We are constantly making little tweaks to our website, toeing the line between efficiency and user-friendliness, within the restraints of how the website and our back-end system are programmed. One thing we did was set up a whole “returns and cancelations” section on its own because people were frustrated having to go between open and closed orders trying to find the right one to return. Of course, other people then complained that they COULDN’T just click an order and hit return right there. They link to the return page, at least, but you can’t please everyone.

Enter this cheery individual. He orders a special-order item that is specifically listed as taking six to eight weeks to produce. This is 100% on the manufacturer, so we can’t do anything about it, but it’s fairly popular and most don’t mind the wait. The product comes in, we box it up and ship it to the customer, and it gets delivered. And then the phone rings.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Company]. This is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. Maybe you can help me, maybe you can’t, but why the f*** didn’t you cancel my order?”

Cursing is my primary language, so it’s not the vulgarity that throws me off; it’s how fluid and passive he is with how he says it — like he’s just asking for a cup of coffee.

Me: “I’m… sorry, sir. I can’t say. Can you give me your order number?”

Customer: “Shouldn’t have to; it’s the only order I’ve done lately.”

Me: “All right, then. Can I at least have your company name to look up?”

Customer: “Your little phone doesn’t say it?”

Me: “Unfortunately not — just the number you’re calling from.”

One big, dramatic sigh later, he does give me his company name. I confirm that the most recent order I see is the one he’s looking at and confirm that he received it. I look through our order system, check the emails, and look in our website’s back end.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see any indication that we received a cancelation request from you.”

Customer: “Well, I sent the silly little email you people need, so I don’t—”

Me: “I’m sorry for interrupting, sir, but we don’t have any emails from you. We specifically ask you to fill the information in the website so it gets sent to everyone that needs to see it.”

Customer: “Your website is the worst thing I’ve seen in this business, ever. I just sent it to the cancel email.”

Me: “What cancel email?”

Customer: “Cancel at [Company] dot com.”

This entire time, he’s had that same oddly placid tone, with only the occasional hint of condescension or derision. That last one is the only time it was more clearly said with an aura of “duh” about it. It’s starting to sound like he’s simply exhausted but also frustrated and upset, and the news I’m about to give him isn’t going to make him feel any better.

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, sir, that’s not an email address we have. You should have received an automated email stating that.”

Customer: “No, I got the automatic confirmation.”

Me: “Would you kindly look back and confirm that for me, sir?”

A sigh. The sound of clicking and typing. Another sigh. More clicking. A THIRD sigh. I’m mentally apologizing for apparently putting the weight of the cosmos on this man’s very soul.

Customer: “So, how do I get this fixed on your god-awful website?”

I pointed out where to go and what to fill in, confirmed that it came through right, and wished him a good day. Then, I looked up the man’s primary representative since he has an open account with us, and it turns out the way he was talking is just how he ALWAYS is. I think I need a coffee, and I know he does!

I’m flying home out of a very large airport. The TSA line is very long, but everyone’s waiting patiently. However, the agents are screaming at everyone for the most minor things. I step up to the next agent. I’m wearing a mask as it’s very crowded.

Me: “Here’s my ID and my boarding pass. Do you need me to pull my mask—”

TSA Agent: “PULL YOUR MASK DOWN!”

I pull it down. He checks my boarding pass and hands it back. He scans my ID but doesn’t hand it back. He waves me forward.

TSA Agent: “MOVE ALONG!”

Me: “Um, you have my—”

TSA Agent: “LOAD YOUR STUFF ONTO THE BELT! NEXT!”

He’s still holding my ID while trying to take the next person’s.

Me: “Can I please—”

TSA Agent: “YOU ARE HOLDING UP THE LINE!”

Me: “SIR! MAY I PLEASE HAVE MY ID BACK?!”

He jumps, looks down, and immediately hands it back.

Me: “THANK YOU!”

TSA Agent: “Geez, no need to yell. I would’ve gotten it back to you eventually!”

I muttered something uncomplimentary under my mask and loaded my stuff onto the belt for the X-ray machine, where another TSA agent yelled at me for being too slow.

I hate flying.

After much cajoling and general rude entitlement over “just fifteen minutes,” my manager allows an elderly woman into the store before we officially open. She sends me to follow the woman around and get her checked out as soon as possible. After I ring her up, we go through the payment process.

I recognize that not every retailer has the same card process and sometimes the elderly don’t understand modern technology. I try to be patient, but this woman has spent the entire time telling me how stupid it is that she can’t shop earlier than the store opens… despite being given that exact privilege. 

Me: “Okay, your total is [amount]. Will that be card or cash?”

Customer: “Card.”

The customer inserts her card and goes through the prompts.

Customer: “What does this mean: ‘press green circle to continue without entering PIN’?”

Me: “If you want to bypass the PIN option, you press the green circle in the bottom right. It’s to the right of the zero and under the nine.”

Customer: “I don’t want to use my PIN. Do I press the red X?”

She immediately presses the red X.

Me: “No, that canceled the transaction. Here, let’s try again.”

Customer: “Well, that’s what you told me to do.”

She swipes her card and the card reader beeps three times.

