I am a relatively new hire at my current job, which I enjoy. The store in which I am working is very large and sells home decor items, wall art, garden items, and some furniture. However, the building in which it is located was previously, for many years, a very different store which sold a lot of things.

I’m getting used to being asked for things that our store doesn’t sell but which the old store did, because even after over a year, people are still not cottoning on to the fact that we are not that store.

These are all questions I have legitimately been asked.

Customer #1: “Do you sell DVDs?”

Customer #2: “Where is the appliance section?”

Customer #3: “Do y’all have switchblades?”

Customer #4: “Where are your pajamas?”

It took everything in me not to answer, “In my dresser.” And then there was this woman:

Customer: “Here’s my card.”

Me: “Ma’am, that’s a rewards card for the supermarket.”

Customer: “What? Well, where am I?”

I work at a customer service center for a big box retailer. One of our tasks is cashing paychecks for people. There is a 1% fee for the service, with the option to load it on a prepaid card for free if it is done in the same transaction. If not, the fee is $3.

Two construction workers come in together, checks in hand.

Customer #1: “Hey, chickadee. Got my paycheck. You got my money?”

Me: “If you’ve got your ID.”

I take his license and make sure everything matches.

Customer #1: “You like us coming in, don’t you?”

I smile politely, avoiding the question.

Me: “And if you’ll just enter your social security number on the PIN pad…”

Customer #2: “She does. You can see her blushing.”

Me: “Okay. You’re cashing a check for [amount], minus 1% for the service, which brings you to [new amount]. Would you like that in cash or loaded on a card?”

Customer #2: “Why?”

Me: “Well, if you load it on a card now, it’s free. If you do it in another transaction, it’s $3.”

Customer #1: “Cash, sweetheart.”

Me: “You don’t want to load it on a card?”

Customer #1: “No, I’ll take large bills.”

Me: “All right.”

I finish the transaction and count the cash back — starting over several times since they keep interrupting my counting — and wish them well.

Me: “Have a good night, gentlemen.” *Looking around them* “I can help—”

Customer #1: “Hold up! I want this on a card.”

Me: “I just asked if—”

Customer #1: “No, you didn’t. You just flopped all this cash down.”

Me: *Frustration building* “No, I asked twice. If you want it loaded on a card, it’s $3.”

Customer #2: “Bull-f******-s***! It’s $3?! You can’t charge for a f****** service! This is America!”

Customer #1: “Get me your manager, b****! You’re gonna do this and you’re gonna do it for free.”

Me: *Shrugs* “Okay.” *Over the loudspeaker* “Manager to customer service.”

A low-end manager comes to the desk and says he didn’t have the authority to waive the fee. I know that is a lie, but I don’t say anything.

Customer #2: “Then get someone who can do their g**d*** job.”

Manager: “Of course, sir.” *Over the loudspeaker* “Manager to customer service for a card fee override.”

Several people in the area look over at us, some glaring at the men.

Customer #1: *Blushes* “You can’t just call for a manager?”

Manager: *Smiling* “You have to have a certain authority to override fees. I wouldn’t want you to have to wait any longer if the wrong person came.”

The manager looks beyond the men, walking away.

Manager: “Excuse me.”

Though I was sure the other manager on duty was one who would override the fee to keep the customer happy, I was wrong. The store manager had asked via management headset what was going on, which was why the first manager left. The store manager came up himself and told the men that they would have to pay the fee. They decided not to load the card after all.

Related:
A Fee-ble Attempt At Avoiding The Fees, Part 2
A Fee-ble Attempt At Avoiding The Fees

I am currently subbing for a receptionist at a healthcare office. Our phone number is one digit off from a medical bill payment company. It’s my first day, and I have had this conversation three times already before lunch.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Healthcare Office]. How may I help you?”

Caller: *In a thick southern accent* “Hi, I received this bill here, and I need to make a payment to my account.”

