One Door Closes… And That’s It

, , , , | Working | March 30, 2018

(My husband and I are students. We just moved into a new apartment yesterday with our baby. The front door and balcony door are at the same corner of the living room, and a small gate separates the balcony from the stairwell. Every apartment has matching keys for its front and balcony doors. We spend our first morning in the apartment unpacking, then go to the store for groceries and some storage shelves, leaving through the balcony door. Returning with cold groceries, and a baby screaming in hunger — and anger at being in the hot car again right after riding across the country in the backseat with no rear AC vents — we find that the balcony door does not open with our key, and the front door is still chained shut from the inside. I call the office.)

Me: “Hi, I’m locked out of my apartment, because the front door is chained shut from the inside, and whoever re-keyed the apartment didn’t re-key the balcony door. Now I’m locked outside with groceries and a screaming baby.”

Desk Guy: “Oh no! Why don’t you come down to the office and get the spare key so you can get inside to your child?”

(He continues to misunderstand the situation, thinking that my baby is inside instead of outside with me. He also doesn’t understand my concerns of whether the spare will work when my copy doesn’t, and insists that I come down for a spare key. I go get the key, and he tells me he’ll call the locksmith.)

Me: *taking the spare that’s just as shiny and new as mine* “Great. I guess I’ll return this after I break in through my open window.”

Desk Guy: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Because the front door that the key works on is chained shut from the inside, like I told you three times on the phone!”

(Sure enough, the key didn’t work. When the locksmith showed up, he found that the problem was that the door was shutting wrong due to maintenance never replacing the worn-out weather seal. We plan on being ruthless with the office about all the problems they’ve decided to let linger with the fact that the building will be demolished next year!)

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Unless One Of These Hot Tubs Is The Fountain Of Youth…

, , | Working | March 30, 2018

(I work at a pool, and like most pools, we have an age requirement for the hot tubs. Anyone under the age requirement must have an adult with them. Our hot tubs are not near the pool, and are off-deck. As a result, people will ask us where they are and, if they look young, we have to ask their age. On this day, it is a busy public swim, and I am scanning, when a short girl comes up to me.)

Girl: “Hi, are there any hot tubs in this building?”

Me: *still scanning* “Yep, but how old are you?”

Girl: “Twenty-seven?”

(I immediately turn my head to look at her and realize she is actually a lot older than I thought she was.)

Me: “Oh, sorry. Yes, we absolutely do.”

(I proceeded to give her directions, but she still looked at me funny until she left to find the hot tub. It was only later that I realized I was so flustered, I forgot to mention why I was asking for her age in the first place.)

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Upselling Is Their Downfall

, , , , , | Working | March 29, 2018

(I get a call from my husband saying that we will have a friend from out of town staying over for a weekend. We have just moved into a new house and do not have furniture for the guest bedroom yet. I head down to a furniture store to purchase a bedroom set. Immediately after I enter, a salesman approaches me and asks what I’m looking for. This particular company’s employees work on commission, so it’s not unusual.)

Me: “We have guests coming in two days and I need a full bedroom set: queen-sized bed frame, mattress, dresser, nightstand, etc. Bedding would be great, too, so I don’t have to visit another store!”

Salesman: “Perfect, anything particular in mind?”

Me: “Well, since it’s for a guest room, I’d like to stay on the cheaper side. It may only be used once or twice in the next year.”

Salesman: “Okay, great. Over here, we have our [Fancy Descriptive Name #1] set; it includes a dresser, armoire, king-sized headboard and footboard, frame, and two nightstands. It comes in dark wood or white. Which color would you prefer?”

(I look over at the set he is referencing, and the price tag is well over $8,000 — without the mattress!)

Me: “I’m sorry, but as I said, it’s for a guest room, and I want to stay on the cheaper side. I’m pretty sure this is the most expensive set in here, and, as I said, I need a queen-sized set. King would be too wide for the room with the dresser.”

Salesman: “No worries! I also have this [Fancy Descriptive Name #2] set that comes with a dresser, double headboard and footboard, frame, and one nightstand. This one is only available in light-wood, but it’s a great set and sure to brighten up the dull house.”

(Not once have I described my home to him, and as a matter of fact, it is a gorgeous house with oak trim and moulding, Berber carpets, hardwood, and slate tile. The price tag on the second set is $3,500.)

Me: “Okay… So, again, I need queen-sized, and on the cheaper end. It doesn’t have to be solid wood. I’m fine with an MDF (Medium Density Fiberboard) set. I’d like to stay under $1,500.”

Salesman: “I don’t think I can work with that budget and get you something nice. How about this?”

(He shows me a single bed with an ornate canopy frame and marble-embedded dresser trim.)

Me: “Thanks for your time.”

(I start walking away but spot the perfect set tucked away in a corner. Clearance pricing, queen-sized bed, dresser, and nightstand. It’s very close to my total budget, as I’d need a mattress still, but looks to be well worth the price.)

Salesman: “Ah, that set is on clearance due to being the floor display. You don’t want that; it’ll look cheap.”

Me: “I’ll take it. What is the cheapest mattress you have?”

Salesman: “No, really. You don’t want that set, unless you can’t afford something nicer.”

Me: “Thanks for your opinion, but I’d like this one. Again, what’s your cheapest mattress?”

