concluded that ugly old [Husband] must be rich enough to attract a gold digger. 

From that day on, she appeared in full makeup at all times. When [Husband] went to work in the morning and when he came back, she’d always happen to be waiting for an elevator which [Husband] then had to share. Sometimes I was there, too, but it didn’t deter her. She’d make small talk in the elevator, touch her hair, and take deep-chest breaths, and the top button of her blouse would just happen to be open, etc. It was comical to watch how she threw herself at him.

After two weeks of this, shaving day arrived. [Husband], I kid you not, put on a suit and tie and went to the barbershop to have his beard taken off in style. He came back looking like his young, handsome self. Our lady neighbour didn’t recognize him. She saw him enter our apartment and, believing he was a different man, went to spread rumors about me allegedly having an affair. 

Somebody must have enlightened her in the end and told her that it was the same man. She stopped wearing so much makeup after that, and the elevator rides were also over.

In the summer of 2006, I was between jobs, so I sold my soul and worked for FIFA as a volunteer during the World Cup. I ended up in an information booth in the city centre of Nürnberg. It honestly was great fun, and all the visiting fans were really nice, especially the English. We were very happy about that since we had been warned to be careful of English hooligans.

Some of the England fans had come by car and parked in the city instead of out by the stadium. A few of them ended up at our booth because they couldn’t find their cars after the match. They were quite proud, though, that they had written down the name of the street they had parked on. They showed us a piece of paper that had “Einbahnstraße” written on it. We then had to explain that this wasn’t a street name, but a sign saying, “One-Way Street.” We did manage to find their cars, though.

Two days after the England game, a man in his early twenties stumbled up to our booth. He had gotten so drunk after the game that he had fallen asleep in a bush and missed his plane back home.

Since he didn’t have any money, we called his mum and then took him to Western Union to pick up the money she had sent him. We then booked him a flight and took him to the airport.

His mum sent us a thank-you letter for looking after her son.

All of them were absolutely lovely. It just goes to show that one bad apple doesn’t spoil the whole bunch.

My clothing store has a pretty standard return and exchange policy; you need the receipt and must be within thirty days of purchase. I’m on the phone with a colleague, talking about store stuff, when I notice a woman and man come in. They look around for a while and then come up to the desk.

Woman: “My mother purchased these pants from your store and she got a spot on them. She used water and dishwashing liquid to rub the spot out and, as you can see, the color came off.”

Me: “Yes, I see that’s an issue. I’ll gladly exchange these pants for you. Do you have the receipt along?”

Woman: “No.”

Me: “Ah, unfortunately, I cannot do an exchange without the receipt.”

Woman: “But it’s faulty. And who keeps the receipt of their clothes for more several months?”

I can already tell that this is going to be a thing. It’s clear from her words that these pants were purchased longer than thirty days ago, meaning they’re outside of the return timeframe, anyway, and it’s impossible to do anything without a receipt.

Things go back and forth. She doesn’t understand when I keep telling her that, without the receipt, I literally cannot do an exchange or anything; the system flat-out won’t work without a receipt for this. She’s getting more frustrated. So am I, as her attitude is getting to me.

Woman: “Well, don’t you have a manager or something?”

Me: “My manager is currently on vacation.”

Man: “Well, then call her.” *Jokingly* “Haha, I mean, it’s not like she’s on some sort of world tour!”

Me: “Actually, that’s exactly where she is.”

We go back and forth again. They don’t like that I am not going to give them the personal phone number of the district manager. I finally write down the business email address of said district manager and hand her the note.

Woman: *Looking at my writing* “What’s it say?”

Me: “[District Manager] at [Store] dot EU.”

Woman: “And what’s your name?”

I take the note back and write my first name on it.

Me: “Here you go; it’s [My First Name].”

Woman: “And your last name?”

Me: “You won’t need that. My first name will be enough to identify me.”

Heck if I’m going to let her have my full name. She leaves, saying she’ll complain. That’s fine with me, as I was following the rules and know that the system won’t allow exchanges or returns without a receipt. You can’t even get store credit without one.

A little over a week later, we have a pre-planned meeting, and while I expect something to be said about this situation and complaint, nothing happens. A few days later, though, it turns out the woman did complain. She claimed that she couldn’t read the address I wrote down, so her email went straight to headquarters.

And said email is already full of exaggerations. She claims that I was having a private, non-work-related talk on the phone, which is not the case. She claims they had to wait ten minutes for me to pay attention to them, let alone hang up. That’s also false; they spent those ten minutes looking around the shop before coming to the desk.

I’m now on the phone with a higher-up about this matter, explaining the above.

Higher-Up: “So, how long were they actually waiting until you hung up?”

Me: “About a minute or two, I would say.”

[Higher-Up] gives me a short reprimand over letting them wait for a minute.

Higher-Up: “And why didn’t you call [District Manager] or me?”

Me: “Because I was always informed that policy is that, without a receipt, we cannot do a refund, exchange, or anything. The system won’t allow those functions without one.”

There’s some more reprimanding.

