Unfiltered Story #103650

, | Unfiltered | January 14, 2018

(A coworker and I are working consessions. I’m serving my customer on one till, and my coworker is standing at the till next to me, ready for the approaching customer, who walks very quickly towards the till, he is obviously in a hurry.)
Coworker: Hi, what can I do for you?
Customer: I want to collect my tickets.
(He has a membership card, which can be used to buy tickets online, which can then be picked up from the tills. We use the cards to search by name. Unfortunately, if you type in someone’s full name it often won’t find their booking, so we type in the surname and then look for their first name on the list of bookings. If someone has a common surname, this list can be very long, meaning you have to scroll down a lot, previous bookings are on the system as well. This process can sometimes take a few moments. My coworker takes the customer’s card and types in his surname. He begins to scroll down a lot, since the customer’s surname is common and his first name starts with an “R”, and is repeatedly tapping the down arrow.)
Customer: Are you taking the p***?
Coworker: I’m sorry? No?
Customer: You’re taking forever, you’re all f****** rubbish at your jobs, you’re taking the f****** p***!
(The customer is referring to the fact my coworker was tapping the screen repeatedly, which made the customer assume my coworker was taking longer on purpose, which he wasn’t. My coworker is not the kind of person to put on a fake smile and continue to be polite when someone shouts at him.)
Coworker: Okayyyy…
(My coworker prints the tickets and hands them to the customer.)
Customer: You’re all f****** rubbish at this place, and I know you were taking the p***!
Coworker: I wasn’t, but alright mate, thanks.
(The customer storms off, but rather than going towards the screens, he goes back out the front door and leaves, despite now having his tickets. On his way out he punches the wall, and then when he’s out of sight we hear him scream in frustration. My coworker and I are both a bit shocked, and my customer looks worried as well. I apologise to my customer, and he goes off to his movie. My coworker brings up the angry customers booking, since his name is not hard to remember, and we see he had missed the start of his film, hence why he was in a hurry and why he left even though he had his tickets. My coworker goes to check the wall for damage, and then radios the manager to inform them of the incident. A few moments later the angry customer came back in to watch his movie, although he is clearly embarrassed about his outburst and the fact he just left and then came back.)

Can’t Safely Pin That Job

, , , , , , , | Working | December 21, 2017

This happened back in the mid 90s. I had recently graduated, and was now applying everywhere I could to get a job with my engineering degree. One such place was a government research establishment, and I was delighted to be granted an interview. It was on the other side of the country, and I was reliant on public transport, as I didn’t have a car. Also, as I was a poor ex-student, I couldn’t afford a new wardrobe. However, the suit I wore for my university interviews was still in good enough condition, so I wore that.

I had researched my connections thoroughly, and arrived in the area in plenty of time. After a pleasant stroll nearby, I arrived at the reception and security block about 15 minutes early. I signed in, and was told to take a seat as someone would be with me shortly.

As I went to sit down, I felt something give. I reached behind me, and could feel a tear in my trousers. I shot off to the toilet to inspect the damage, and was horrified to see that the tear started between my legs and went about half way up my backside!

I decided I needed help. I explained the problem to the receptionist, and asked her if she had any safety pins. She didn’t, but she was able to offer me some paper clips. I retrospect I should have asked to borrow a stapler, but my brain was in full panic mode. I gratefully accepted the paper clips and headed back to the toilet.

Whilst I couldn’t just clip my trousers together, I found that by unwinding the clips I could use them to wire my trousers closed. This now presented me with another problem – sitting down. Fortunately, when I did come to sit down, I found that the metal ended up in my, um, natural crevasse. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, but I was very much aware that I was being jabbed, and as a result my mind wasn’t fully on the interview.

During the tour of the facility, I was glad that the place wasn’t teeming with people, as I wasn’t entirely confident that the back panel of my jacket was covering everything I needed it to. So, I made sure that I was always walking by the side of, or just behind my guide, and I certainly never went up the stairs in front!

After the interview, my ordeal was far from over. Being a poor graduate, I had spent most of my money on the travel costs, and I did not have anything to spare for buying new trousers. So, it was a walk to the bus stop, followed by a bumpy bus ride — not ideal when having metal pressed in places that could lead to a stainless steel enema if the potholes got any worse — and then a lengthy train journey. After that, it was a trip on a very crowded underground ride through London. It was rush hour, which meant that I was stood up for the duration, much to my backside’s relief, but it did mean that my rear was now potentially at the eye-line of the seated passengers. I hope they got therapy afterwards.

Then it was one more train journey back to my hometown, and then a half-mile walk home. There, I received the love and sympathy one would expect from my parents, once they had finally stopped laughing.

I never did hear back about the job. I expect that the interviewers were either puzzled by how someone with an upper second-class honours degree could appear to be so vacant, or they were too traumatised by the visions they received. Whilst I don’t think I did give anyone a full moon, as my boxer shorts did remain intact, I suspect that some people received a partial lunar eclipse.

Should Éire On The Side Of Caution

, , , , , | Right | November 13, 2017

Customer: “So, you sound English; that’s rare these days.”

Me: *sitting there, very white, and with alarm bells sounding* “Um, yes. I was born and raised here.”

Customer: “You can never tell whether someone is really English.”

Me: “Well, if we are being fully accurate, I am ethnically Irish.”

Customer: “Well, Ireland’s part of England, anyway.”

Me: “I wouldn’t say that to someone not being paid to sit quietly.”