Salesman: “If you insist! Our [fancy memory foam pillow top mattress] is on sale right now, for only $1,199!”

Me: “I’ll look myself, thanks. Ring me up for the bedroom set and I’ll let you know which mattress I decide on.”

(I find a good quality mattress on sale for only a couple hundred dollars, and it seems to be the cheapest one. I return to the salesman, who is watching me like a hawk, and point to the one I want. He tries to upsell some more, but finally understands I’ll have none of it. We are completing the order on the till and he gives me my total, several thousand dollars higher than my math says it should be.)

Me: “Uh, why is the price so high? It should be $3,200 less than that.”

Salesman: “Oh, I figured you’d rather have a brand new bedroom set instead of the floor model, and I added a [slightly higher quality, but double the price] mattress, instead, and gave you 10% off.”

Me: “I want the items I picked out. That’s all I’ll pay for. Is there a manager around?”

Salesman: “I’m the manager on duty, currently! So, debit or credit? If you put it on your [Store] credit card, you don’t have to pay for a whole year, or you can finance it over three years and get the nicer set I know you want but can’t afford! I know it’s tough right now, but financing is the best way to get nice things. Wouldn’t want your guests thinking you’re poor, huh?” *snickers*

(I’m now in total shock and disgust, but noticing the time, I realize that every other furniture store is already closed, and I live 45 minutes away.)

Me: “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. Either you can shut your mouth and sell me what I asked for, and stop insulting me, or you can get another salesperson to serve me and get the commission. Your choice.”

Salesman: “All I was saying is—”


(I walk away and find another salesperson, a woman, standing by the door. I explain what I need, show her what I want, and she rings me up.)

Saleswoman: “Great! Will that be on your [Store] credit card?”

Me: “No, and not interested. I think this will be the last time I shop here.”

Saleswoman: “I’m sorry to hear that. I put a 10% off coupon on your entire purchase for the hassle. The total is [amount less than I anticipated].”

Me: “Great. Debit, please.”

(I slide my card into the reader. The saleswoman starts a little spiel and mentions that my order will be ready to be picked up on the following Monday.)

Me: “Wait, what? I need it for this weekend. Now. It’s Thursday night; my guests arrive tomorrow afternoon. I have my truck, and my dad is bringing another from [Town an hour away] right now. He’s almost here! Everything I want is sitting right there; that mattress is in stock!”

Saleswoman: “Actually, that mattress is sold to another customer and awaiting pickup on [date two weeks from today]. We would have to bring you one from the warehouse, and it will get here on Monday.”

Me: “Can’t you sell me that one, and keep the other for the other customer? That’s two weeks away; that’s plenty of time.”

Saleswoman: “I’m sorry, no. I can’t do that. That’s the last one we have, and the warehouse is out.”

Me: “WHAT AM I PAYING FOR, THEN? You know what? Never mind. Forget it. I’m done.”

(I walked out, and both salespeople stood there looking confused as to why I was so mad. I checked the local classifieds on my phone and found the EXACT set in great shape, with a brand new mattress, for $500. The best part? The seller lived five doors down from me.)

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At Least You Broke Bread Together

, , , | Right | March 29, 2018

(A woman walks up to the counter with a bag from another store. I think nothing of it because people bring things back in bags that aren’t ours all the time.)

Woman: *sets bag on counter* “Hi! I need to exchange this. It just didn’t fit right.”

(I nod and look in the bag. Inside is a loaf of bread. I look up at the woman, not sure what to say.)

Woman: “The tags are still on it and everything!”

Me: “Er…”

Woman: *looks down at the bag and goes red* “Oh, God! Please just don’t say anything. This is the wrong bag. I’ve just been shopping with my grandchildren. Oh, my God.”

Me: *trying so hard not to laugh* “It’s fine.”

Coworker: “That sounds like something I would do; don’t feel bad.”

(The woman then went to her car and got the right bag, which was one of our bags. Our bags are paper and very large, nothing like the small plastic bags from the other store.)

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Time For Tea… Fifteen Minutes Ago

, , , , , | Working | March 29, 2018

My husband and I go through a drive-thru. I order a peppermint tea with honey, but the drive-thru lady asks me to repeat myself.

This situation repeats itself three times with no success, so she asks us to pull through to the window. Once we get there, she doesn’t greet us, but accusingly tells us she couldn’t hear us.

I repeat my order, but she doesn’t really seem to understand. She then disappears for a while, comes back and says there’s just black tea. I agree to have a plain black tea, but it takes her a while to realize I just want boiling water with a tea bag, not iced or with added flavours or anything. We also request a cherry slushie. The employee says yes, but spends at least five minutes at the till, trying to punch it in and saying that the computer is broken.

Meanwhile, two cars in the drive-thru behind us get fed up with waiting and leave the lineup.

Finally, the employee gives us our total: $1.95. My husband and I exchange a look, as that seems too cheap for two drinks. Nevertheless, we pay, and drive to the pickup window.

One of the store managers is at the till, and he apologizes, saying that the computers are down. He hands my husband a fruit punch slushie — not the cherry we requested, and it’s not even filled all the way to the top — and is about to close the window, when we ask him about the tea, which, of course, he had no idea about. He then grabs a cold cup, and we have to explain all over again that we just want a plain cup of hot tea.

The whole interaction took at least 15 minutes. We were not impressed!

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