Higher-Up: “So, how do you think this’ll be fixed? Because that woman is going to get a different pair of pants from us.”

Me: “That’s fine. As soon as I have written permission and instructions to bypass the system into giving an exchange without the original receipt, I will gladly do it.”

I was still reprimanded for doing exactly what I was taught to do. And neither the woman’s nor the higher-up’s tone was decent. All this has done is make me want to increase my effort in finding a different job. I like my direct manager and colleagues, but the higher managers talk down to everyone. And you leave management like that.

Related:
You Got Me In A Box Here, Part 2
You Got Me In A Box Here

I’m in the car with my stepmum, running errands around the small town my parents live in. At one point, mum slows down the car because of a cyclist in front of us that is swerving quite a bit. I wonder out loud if he’s just a bad cyclist or started drinking early, but mum’s answer shuts me up.

Mum: “Oh, no, I know that man. He has a condition, I can’t remember what it’s called, but he sways when he walks as well. What they used to call “spastic”, but that’s the wrong word of course. He used to live with his mother on [Street]. Nice man.”

Okay, now I feel really guilty for assuming, but mum is not done. She proceeds to tell me the following story from years ago:

Mum used to be a store manager at a local clothing store, and it was not unusual for her to be alone in the store for a shift or part of it (small store, small town, several decades ago). One day she was manning the store alone again, and the man mentioned above walked in. Hesitantly, he explained that he would like to buy a new pair of trousers, but he was worried about trying them on because of his condition.

Mum was worried as well, as she knew the store’s fitting rooms were small and cramped, and though they did have a stool in them, it was more hindering than helpful because of the lack of space. There was also not really anything for people to hold onto to prevent falling over. This was before safety and accessibility regulations became what they are today. So, mum and the customer were worried he would fall over and hurt himself, or that mum would be unable to help him get back up if he did fall.

Mum pondered the best way to help this customer. As she said, he should be able to buy new trousers just like anyone else, she just had to figure out the best way to help him do that. She couldn’t very well physically assist him in trying on the trousers, neither of them would be comfortable with that!

Then, she struck upon a solution! She asked the customer if he would like to pick out a few pairs of trousers he liked and take them home with him to try on in the comfort of his own home. He wouldn’t have to pay for them right away, he could come back later to return the clothes he didn’t want to keep and pay for the ones he did want. That way, he wouldn’t have to struggle around in the store’s fitting rooms.

The customer’s eyes went wide, and he asked her if that would really be okay. Mum assured him it would be, the store’s owners trusted her, and she trusted him. She knew him and his mother, maybe not closely, but enough to know they were reliable.

The customer was ecstatic! He’d been so worried about this shopping expedition but had wanted to try anyway. It was all shaping up to be better than he imagined. Mum helped him pick out some nice pairs of trousers, and a few shirts she thought would look good on him as well. He walked out of the shop with a bag full of clothes to try on, thanking my mum all the while and assuring her he or his mother would come back soon to pay.

Two days later, his mother came into the shop, while mum was again manning the place on her own. The mother asked mum if she had been the one to help her son two days ago. Mum confirmed this was the case, and the mother of her customer thanked her profusely for helping her son so well. She then proceeded to pay for the items the customer had decided to buy and returned the items that didn’t fit, as agreed upon.

I’m sure you’re wondering what mum’s bosses said about all this when she told them. They were very happy with her decision! As they put it, it was her job to sell clothes, and she had done so, while making the customer happy. Happy customers were likely to come back and spend more money at their store, and maybe spread positive word-of-mouth advertisement about their store, which was important for their small store. They commended my mum for a job well done.

The customer mum helped came in many times after that to shop for clothes, and the store continued their special arrangement. If he came in when mum was working, she always made sure to help him herself.

Mum no longer works for that store, which still exists, but has remodeled their fitting rooms to make them larger and more accessible for people with disabilities.

Note to self: Be more like mum!

This happened about twenty years ago. Every night, about one hour prior to closing (about 1 AM), the milkshake machine would be taken apart and cleaned and the remaining liquid would be heated to guarantee there were no germs developing in the sealed container.

In comes a regular customer of ours who always finds something to complain about.

Regular: “Hi there, can I get a strawberry shake?”

Me: “Unfortunately, the machine has entered the cleaning cycle. Shakes will be available in about three hours’ time from the drive-thru.”

Keep in mind, the machine is in full view, and he can see that it’s taken apart.

Regular: “You are just lazy and don’t want to do your job, get your manager!”

What follows is a rant to my awesome manager. By the time he is done, we have about fifteen minutes until closing.

Since the customer is hell bound on having his shake, my manager complies. He assembles the parts of the machine needed (takes about five minutes) and takes a step back before he pulls the lever to dispense the oh-so-precious milkshake. A huge cloud of steam and boiling liquid comes out.

After about a minute, my manager comes back with thick oven gloves, puts a lid on the boiling hot cup and hands it over to the customer.

Manager: “Free of charge, enjoy!”

That customer’s face was worth the additional cleaning; never saw him again.