This office does not send out any kind of billing, nor does it handle any account payments. I already know where this is headed.

Me: “Okay, could you just read off the phone number on the bill for me?”

Caller: “The phone number? You mean the one I just called?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Caller: “Well, that’s just a silly question! I obviously called you guys from the number on this letter!” *Laughs* “Well, that just don’t make any sense!”

He continues on for a moment before I manage to break in, trying a new tactic.

Me: “I know it’s a silly question, but I just want to confirm we’re in the right place. Just double-checking, did they give you [Med Bill Company]’s number?”

Caller: “Yeah! That’s the number I called!”

Me: “All right, sir, I think I found the problem. [My Company] is one digit off from them. We are [our number]. You are trying to reach [correct number].”

Caller: *Pauses* “Oh! I see! I am so sorry, ma’am! You sound like you’ve been through this before. I really apologize for the mistake. Thanks for your help. Have a good day!”

I could hear him muttering to himself as he hung up. Rinse and repeat for the rest of the afternoon, but nobody was quite as polite!

I enter a store and go directly to the corner where I know I’ll find the articles I am interested in. I make my choice and go to the counter. Nobody is there. I wait patiently, thinking the person who should be behind the counter needed a bathroom break or something. No one shows. I yell. No reaction. I try again a bit louder. Nothing.

Fed up, I go up the stairs toward the doors, leaving the things I picked up on the counter. The doors are locked. Now, I’m a bit claustrophobic and the fact that I can’t get out makes me feel like freaking out. I manage to keep my anxiety down by taking action — I usually can stop a full-blown panic attack by diverting my attention if panic levels are not too high — and start looking up the number for the local police station. Google to the rescue! While on hold, I hear something at the door and it opens. The store owner or attendant or whoever has the key enters. I hang up.

Owner: *Accusingly* “How did you get in?”

I’m a tad ticked off.

Me: “Through the door!”

Owner: “Which door? How did you find the back door?”

Me: “I entered through that door.”

I indicate the door she just opened.

Owner: “Well, why didn’t you tell me you were in the store?!”

I’m totally flabbergasted, with a lot of responses going through my head, varying from the less polite to the very much less polite.

Me: “Why didn’t you warn me you were leaving?”

Owner: “You should have told me you were in here!”

Me: “Well, in a minute, I no longer will be. You’ll find the articles I picked on the counter.”

I need to add that I was in an obscured corner in an otherwise open plan shop. No, I did not see her behind the counter — which is placed directly opposite the door — upon entering, but I knew there was usually only one person in the shop and, as I said, I thought she was on a bathroom break. Thinking back, she probably was getting her purse and coat in the back, and as I made a beeline to the screened-off part of the store, we crossed each other unnoticed. I do understand she was a bit shocked finding someone in what she thought to be an empty shop — I was in plain view when she entered –and I probably would have been more forgiving if she was more apologetic and less accusing. To this day, I have never returned and I don’t plan to.

I have to close a real estate deal where my clients are three sisters who all live in different states. Two of the sisters are great to deal with; they’re prompt, intelligent, and courteous. The third, not so much.

I send a long email with, “Please read this email very carefully and follow all the instructions,” in big, bold letters at the top. The gist of the email is that each sister needs to print the documents I sent three times, get their ID notarized, and send everything to me. There are about fifteen documents in all.

The first and second sisters send me everything with no issues. The third sister sends me one document.

This means that she opened the file I sent, printed one of the pages at random, went to a notary and signed it, and sent it to me by courier.

I follow up and tells her that she needs to send me all of the documents, not just one, and her notarized ID.

A few days later, I get the package. She has signed all but two of the documents and her ID isn’t there at all.

On the third try, she finally manages to get me her ID and the remaining documents. 

We close the deal and I email the sisters, asking them to decide how they want the money divided and what accounts they want it deposited into so that I can draft a payment direct for them to sign.

The third sister immediately emails me her banking information.

I’m not convinced she can read.