The Non-Gift-Receipt That Keeps On Giving

, , , , | Right | March 20, 2019

(I’m working as a cashier a month or two after the holiday season, like late January or February. A lot of customers come in without receipts — not even gift receipts — and want full refunds in the form of cash; both of these things are against store policy. A family walks in with a bag so I assume they’re going to return or exchange.)

Me: “Hello. How are y’all doing today?”

Customer: “I need to exchange this shirt I got as a gift; it’s too big.”

(It’s a large, and this dude is RIPPED, but he wants a medium.)

Me: “Okay, no problem. Can I see your receipt?”

Customer: “I don’t have one. It was a gift.”

Me: “Okay. If you don’t have a receipt or a gift receipt, can I have the name of the person who purchased it so I can see if they are enrolled in our rewards program?”

Customer: “Look. I just want to switch the shirt out.”

Me: “I understand, but without a receipt or the ability to locate the purchase, I will have to do a no-receipt return for you, and I can only give you the lowest price this shirt has ever been. I’d like to do an even exchange, if you could just give me the name of the person who purchased this for you, please.”

(The customer gives me the name, and I find it, so I explain that the shirt was purchased on sale and I can do an even exchange for that exact shirt in a different size. He comes back to the register with a gray shirt; I have already explained that he needs to get the same red shirt in his desired size.)

Me: *starting the return, hoping maybe the shirt is still on sale, only to find out it isn’t* “Okay. For the gray shirt, you will owe the difference, which is $10.”

Customer: “No, I’m not paying that.”

Me: “Unfortunately, I can’t correct the price unless it is the exact same item.” *as I had previously explained.*

Customer: *proceeding to yell and cuss at me in front of his wife and child* “This is bulls***! Whatever. I’ll pay the difference.”

Me: “Again, I apologize, but there is nothing I can do to lower the price unless you want to get the red shirt.”

(I take his money, complete the transaction, and tell them to have a good day.)

Customer: “Actually, I want that red shirt I just returned for the price it was purchased at the time my friend got it for me.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but this since it has been returned, I can only give it to you for the price it rings up now, which is the same price you just paid for the gray one.”

(He BLEW up, and my manager heard him and came up. She ended up having me give him the red one and his $10 back just to get him out of there, but a little bit of me died inside as he walked out calling me stupid because my manager backed down to him.)

Talking Total Bull

, , , , | Right | March 14, 2019

(I work at a popular chain of pet stores. I am casually browsing the treat aisle in my down time,  as the store is pretty dead, looking for something to keep my dog busy. We sell a wide variety of chews, including Bully Sticks, which are made of dried bull penis. A lot of people ask what they are made of, and some are horrified by my answer. This 70-year-old lady is different.)

Customer: “Excuse me. Could I trouble you with a question?”

Me: “Sure thing. What can I help you with?”

Customer: *holding up a Bully Stick* “What is this?”

Me: *trying to avoid saying the word “penis” to a nearly 70-year-old woman* “It’s a chew for dogs. It’s very tough and tends to take a long time to wear down, so it’s good for heavy chewers.”

Customer: “No, I mean what is it made of?”

Me: “It’s ah… um… It’s dried bull penis.”

Customer: “Okay, but is it beef?”

Me: *taken aback* “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Is this made of beef?”

Me: “It’s made out of bull so… yes.”

Customer: “No, you said it was made out of bull, but I want to know if it is made out of beef!”

Me: “Ma’am… bull is just the name for male cattle.”

Customer: “I don’t care what it is the name of! IS THIS BEEF?!”

Me: “Um… No, it is not.”

Customer: “Oh, well, I’ll find something else, then.” *ditches the Bully Stick and wanders off happily*

Copay And Say Over Again

, , , , | Healthy | March 14, 2019

(My insurance company has decided to stop covering one of my prescriptions for unknown reasons. I get a notice from them on a Friday afternoon, as well as an email from the pharmacy, that the prescription in question is due for a refill. Since it’s Friday at three pm, I figure I’ll just pay the cash price for it this month and call my insurance company next week. I click the link in the email to refill and go back to work. An hour later, I get a text update saying the prescription has been put on hold. I call my pharmacy.)

Me: “Hi. My name is [My Name], and I’m calling regarding my prescription I just sent for a refill.”

Rep #1: “Sure, I’ll look at that… Oh, it looks like your insurance won’t cover it for whatever reason.”

Me: “I know. I’ll just pay the cash price this month. How much will it be?”

Rep #1: *timidly* “[Amount].”

Me: “Okay, that’s fine. When can I pick it up?”

Rep #1: “You’re going to pay it?”

Me: “Well, sure. What other option do I have?”

Rep #1: “Oh… okay! I’ll finish it up for you. It should be ready in thirty minutes.”

Me: “Great. Thanks!”

