Customer: *Obviously upset* “Your machine ripped me off! I was supposed to get twenty-nine cents and it only gave me twenty-four!”
I look at the four pennies and one quarter in his hand.
Me: “Sir, that is twenty-nine cents.”
Customer: “No, it isn’t! Your machine ripped me off!”
Me: “Sir, a quarter is twenty-five cents.”
I can see the realization on his face.
Customer: “Oh, f****** h***!”
Me: “Don’t worry. It’s still early. Try to have a good day.”
The wife and I are in the market for our first house. We meet our realtor outside a house he’s about to show us.
Realtor: “The instructions say, ‘Don’t go near stuffed tiger.’”
Wife: “Stuffed tiger?”
Realtor: “Yeah, the notes say the last realtor got hurt. Had to go to the emergency room.”
Me: “Interesting.”
Confident the realty company wouldn’t put us in mortal danger, we go in to find an eight-foot taxidermied Bengal tiger, claws outstretched. The claws are covered in cotton balls.
Realtor: “Ah, now it makes sense. The notes say the last guy almost got his ear ripped off when he accidentally backed into the tiger’s claw.”
This story is part of the Homeownership roundup!
Read the next Homeownership roundup story!
Read the Homeownership roundup!
When I’m at work, I frequently keep a mug of soup on my desk. My favorite kind is a creamy potato-leek combination. When sitting in a mug, it looks identical to coffee with cream. However, it smells nothing like coffee, of course.
I have a coworker who, in spite of frequent talkings-to by management, feels entitled to help himself to what others have. On the day in question, the office coffee machine is broken and my coworker has been grumbling about it near my desk.
I’m working on a report when he approaches me and looks down into my mug. Before I can say a word, he picks up my mug and takes a huge swallow. Then, he spits soup all over the floor.
Coworker: “THAT ISN’T COFFEE!”
Me: *Appalled* “I never said it was coffee! Who just picks up someone else’s cup and starts drinking? What is wrong with you, [Coworker]?!”
Coworker: “I wanted coffee! I need my coffee! Why did you trick me like that? How do you know I’m not allergic to whatever that is?”
I am beyond fed up.
Me: “Well, I hope you are! Maybe that will teach you not to steal someone else’s things!”
The coworker actually went to HR to complain about me “trying to kill him.” When they heard the entire story, he received a three-day suspension. I wish I could say that he learned his lesson, but when he returned, he still helped himself to other people’s things — just never mine again.
This story is part of our Best Of March 2021 roundup!
Read the next Best Of March 2021 roundup story!
Read the Best Of March 2021 roundup!
The flight I am on is delayed due to a hydraulic system failure and we are asked to deplane. Being at the front of the plane and on a tight schedule for my connecting flight, I head right for the podium to get an alternate flight.
The customer rep is in the middle of reviewing possible flight options for me when a flight attendant emerges from the plane guiding a young boy. It turns out he’s an unaccompanied minor. Part of the contract his mom had signed to let him fly was agreeing to stay in the airport until the plane took off… in case of something like a hydraulic system failure grounding the plane.
She had not. I got a front-row seat to watch as the crew took care of the boy, who was very well-behaved, waited quietly, and played his Switch — and tried to get his mom back.
This was a significant undertaking. The rep had to call multiple people and tell them that the mom needed to come back, that not being here was a violation of the contract, and that no, they couldn’t just put the boy on another plane without parental supervision. And each person needed to be told each of these things repeatedly.
Kudos to the airline for their handling of the situation, but what the heck was the mom doing in the late afternoon that it required this much convincing to come back for her son?
I have worked in an Indiana college town in a 147-room hotel for about six months. Most of the time things go swimmingly, but the last couple of nights have been doozies thanks to our boilers going AWOL, leaving the hotel without hot water. This left two wedding suites unable to shower comfortably. But that wasn’t the most interesting thing to happen this week. No, that would be tonight.
Around 9:15, someone walks into the hotel and asks for public restrooms. I eye the person, whose appearance and demeanor fit that of the local drug addict population.
Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t have public restrooms.”
Guy: *Barely above a whisper* “I’ll take a room, then.”
This is red flag number one. Normally, people just grumble and walk out. They don’t suddenly switch to wanting to pay $150 for a room. But I click a few buttons on my system and fake looking for rooms.
Me: “I’ll need a credit card and a photo ID.”
The guy pulls out a green BMV-issued ID card — not a license, just an ID card — and a debit card. While we can take debit cards, I’m still suspicious. It is at this point that I notice that the guy’s left hand is covered in fresh blood.
Guy: “I’ll pay for anything, even a suite.”
This is red flag number two. To go from wanting bathrooms to wanting to pay for anything we had just screams, “I’m a junkie and I’m looking for a place to shoot up.” I decide to refuse service for a few reasons: one, there’s no sense in risking him overdosing on whatever his poison of choice is and having a dead-in-room situation; two, there are two weddings in house tonight; and three, there are a lot of kids in house.
Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re completely sold out.”
This was a blatant lie; we were only at 54% for the night, but I was certain he was looking for a place to shoot up and was going to do whatever it took to do so.
The guy turned around and walked out. My manager, after hearing this, told me I’d done a good job and the night went on as usual. This was a first for me. Feels like I got through a rite of passage for hospitality or something.