Customer: “Is it done?”

Me: “No. Since you have a chip, you need to insert the chip in the bottom of the reader like before.”

Customer: “I didn’t do that last time. Every d*** time I go shopping, it’s a hassle!”

I’m not getting into this argument.

Me: “Okay, just go ahead and insert your card there.”

She inserts and removes her card immediately.

Customer: “Where’s my receipt?”

Me: “You have to leave the card in until the machine tells you to take it out.”

Customer: “If I get charged multiple times, I’m going to sue you all.”

She jams the card in the slot.

Customer: “Okay? I’m leaving it.”

Me: “Okay. When you get to the PIN—”

Customer: *Aggravated* “I don’t want to use my PIN!”

Me: “I know. You just have to press the green circle in the bottom right corner. Do you see it?”

She pushes a button several times.

Customer: “Nothing is happening. Why won’t these computers work?!”

I walk around to her side and see several stars in the PIN box.

Me: “You’re probably hitting the zero by mistake. You have to press the green circle in the bottom right corner.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I will be writing to the governor about your store and the way you treat the elderly!”

She leaves without buying anything. My manager comes up to see why I have my head in my hands. Then, she sees the bagged products.

Manager: “You’re kidding me.”

Me: “Nope. She couldn’t figure out the card reader and got angry, and now she’s going to write to the governor about our ageism.”

Manager: “I don’t even know what to say to that.”

The woman returned the next day, again before we were officially open, and demanded to be let in early. [Manager] refused and left her standing outside the doors. By the time we opened, she was gone.

I am visiting a large downtown shopping mall with indoor parking over eight levels and for more than 1,500 cars. It is midday, and I decide to park on the top level — not something I usually do — and go and do some shopping. The parking garage is full and the mall is a zoo. It turns out that there is a regional cheerleader and dance competition in the adjacent convention center with over 1,500 participants today.

I get ready to leave and start driving down from level eight. At level seven, the line of cars comes to a complete stop. I sit in line for about fifteen minutes with no movement — not even one inch. Between me and the exit, there are probably more than 150 cars lined up.

Finally, I park and make my way down to the exit area on foot. I check the exit area, and there is not a single car going down the last ramp to the actual garage exit.

I go to the top of the last exit ramp and find that cars are completely ignoring the exit. I start trying to direct traffic to use the exit ramp — really, just turn right and you are out of there. But drivers look at me like I am an idiot and instead go straight, which leads to an up-ramp back into the garage.

Overhead at this point, there is a small sign that says, “Exit to the right,” but then I notice a different sign at eye level. It says, “LEVEL CLOSED,” in four-foot-high, bright red letters on a white background, and in small type below are the words, “CLOSED FOR PARKING” in black type on a blue background — really unreadable unless you look closely. While the bottom level IS closed for parking, that is still the way you need to go to get out of the garage — and regular users of this garage would know that.

That’s when I connect that the average driver here today is here for the competition, has never been in this garage, and is reading the wrong sign about where to go for the exit. I go over and knock down the “LEVEL CLOSED” sign, and then I am able to get cars to turn right.

One driver curses at me, thinking I work here.

Driver: “What the f***?! I’ve been driving in circles for the last hour and a half trying to get out!”

With that, I walked back up to my car, and the line to get out of the parking garage cleared up in about fifteen minutes.

I’m minding my own business in the toy aisle of a department store when a lady from the other end starts walking up to me. I haven’t been in retail for at least five years now, but apparently, one still maintains their Retail Sense.

Customer: “You! You got any kids?”

Me: “Uh, no?”

Customer: “Ah, darn…”

My Retail Sense is tingling.

Me: “I do have a niece and nephew, though.”

Customer: “Great! What would you get an eleven-year-old girl?”

I have always loathed that type of gendered question, as older kids are their own people! With their own unique interests and likes and dislikes! I internally sigh but figure I’ll help this lady so this poor random girl will at least get something nice.

Me: “Well, at eleven, she’s likely kind of established in her interests. Do you know what she likes?”

Customer: “Nope!”

The lady grins and continues before I can further ask.

Customer: “She’s my niece!”

Me: “…”

Customer: “She’s my favorite niece, actually; we have loads of fun together. I have eleven nieces and nephews, but I hang with her the most. I love that kid so much. But when I asked her what she wanted, she just told me to pick something I’d like! And…”

She begins to go into her Life Story while I desperately try not to judge how an aunt is unable to know enough about her favorite niece to get her something. Eventually, there’s a pause in her rambling.

Me: “Well, it sounds like she really enjoys spending time with you. Why not get an activity yins can do together? Or maybe a game?”

Customer: “Oh, yeah, we love games! That’s what my brother said, too, and…”

Another verse of the Life Story begins. Feeling that I’ve at least directed her to the right line of thinking, I go on my phone and pretend to compare prices or something. She continues her story with me giving small “oh”s and “mmhmm”s every now and then.

Customer: “Well, thanks. I have a good idea of what to get her now. Bye!”

I am so used to the “What to get [age]-year-olds?” questions during Christmas when strangers try to be nice and gift to the less fortunate. But this lady… I’m just shaking my head.