Caught Brown Handed

, , , , , , | Right | June 30, 2008

(In the Chinese restaurant where I work, we have little bottles of soy sauce on every table. They look like they’re tightly closed, but the top actually doesn’t close at all. A lady and her daughter finish dinner and are leaving.)

Me: “Excuse me, madam, but I’m afraid the soy sauce is restaurant property. You can’t take it.”

Mother: “You calling me a thief? I want to speak to the manager! This will cost you your job, you little b****!”

Daughter: “Um, mum…”

Me: “The manager is not in right now, but if you want the sauce, it’s on sale at the front of the restaurant.”

Mother: “You’ve got some nerve! I never even touched your stinking sauce, you c***! Call the manager now!”

(Several customers are starting to giggle and the daughter looks like she’s about to die.)

Me: “Maybe you have taken the sauce without noticing? Because I’m sure you touched it at some point.”

Mother: “You’re sure? I tell you I didn’t touch it! You can’t treat your customers that way! You telling me you’ve been spying on me or something?”

Me: “Certainly not. But the huge brown stain on your purse is hard to ignore.”

(Her daughter dragged her by the arm and they stormed out the front door, leaving a sticky trail of soy sauce from the mother’s cloth purse. I laughed so hard I didn’t even mind them stealing the sauce.)


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Okay, That Was A Little Mean

, , , , , | Right | June 14, 2008

(Our store was pretty dead on this night; no one came in for at least half an hour before closing, but like good employees we kept the doors unlocked until our registers read 8 o’clock on the dot. I lock the doors, and five minutes later, a woman walks up to the door.)

Customer: *pulls on door, notices it’s locked, pulls harder*

Me: “I’m sorry, we’re closed. But we’ll be open at nine tomorrow.”

Customer: “What the h***?”

Me: “Ma’am, we closed five minutes ago. I’m sorry, but our hours are posted.”

Customer: “This is insane, it’s 7:59! You shouldn’t lock the doors so early.”

Me: “Our registers show that it’s 8:07–” (I look at my watch and my cell phone) “–and I’ve got 8:08. I’m sorry, we open at nine tomorrow.”

Customer: “I just need a few things! It won’t take long.”

Me: “Our registers are closed, so there’s no money in them. You can come back tomorrow at nine. Even if it was 7:59, it takes more than one minute to shop and check out.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I just need a few things.”

Me: “Fine.”

(I unlock the doors to let her in; my coworker finishes closing the registers. The woman runs around the store for ten minutes, grabbing several things that probably could have waited until morning, and plops them down on the register.)

Coworker: *smiles* “Did you find everything you needed?”

Customer: “Yes, thanks.”

Coworker: “Unfortunately, our registers have been closed for 20 minutes and I can’t ring the sale after hours. Would you like me to hold it for you until tomorrow?”

(The customer’s jaw drops. I go to hold the door open for her.)

Me: “We open at nine.”

(Coworker and I high-fived.)


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… And They Say The Post Office Is Slow

, , , , | Right | June 11, 2008

(A customer is buying a stamp for a letter shortly after the 2007 price increase.)

Customer: “Why can’t I get a 39 cent stamp? You still have them.”

Me: “We still have them in stock, but we have to make up the difference with 2 cent stamps. Don’t worry, we’ll stick the right amount on for you.”

Customer: “I just want a 39 cent stamp.”

Me: “Okay, but your letter will not get there.”

Customer: “Just give me it!”

(The customer takes the stamp, affixes it, and tosses the letter into the slot. I promptly pick up the letter from the bin and stamp it “Insufficient Postage, Return To Sender”.)


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Hopefully, She Got The House

, , , , , | Romantic | June 5, 2008

Me: “Thank you for calling. How may I help you?”

Guest: “Hi, yes, I’m calling because your hotel charged our credit card twice?”

Me: “Okay, ma’am. If I can have your name, I’ll look you up in the computer and we can get this straightened out.”

Guest: *morphs into an uber-witch in three seconds flat* “Straightened out? D*** right you’re going to get this straightened out! You charged enough for that crappy little room! I’ll be d***ed if we’re paying for it twice! My husband works too hard for his money to be charged double for something like this! There wasn’t even a bar there!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but if I can just have your name and the date you stayed–”

Guest: “That’s just it! I was charged on two separate DATES. My name is [Guest] and my husband and I stayed there on June 9th. There’s another charge on there for the 17th. I want this fixed!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. I understand. I’m looking now, ma’am… Okay, I see the problem. You did stay here on the 9th of June. I’m showing that someone by the name of [Husband] stayed on the 17th.”

(There’s dead silence for a moment, and then whispering.)

Guest: “What?”

(At this point my stomach falls into my shoes, because I can hear her mind ticking away, and I know something she doesn’t: another name is listed on the screen with her husband’s for the June 17th stay, and it’s NOT HERS.)

Me: “Um… ma’am?”

Guest: “I see. You’ve been very helpful.”

Me: “Thank you, ma’am. Can I help you with anything else today?”

(At this moment the woman drops the phone but does not hang up, and I hear her begin to scream at someone, swearing in combos I never would have thought up. I hang up quickly and try to go about my business, making a note of it to tell my boss. Later I get another phone call.)

Me: “Thank you for calling. How–”

Guest’s Husband: “I want to talk to your manager, you stupid little b****! You probably just cost me my marriage and I am going to sue your s***-hole hotel for every penny it’s worth! Do you hear me? Do you?!”

Me: *click*


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The Estrogen Empire Strikes Back

, , , , | Right | March 20, 2008

(A customer had a complaint about his food. He refused to let the woman working the register help him.)

Man: “I want to talk to a manager.”

Female Employee: “Yes, sir.”

(The employee gets a shift manager to help her.)

Shift Manager: “Can I help you, sir?”

Man: “No, I want a manager!”

Shift Manager: “I am a shift manager, sir.”

Man: “I want to see the store manager!”

Shift Manager: “Uhm, okay, sir, I’ll be right back.”

(I was in the office working on the crew schedules for the next week. Shift Manager comes in and asks me to deal with the customer. She didn’t need to explain. I’d heard it all… He was very loud. I went to help deal with the situation.)

Me: “Can I help you, sir?”

Man: “I want to see a f****** God-d*** manager! Where’s the f****** store manager?”

Me: “I am the store manager, Sir.”

Man: “I want to speak to a male manager!”

Me: “Sir, all of my shift managers are female. As, clearly, am I.”

(Actually, every person working that day was female.)

Man: “I demand to speak to your d*** f***ing boss!”

Me: “I can get you a number so you can call my district manager, sir. Will that be okay?”

Man: “Finally! DO IT NOW!”

Me: “Yes, sir. Just a second.”

(I go into my office and grab one of the district manager’s cards.)

Me: “Here you are, sir. If you give HER a call, I’m sure SHE will be happy to help you.”

(I thought he was going to have a heart attack after that. Purple was definitely not his color.)


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