Unfiltered Story #95730

, | Unfiltered | September 29, 2017

(I was working in a supermarket, straightening out some of the seasonal displays when a woman comes up to me. She has a trolley full of shopping, but it’s all in bags so she has probably already paid for it.)

Customer: “Can you carry my shopping home for me? I asked at the till but the idiot on there didn’t seem to understand what I was asking. I don’t know why you hire those foreigners if they can’t speak a word of English.”

Me: *Trying my best to smile politely despite her comment* “Oh, we don’t carry shopping to a customer’s home. We can help you take it to your car-”

Customer: “I don’t have a car.”

Me: “Oh well there’s nothing I can do, I’m afraid. Where do you live? I’m fairly familiar with the bus schedule – plus several buses stop at the stand just outside. I’ll bet one of them goes to where you live. I could even walk with you to the stand and take a look at the timetable. They’ve got one posted up there.”

Customer: “No! I want somebody to carry my shopping. Why don’t you understand?”

Me: “I do understand what you are asking, madam, I just can’t do it. Nobody in this store is going to be able to help you carry your shopping home.”

Customer: “This isn’t good enough! I want to see your manager!”

*I put a call for a manager and wait with the customer for one to arrive. As we wait the customer is rambling about how stupid everyone is. Finally the manager arrives.*

Manager: “What seems to be the problem?”

Customer: “Your staff are stupid. I just want somebody to carry my shopping for me.”

Manager: “Um … okay. We can carry your shopping to your car-”

Customer: “No! I want somebody to carry it to [gives her address which will easily take 15-20 minutes to walk there].”

Manager: “So you want one of our staff to carry your shopping to your house?”

Customer: “Yes! Why can’t your idiot staff understand that?”

Manager: “Madam, we can’t do that. It’s against company policy. Staff can help carry shopping to your car, but not all that way. If you like, you can use our phone to call a taxi. Or there’s a bus stop just there, the [bus number] stops where you live.”

Customer: “But I don’t WANT to get a bus or a taxi. I’ve spent £60 at your shop! £60! I don’t have enough money left for a bus or a taxi. It’s too heavy to carry. You had better find somebody to carry my shopping NOW. I am a paying customer.”

Manager: “I’m sorry, madam, but as I explained, none of our staff will be able to walk your food home. I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you borrow the trolley – take it home and bring it back tomorrow, or the next time you’re in.”

Customer: “What?! But I’ll look stupid pushing a trolley through town! No! Carry my shopping home for me NOW!”

Manager: “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen. Is there a friend or family member you could get in touch with? You can use our phone.”

Customer: “NO! I just want my food home now. You should carry it! It’s too heavy!”

Manager: “I’m sorry but I’ve given you your options. Nobody is going to carry your shopping home for you.”

Customer: “Do you know I’ve spent lots of money here today? Over £60! £60! I’ll bet no other customer has spent that much in your store today.”

Manager: “Madam, even if you spent £500, our staff would still not carry your shopping home. It’s against our health and safety policy and it is for insurance reasons. Now, do you want to use our phone to call somebody, or borrow the trolley?”

Customer: “You’re all terrible people – making a disabled woman like me carry her shopping home. I’m going to tell everyone you made a disabled woman carry all this shopping home!

*The woman grabbed her bags out of the trolley and makes her way out of the store.*

(The customer came storming in the next day saying she threw her back out because we refused to carry her shopping home and we had made her ‘more disabled’. She threatened to sue us. We gave her the details for our legal department at head office but we never heard anything more about the matter.)

Unfiltered Story #95728

, | Unfiltered | September 29, 2017

(I used to work for an energy supplier. Because I work in arrears, I am used to abusive calls but one day I have one that takes the cake. A colleague comes to me saying he has a woman on the phone asking for me by name claiming I sent an inappropriate letter. We get a lot of customers who don’t like being told they owe money. Thinking this is just such a case, I tell him to put the caller through.)

Me: “Hello, you’re speaking to [my name]. I understand you have a query about a letter?”

Customer: “You’re [my name]?”

Me: “That’s right.”

Customer: “Who in the h*ll do you think you are sending my husband letters?”

Me: “The letter you received was addressed to your husband?”

Customer: “That’s right. I’m his wife.”

Me: “I may not be able to talk to you unless I have his permission. Is he there with you? Or are you named on the-”

Customer: “Now you listen here, b*tch. How dare you write to my husband you wh*re! You think you’re the first woman I’ve chased away? You stay the h*ll away from my husband you filthy wh*re. He’s MY husband, not yours.”

Me: “You’ve called a utility company. Any letter sent out would have been in regards to his electricity account and would in no way be personal. Now please stop using that language or I will be forced to terminate the call.”

Customer: “Yeah well if this is a utility company why did you sign the letter?”

Me: “Because I work for the company. Now, what does the letter say? Does it have an account number on it?”

Customer: “You wrote it. You tell me.”

Me: “Madam, I write to countless customers every day. Now what does the letter say?”

Customer: “Well that just makes you a filthy sl*t. Stop writing letters to my husband! You f*ck your own husband and leave mine alone.”

Me: “Madam, this is your final warning.”

Customer: “B*tch you think you can take me? I’ll tear your f*cking wh*re face off! Leave my husband the f*ck alone, stop sending him dirty letters, stop calling him – I don’t ever want to see your name again, you hear me [my name]?”

*As per our policy I advise the customer that due to her language and threats I am terminating the call. She screams over me the whole time, continuing to make threats until I hang up. It’s worth noting that the only letters that have agent names rather than manager names signed on them are letters confirming payment plans we’ve set up, and they’re a mail-merge letter – we don’t actually write them.*

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