(I do tech support for a small telephone company. At the start of every call, we ask for the customer’s name and phone number. The calls are usually routed to us through the business office, so the number that shows up on the caller ID doesn’t help identify the customer.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Company] Telecom. My name is [My Name]. Can I get your name and a good phone number to call you back on, in case we get disconnected?”

Caller: “Hi, yes, thanks. I — oh, hang on, I’ve got a call coming in on my cell.” *thirty seconds of rustling, distant voices, etc.* “Okay, never mind. Anyway, sorry. I’m having trouble with my phone service.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that, but I’d be happy to help! Can I—”

Caller: “It will drop out randomly. I’ll just be talking, and then it will disconnect out of the blue.”

Me: “I understand. Is there a—”

Caller: “It’s been happening for a couple of weeks now, but this is the first I called because I’ve been busy.”

Me: “No problem! Let me get a good—”

Caller: “Are you the right person to help with this? I really want to get it fixed.”

Me: “I can absolutely help, but first, can I ask—” *click*

(I’m the front desk manager at a hotel. One night an irate caller gets put through to me.)

Me: “Good evening. This is [My Name] speaking. How can I assist you tonight?”

Customer: *in a very rude and condescending tone* “Well, I don’t know; do you think you can help me? I called here last night to reserve a room. I was offered an email confirmation and I’m still waiting for it, so… Yeah.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that, ma’am. Let’s see if we can figure out why you haven’t gotten it yet. Can I have your name, please?”

Customer: *sighs* “Yes. My name, again, is [Customer]. I reserved my room for next Friday.”

Me: “Yes, I see that here. Let me just confirm your email address. Is it—” *I read out her email address and confirm the spelling*

Customer: “Yes, yes, yes, that’s my email address. Now, the problem isn’t with the address; it’s with you guys not doing your jobs. All I wanted was an email confirmation of my reservation. I waited all night for it and I never got anything. I’m checking my emails right now, and I don’t… Oh.”

(At this point I’m looking at the email in our sent messages, and I see that it was delivered within minutes of her making the reservation. Before I have a chance to say anything else, the customer speaks again.)

Customer: “Oh, wait. Um… Yeah. Okay. I see it; I have it. Okay, well, that’s all I needed, then. Thank you.” *click*

(I never did get an apology for how she spoke to me at the beginning of the call. When she did finally check in, she acted just as entitled and rude towards my front desk clerk as she had been to me on the phone, so I quickly introduced myself and asked if she’d had any more trouble printing her confirmation. She shut up quickly and was pretty quiet for the rest of her stay.)

Related:
Email Fail, Part 14
Email Fail, Part 13
Email Fail, Part 12

(I work at my local pool as a lifeguard. During this rotation I’m in charge of the slide. I notice a little girl about to go down with goggles on; we don’t allow kids to wear goggles on the slide.)

Me: *to the little girl* “Sweetie, could you take off your goggles?”

Little Girl: “Okay!”

(She goes down and doggie paddles slowly to the exit stairs as she speaks to her grandmother.)

Grandmother: *to little girl* “Hey, [Little Girl], where are your goggles?”

Little Girl: “The lifeguard said I couldn’t wear them.”

Grandmother: “Well, that’s outrageous.” *to me* “Why can’t she wear goggles?”

Me: “The slide makes the rider go too fast for the goggles to stay on, which causes them to fall to the bottom of the diving well. Then, I have to go get them.”

Grandmother: “That’s nonsense! You cater to us; it’s in your job description. Let the people have a fun time.”

Me: “Actually, my job is patron surveillance, not aquatic party planner.”

Grandmother: *storms up the stairs to the slide* “I’ll prove these things won’t fall off.” *goes down slide, and the goggles fall off*

(Pause.)

Grandmother: “Would you get that for me?”

(I fall in my house while holding my two-year-old. As I fall, I turn my body to hold her against the wall so I do not crush her, and as a result, end up with a spiral fracture on my fibula, and a broken and dislocated ankle. When I arrive at the hospital, they try to wrench my ankle back into place but don’t quite align it, so they have to do it again. Of course, this time I know it’s coming, so they decide to use some sort of anesthesia that is meant to make the patient woozy and forget what happened. I’m concerned about whether this will work, and express that concern to the nurse preparing me for the injection.)

Nurse: “Don’t worry; you won’t remember a thing! It probably won’t hurt, either.”

Me: “Can’t you just use this with some actual pain medicine, too?”

(The only pain medicine I’ve received at ALL has been two doses of Fentanyl administered by the paramedics, an hour ago. Fentanyl at the dose I was given lasts 20 minutes, tops.)

Nurse: “Look: you won’t remember, and you won’t feel anything. The only time you might feel something is if I pricked you with a pin, or something!” *he says this as though he’s a genius for thinking of this persuasive argument*

Me: “You mean like the kind of pain I’d feel if someone was moving around my dislocated ankle?!”

(I remembered everything. They also acted like they were doing me a massive favor in keeping me overnight instead of sending me home with three broken bones before surgery the next day. I finally got pain medicine six hours later at the room they begrudgingly gave me, and the call button didn’t work! I had to call my own room phone number with my cell phone and let it ring until a nurse came, because I couldn’t find the nurse’s station phone number!)

(We are at a local town hall for a New Year’s party. The DJ comes in and starts to get all set up. He looks and acts frustrated. From the sounds of it this was a last minute thing his boss tossed his way. He grumbles and groans but gets set up fairly quickly. He grabs the mic.)

DJ: “Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3. Everyone hear me?”

(We cheer and holler.)

DJ: “Okay, folks, let’s get this party started; the more you drink the more fun we have!”

(There was dead silence. One of the party coordinators ran up to him and whispered something to let him know that this was an Alcoholics Anonymous party. There was no alcohol. The DJ did apologize, and then ran outside, cell phone in hand. Those near the door could hear him yelling at someone on the phone for not telling him it was an AA party. The rest of the night went smoothly and we all had fun.)