(After I get out of work, I stop by the pharmacy. There’s a different rep behind the counter.)

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name], and I believe there’s one prescription ready for me.”

Rep #2: “Okay, I see that here. Hmm… looks like there’s a copay.”

Me: “I know.”

Rep #2: “There shouldn’t be.”

Me: “They already told me. [Amount], right?”

Rep #2: “Let me look into this.”

Me: “It’s okay. My insurance company screwed up. I’ll call them on Monday.”

Rep #2: “You shouldn’t have to pay for this. There’s never a copay on [prescription].”

Me: *slightly irritated that he just announced what I’m taking to the entire pharmacy* “It’s fine. Really. Can I just pay?”

Rep #2: “I can give you a discount.”

Me: “The copay’s not that bad. It’s been a long day and I’d really like to pay and go home.”

Rep #2: “If you’re sure… Okay, I’ll put it in. I’ll even throw on that discount. If you want to have a seat, I’ll holler when it’s ready.”

Me: “Uh… the lady I talked to earlier said it’d be ready by now.”

Rep #2: “No, we were waiting until you stopped in. It’ll only be about twenty minutes.”

(I’m extremely annoyed now, but I’m trying my best not to show it.)

Me: “Look, I’ll just come back tomorrow. No problem.”

Rep #2: “It’s only twenty minutes. Maybe less!”

(I wave and walk out. I drive back over the next day, where there is yet another rep behind the counter.)

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name], and there should be one ready for me.”

Rep #3: “Yes, it’s filled and ready to go. One minute while I grab it!”

(He grabs it and starts ringing me out.)

Rep #3: “Oh, um… I need to get the pharmacist. Something isn’t correct.”

Me: “If it’s the copay, I know about it! It’s not an issue!”

([Rep #3] disappears into the back. I throw up my hands in frustration. He comes back out a few minutes later.)

Rep #3: “There’s a copay on this. There shouldn’t be. We can look into this for you.”

Me: “LISTEN TO ME. You are the third person that I’ve explained this to. I know about the copay. It’s fine. My insurance company screwed up. All I want to do is pay and go home!”

Rep #3: “I apologize for the issue. I don’t know what happened with your insurance… Hold on. Did you say you are going to pay?!

Me: *through gritted teeth* “YES.”

Rep #3: “Oh. OH! Yes, I’d be happy to process that for you! No problem!”

(I can only imagine how many temper tantrums people have thrown over copays to prompt that reaction from THREE pharmacy techs!)

Put You Foot In Your Mouth For That One

, , , , | Right | March 7, 2019

(I am fresh out of massage school, working for a spa chain. Before I start, they give me a list of modalities, so I can put check marks next to which ones I do — for example, prenatal massage, hot stone therapy — but since I am fresh out of school I don’t do much. I check boxes for Swedish, deep-tissue massage, hands and feet, and that’s about it. This chart is for front desk eyes only, at some point they accidentally leave it on the counter and my client sees it. I take my client back and ask what he’d like to work on.)

Client: “Do you specialize in anything other than hands and feet?”

Me: “I actually do not specialize in hands and feet. We can fit the massage to whatever is bothering you, or we could do a full body.”

Client: “It says up front that you specialize in hands and feet.”

Me: “I’m sorry, I’m not sure where it says that, but I do not specialize in hands and feet. Are there any areas that are sore or bothering you?”

Client: *getting flustered* “Well, it says all you do is hands and feet, and I’m just trying to ask what else you specialize in!”

Me: “I don’t really have an area of the body that I specialize in. I can work on anything that you want.”

Client: *getting madder* “Okay. So. Hands and feet? You don’t specialize in anything else?!”

Me: *getting nervous* “We could do whatever you like. Or a full body. Would you like a full body?”

Client: “No! I guess I’ll take half the time on my feet and the other half on my hands.”

Me: *defeated* “Okay. I’ll step out of the room to wash my hands. You can put your clothes on the chair and get under the covers, face down.”

(During the foot massage, he mentioned twice that he could barely feel anything, and both times I told him that was as deep as I could go and offered to work on a different area. Both times he said no. Then, after the massage, he told the front desk that it was the “weirdest” massage he’d ever had. When they relayed the message I told them that it was the weirdest massage I’d ever given! This is when I discovered they’d left the paper out where I had put a check by “hands and feet.”)

That’s The Pay To Do It

, , , , , | Romantic | March 7, 2019

(My husband and I are in the bedroom. He’s very tired but he’s playing with our eleven-month-old baby on our bed so I can fold and put away the laundry. As I pull a shirt out of the basket, I see a dollar bill which I gleefully wave around.)

Me: “I just got paid!

Husband: *sleepily* “Good, now go buy yourself something nice.”

Me: *in a pretend pout* “You’re supposed to stick that into my bra when you say that!”

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