Keep Note Of Taxis Like This

, , , , , , , | Working | January 8, 2018

(I live in Glasgow and have gotten a taxi to Queen Street Station. The driver has been perfectly calm and chatting with me up until now. When we get to the station, I see the cost is £17.60. I instinctively grab the first note in my wallet, believing only one to be in there, and hand it over.)

Driver: *furious* “This is a fiver!”

Me: “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know I had that in there.”

(I take it back and pull out the £20 note. In this time, however, the driver turns off the engine, locks the doors, and starts using his phone.)

Me: “Umm, here.”

Driver: “SIT DOWN! YOU AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE!”

(I sit down, confused and worried, as he dials the police, reporting my blunder as attempted theft. After he hangs up he spends the next couple of minutes mumbling at how the English, like me, can’t be trusted. When the police arrive, he gets out and starts ranting at them. I can only see the face of one officer, who doesn’t look too impressed. She comes over and talks to me through the window.)

Officer: “Now, I’m not going to get formal with you. You look respectable enough, and [Driver] phones us at least once week thinking someone is stealing from him. Can you pay?”

(I lift up the £20 and she looks at the meter before rolling her eyes.)

Officer: “So, what happened?”

Me: “I had another note in my wallet and took that out, instead.”

(She rolls her eyes again and goes back to the driver. The driver then comes back and takes my money. He hands me my change.)

Me: “You’ve short-changed me.”

Driver: *pretending to be calm* “No, I haven’t!”

Me: “You’ve given me 40p; I should have £2.40.”

(Both officers looked in the car at the meter, and the driver begrudgingly gave me the extra £2 before speeding off. The officers shrugged and left. I just made it to my train. The irony of it all was, he was also English.)

Why On Earth Would You Need To Know Where On Earth

, , , | Right | December 16, 2017

(I work in an airport.)

Customer: “How long does it take to get to Glasgow?”

Me: “But you’re in Glasgow.”

Customer: “Duh! I need to know how long it will take to get here.”

Me: “From where?”

(Blank stare.)

Me: “I need to know where you would be departing from.”

Customer: “Why on earth do you need to know that?”

Me: “Because flying from Australia would take considerably longer than if you were to fly from say, Southampton.”

Customer: “That’s stupid. You work in an airport and you can’t even answer such a simple question!” *walks away*

(I saw him approach several other staff, but none were able to help him. He left shouting about how incompetent we all were.)

Need A Thick-Skin To Be A Cashier

, , , , , | Working | November 9, 2017

(This happens during the Ebola epidemic in Africa. It has recently been reported that a woman from Glasgow has been quarantined after contracting it while working over there. I am recovering from my first ever allergic reaction, which left my skin blotchy and swollen. Normally I wouldn’t be outside, but life goes on and I need shopping. I’m currently checking out. The cashier has been looking at me strangely for the whole transaction.)

Cashier: “That’s £109.87, please.”

Me: “Oh, my reward card.”

Cashier: “Th-thank you?”

(She hesitantly takes it, trying to avoid touching my skin. She scans it and drops it on the other end of the counter.)

Cashier: “£98.87.” *while handing over cash* “Do you have card?”

Me: “No. Cash.”

Cashier: “Please, use card.”

(She activates the card reader and waits for me to use it.)

Me: “Look. I have £100 right here. I’m not using my card.”

(It takes the cashier a long time to reach for my money, but I sneeze into my other hand before she takes it.)

Cashier: *going pale* “YOU’VE GOT THE EBOLA!” *runs screaming through the store to who-knows-where*

Other Worker: *running up to me* “What on Earth?!”

Me: “She just said I had Ebola and ran off.”

(The other worker disappears and comes back roughly a minute later to finish my purchase.)

Other Worker: “Sorry about that. She said your face was peeling off, and that you gave her Ebola.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. I had an allergic reaction last week. I guess it must have scared her.”

Other Worker: “No, it’s not your fault. It’s just plain ignorance.”

(I paid, and as I left, the cashier was being dragged up to the front by EMTs. She was in full hysterics, shouting, “EBOLA!” at every customer who walked past. I’m fully recovered now, but whenever I’m in there and we lock eyes, she flees. I’m told by the others in there that she still thinks I have Ebola, and tries to call the police every time she sees me. They keep a tally in the back.)

That Refund Just Glided Through

, , , , , , | Right | October 31, 2017

(I work at the customer service desk dealing in returns, exchanges, etc. Today, a customer comes up to my colleague with a bottle requiring a pump-action to get the contents out.)

Customer: “I bought this the other day, but it’s not working; can I swap it for one that does?

Colleague: “No problem; if you bring up what you want to exchange it for, I’ll put it through.”

(The customer goes to get a replacement and comes back to the desk.)

Customer: “The thing is, I don’t want to get it home and find out it doesn’t work, either. Can you test it?”

Colleague: “Of course.”

(By this point, the customers and colleagues at the adjoining kiosk desk are laughing. My colleague presses down on the top and some of the contents squeeze out into her hand. The customer is quite happy as the exchange is put through.)

Colleague: *rounding on colleagues who are now rolling on the floor* “What’s so funny?”

(She looked down at the defective bottle in her hand and saw that it was sexual lubricant — which she now had on her hand. Everyone was laughing, including her, as she ran to the bathroom to wash her hands. By the end of my shift, about an hour and a half later, everyone working heard the story. You’d have to have a set of brass ones to go up to a customer services desk to say, “The lube doesn’t work!”)

Unfiltered Story #98581

, | Unfiltered | October 27, 2017

My co-worker (let’s call her A) and I make pizzas to order at a counter that also serves hot roat chickens; the shop also happens to be in a fairly pretentious area (this matters in a bit). Unfortunately, the juices from the chickens attract a lot of flies in the summer and we pretty much can’t do anything about it because chemical sprays aren’t allowed in the food prep area. What our boss does do is put up a bunch of very sticky panels at the top of the wall behind the hot counter in the hopes of fly-papering all of our “little friends”.

One day a customer came up to the counter and as A is making her pizza, the sticky black panels – by this time utterly covered in dead or dying flies – catches this woman’s eye and she asks if the flies up there are real. A instantly responds with “No it’s modern art.”
The woman doesn’t look convinced but A soldiered on. “We have lots of food back here, right, so what’s our worst fear? Flies. It’s a piece of modern art reflecting that.”

Now either A is the greatest liar of all time, or the customer figured that was to be expected in a snobby area (even in a fairly cheap supermarket), or she was just daft enough, but the woman believed it! She took her pizza, said “oh, okay”, and carried on her way.

A probably shouldn’t have really done that but hey, it’s funny.

Page 1/3123
Next »